The Eclipse Super Blood Moon

 On the driveway 
Of our home
We stand together
Heads back    looking up
Into the black of the 
Sky
As the full moon
Allows earth's shadow
To cover the brilliance
Of her light
Slowly   but not truly
Slow
Her white light
Disappears
As tho a blanket
Were being pulled
Over her naked 
Face

You hold my hand
You keep my feet
Steady
On the cement
They stand upon
It is a closeness
An intimacy I feel
Together
Under the sky
This gift from the natural
World
The Universe Itself
Oh   thank you
Thank you
Thank you


 




Homeless

It is the dark of night
I lie under my quilt warm
Comfortable secure
Listening as wind
Pushes the rain
Against my window

In the cold wet
Of this night
Where do they go

In the dim light
Of next morning
Out the kitchen window
The asphalt street
Glistens like polished silver
Tops of distant palm trees
Sway side to side
In the wind

In the cold wind
Of this wet day
Where do they go

Three Poems – Plus One

The Sycamore’s dried leaves

Of burnished gold

Hang expectantly

From their branches

Ready to fall

Onto the waiting

Ground

***

January cold

Wraps itself around

Southern California

From my window

Three plants

Bitten by frost

In the night

Their leaves shriveled

Browned

On emaciated stalks

In shocking contrast

Green leaves on the hibiscus

Live     untouched

***

You live in my heart

Little girl     little boy

Never forgotten

Children

Walking to freedom

From Guatemala

Die in Mexico

At the border

Denied America     forever

***

Like a flock of songbirds

All colors     all sizes

My children     my grandchildren

Gather around me

A few precious

Hours

We eat     we sing     we laugh

Until they fly away

Again

And I am left

To sing their songs

Alone

When Leaves Fall From the Trees

The Crepe Myrtle’s leaves

Turn golden

As they let go their branches

Fall to the ground

Lie close to each other

A carpet of gold

Then scatter in the night

When rains finally

Come

 

Sycamore begins dropping her

Leaves

Before Halloween

Such a large tree

Has more to drop

Then the Crepe Myrtle

And any of their neighbor’s

Sycamore leaves

Lie on the ground

Different shapes

Different sizes

I see them

As miniature sculptures

No two alike

 

I want to let go

Of bewilderment

Of despair I feel

From the chaos

Invading the life

Blood

In the government

Of my country

Stress I hear

In voices around me

Everywhere I go

I want to drop my worries

My heart’s concerns

Like leaves

Falling from the trees

To the welcoming

Ground

Not to resist

What is

And know with

Trust

This too must

Pass

A Different Light

Light from this day

Recedes

Into approaching dusk

I watch it clinging

Still

To green leaves of the

Crepe Myrtle

To scarlet blossoms

On the hibiscus

The far off hills

And as it darkens

Out my window

 

Inside my room

The bedside lamp is

Lit

Creating a different

Light

Mellow warmth

Caresses the walls

And a feeling of being

Cocooned    shielded

From political storms

Settles in me

As I greet the coming

Night

In grateful    Peace

 

 

 

A Silent Encounter

 

The day is overcast

Sunless

Not unusual for Arcata

A town in Northern California

Blessed with Redwood Trees

Twenty miles south

Of the Oregon border

Where we walk the path

Around the lagoon

Of the Arcata Marsh

Looking for herons

Ducks     egrets

And other birds

That come and go

With seasons of the

Year

 

Tall reeds wave in the breeze

From the water

Bushes     small trees

Grow everywhere we walk

Framing the gravel path

That now leads us

Almost full circle to where

We began

And there     in the middle

Of the path

Stands a giant white egret

Like a spotlight

Its brilliant white

Shines in our eyes

Still as a statue

It signals

Come no closer

We wait

Still as the egret

But take our fill of observation

Never before so close to

Perfection

 

The egret turns around

The giant wings reach out

Fold in again

Then making an obvious decision

It walks regally into the waiting

Water

 

We remain motionless

In wonder

With gratitude

Then walk the rest of the way

To our car

Drive home in the gray light

With the memory of a brilliant

White blessing

“Arcata Marsh” by Brian McQueen www.McQueenArt.com

 

 

 

Spring

My dear

Spring is come

The sycamore    the Crepe Myrtle

Both birthing their new leaves

Roses in their garden

Bloom again

Recovered from their pruning

 

I miss mating of the

Mockingbirds

Scolding squawks claiming

Territories

Music of their calls

Resounding down the canyon walls

Around us

They have disappeared from my

Life

 

My dear

Do you remember spring

In Illinois

The ancient lilac bush

We transplanted

From the farm

Across from us on McCree

Road

Its house torn down

Making way

For a crop of new houses

Remember

We let the hose drip water

Two whole days     two whole nights

Around her roots

Praying she’d survive

She did     bloomed so faithfully

Sending the delicious scent

Of her blooms

Into our bedroom window

 

Oh     I welcome spring

In California

But mourn the ancient

Lilac bush

No flowered fragrance

Will ever fill her place

 

 

 

Child

Child

I would hold you close

In my arms

As you grieve your loss

Mother     Father     Siblings

Your family     your home

Witnessing scenes

No child should have to see

No one should have to see

If I could     Child

I would erase these pictures

From your mind

Your mind’s hauntings

Spilling into your dreamworld

 

Child

You are every child

To me

Who has suffered cruelties

Of war

Cruelties from greed

Cruelties from those who use their power

To take what does not belong

To them

Child     if I could

I would explain such behavior

To help you understand

I cannot

For I do not understand

Never will     never will

Myself

But Child     this I do know

With certainty

Love is the Healer

And I Love you

 

Listen

… Listen    listen

To the children

Those who are like flower buds

Opening     as they are

Into their adulthood

Listen to them

You who close your minds

Your hearts

To give them safety

Safety through laws

That could prevent them

Ever having to witness

Death

In what was the cocoon

Of their school

 

It is time     it is past

Time

To ban weapons built

Only to kill     to destroy

Where does your intent

Lie

You who are labeled maker of

Laws

Do you use your powers

Of office

To bolster the existence of

Assault weapons

Or

Will you listen to the children

Will you listen

As you never listened to their elders

And act on what needs

Doing

Ban the assault guns

Ban them     ban them

 

NOW

                                   photo credit

 

Thus It Is So

Beethoven composes his majestic Ninth Symphony

Mozart the sacred Requiem

Handel his powerful Messiah

Poverty is alive all around them

And children go hungry

 

Every age     every millennium

Carries suffering

Gives birth to those who live

Impelled to help

Gives birth to those who choose

To turn away

Leaving their powers for change

Lost

Like a blade of sea grass

Pulled with the tide

Into the deepest depth

Of the ocean

Thus it is so

 

Why