1965

1965

naval station san diego

long lines of young men

drafted into service

going to Chu Lai


stepping my way
through the long green line
of duffel bags
I sensed their fear
and dread

dinner at officers'' club
returning to the ship
two children in tow
the troops seemed surreal
in the dark

above deck
music and drinking

formal officers' mess
below deck
crowded conditions

for me
tending to
lots of throwing up
a dog in a crate
and the unknown

what waited in Hawaii
where would it all end
how many of those boys
would make it
out of the jungle

even now -sorrow

Cinderella

ten o' clock
it was over at twelve
nights like this were not for a girl like her
white chiffon and little flat slippers
a corsage of gardenias right on  her wrist bone

his crew cut was perfect and he smiled like
a guy all cleaned up should
his chevy had all the cool stuff
the black and white dice 
leathery seats to match

nothing about this would last
tomorrow would be back in the kitchen
caring for her sisters
trying to avoid the yelling

but tonight "a white sports coat and a pink carnation"
and the stuff of teenage dreams

Ladies Who Lunch

http://www.themethursday.blogspot.com/

ladies who lunch
no hats big hearts
laments and laughter

little scars big scares

women who perspire

women who inspire

ladies who launch

antipasto platter

no worries

Arrowheads

anthropologists study 

the Pocumtucks * of the Connecticut

living near the Bloody Brook

we farmed tobacco and cucumbers

on their old encampments

silty talc like soil laced with
pottery shards and arrowheads
we treated them like marbles
no true sense of worth

no one told us about these ancients
we had our own troubles
we were spirit children
of the river
with our ancient finds

* " the Pocumtucks dwelt in the middle Connecticut River Valley near today's Deerfield, Massachusetts." Bain, Manring, Mathrews

Priceless

grandmother she says
I need to talk to you.

breathless, intense
deep sighs, words spilling out
horses and art
music and history
Paris and pizza
fourteen and ageless
potential and growth

for me
like a jewel box
opened
gems falling out
sparking and precious

her gift to me
priceless

for Matilda 2010

Celebrate

Pema says

eat the strawberry
look at the flower
face the tiger
celebrate the sun
easier said than done
my demons
nip at my heels
as I run
surrounded by
strawberries, flowers
tigers
and the sun

for Pema Chodron

Sound of Justice

http://themethursday.blogspot.com/

hollow sounds
those peals for freedom
lobbies pork payoffs
the two percent
in charge
the rest scrapping by
for a voice
for a home
for dinner
always hoping this bell
will ring for justice

My Treasure

everyone was running
from the Russians
from the Germans
from the bombing
mother said go and I did
with my treasure
sewn in my wool jacket
shivering in ditches
under the moon
I kept going
to where I did not know
a few coins in my pocket
a bag of dry bread
some shriveled carrots
finally days, weeks later
a large man pulled me out
from under the bridge
handed me a chocolate bar
smiled and said
the Americans are here


always
my enameled egg
on the mantle
reminds me of chocolate
and kindness

dedicated to Frau Groelich and her story

This Life

this life

the sound of breathing
the fury of anger
the joy of belonging
the terror of waiting
the comfort of hugging
the beauty of nature
the sweetness of babies
the cry of the owl

the beat of the drum
the mystery of travel
the fear of disease
the triumph of spirit

to be alive
to be part of
this magic

Fork in the Road

she planned
she made lists
she watched the weather
she read her cards
she threw the runes
she read her chart
she checked Google Earth
she called her broker
she made a will

she alerted the neighbors

and after it all -
the planning
the lists
the research
the preparation

she still encountered a fork in the road

Daffodil

http://www.magpietales.blogspot.com/

daring little bud

smothered with snow

buffeted by winds

stepped on near the footpath

persevere, persevere

it murmurs

at last a cold bright sun

go for it

jump out there

stand tall

Spring

Spring by A. Mucha

Like champagne uncorked
Like stones skipped on still water
Like baby's first gasp of air
Like the chick's head emerging
Like the pink glow of dawn
Like the orchestra warming up
Like the smell of  new crayons
Like the fern unfurling
Like nothing else

Spring has sprung!

She who...

needed: new friend

who has cooked at least 30 turkeys
who has washed cloth diapers
who remembers Elvis's TV debut
who knows what no money means
who has stolen a pineapple from the field
who has changed sizes at least five times
who counts their chicks no matter how old
who cries for those in nursing homes
who worries about her own old age
who has had at least three hair colors
who weeps at figure skating
who longs for Tuscany
and who is willing to still dream

purpose: endless laughter and conversation

Faces

face book
book of faces
losing face
facing off
facedown
options
settings
blocked faces
fan pages
pages of fans
lists of friends
no one talking
about anything real

social networking?

American Quality

http://www.magpietales.blogspot.com/

she had

Polish blond hair,

Ukrainian cheekbones

the nose of invaders to the steppes

an accent out of Ellis Island

a cuisine of peasant fare

the skill of tatting and embroidery

the work ethic of immigrants

the storytelling of  the uprooted

the songs of the balalaika

the memories of church festivals 

and the Madonna

she  kept some treasures, she discarded others

she melded the rest into

American Quality

If I were...

If I were a month I’d be May
If I were a day I’d be Saturday
If I were a time of day I’d be noon
If I were a planet I’d be Venus
If I were a sea animal I’d be an otter
If I were a direction I’d be west
If I were a piece of furniture I’d be a table
If I were a liquid I’d be chicken soup

If I were a gem stone I’d be an emerald
If I were a tree I’d be a maple
If I were a tool I’d be a hammer
If I were a flower I’d be a lady slipper
If I were an element of weather I’d be a spring rain
If I were a musical instrument I’d be an oboe
If I were a color I'd be purple
If I were an emotion I’d be joyful
If I were a fruit I’d be an apple
If I were a sound I’d be a baby's laugh
If I were an element I'd be earth
If I were a car I’d be a Beemer
If I were a food I’d be mashed potatoes
If I were a place I’d be Western Massachusetts 

If I were a material I'd be Thai silk
If I were a taste I’d be salty
If I were a scent I’d be gardenia
If I were a body part I’d be eyes
If I were a song I’d be the blues.
If I were a bird I'd be a crow
If I were a gift I'd be a book
If I were a city I'd be in Bavaria
If I were a door I'd always be open
If I were a pair of shoes I’d be flip flops

If I were a poem I would be free verse

And what would you be?

Self Worth

www.lisisoft.com/.../292spring_600.jpg

reflecting
on years of living large

leaving that ham
on the young couple's doorstep

writing an affirmation
and tying it to a tree in Sequim

trying that spin on ice
breaking my knuckle

walking in wet snow
on the cobblestones of old Augsburg

easter baskets  for the kinder
German fields with real bunnies

skiing off that glacier peak
with my fear of heights

near running down that Alaskan mountain
following Lana's footsteps

eating watermelon for dinner
in a crappy trailer park

receiving that check
with no strings to finish graduate school

watching film premier at Toronto
gut wrenching Mother's pride

my life has proven me worthy
of magic, of passion, of love

how else to measure one's life?

That old woman's hand

 Willow's Magpie Thursdays

I catch myself
staring at this strange claw
bumpy and curled
whose hand is this
when did this happen
there's the broken knuckle
from ice skating
and that scar from an old burn

nails that never get long
dirt from the garden
veins protruding
clay dried in creases

this hand surely must
belong to some old woman

Turquoise

Your skin can feel it  from the air
each pore gets itchy
knowing soon
it will be warm and wet
something about
that sparkling water
maybe magic Atlantis
or maybe just pure pleasure

how fast the dull gray
is replaced with
turquoise

for CJ and P 2010

Twenty Six Years and Counting

two ole crows
caw caw
picking up the scraps
living large
taking care
keeping watch
caw caw
doing together
one day at time
no wedding
no contracts
just love and trust

ah

to Lana on 26 years

March Blossoming Plums

pink plum blossoms
calling out Spring
come on out
the weather's fine
let's practice our dancing
for May Day
we will have garlands
and maypoles
and pretty girls

where's Will when you need him?

Monkeyshines

poor monkey
pushed out
no reservations
development
run rampant
my raccoons
robyn's monkeys
two continents apart
shrinking habitat

mother earth is worried

Big Wheel

big wheel
keeps on turning
our prayers
multiplying
we- it seems
only spokes
on a cosmic wheel

rolling rolling

Old Fool

http://www.magpietales.blogspot.com/
This is Willow's theme Event

cold cold
damp wood
stone walls
romance shattered
only regrets
too old to know better
but when romance calls
every old fool lights up

Someone Else

http://www.magpietales.blogspot.com/

log walls
chinked with gaps
wind whistling
snow piled up
to the tiny windows
quilts draped over knees
children huddled by the fire
playing fort under their
mountain of blankets
hot cider simmering
a few biscuits
venison stew had been supper
little to remind her of home
just the silver
the evidence that
she had been someone else

Nowhere

http://artpropelled.blogspot.com/

little bits of clay
adhered to small blocks
all being washed by the sea
in a place called nowhere
seen by people everywhere
all thanks to a post
on a blog
by an artist
called robyn
magic

Swirling

Free thoughts
swirling
dancing
colliding
years of facts
conclusions
beliefs
suddenly
murky
mysterious
unclear
so who what where am I?

just that dancing particle?

Crow Friend

Hey crow hey crow
what ya goin do
when they come for you

you actin like a tough dude
but I know better
you just shared my mc muffin

Waiting for Spring

Swans and Haiti

giant white wings
angels in the valley
everywhere white clusters
of geese and swans

same planet
in Haiti misery and death
in Skagit nature's glory

no sense no order
gusty winds blowing
confusion and helplessness
giving over

Haiti

Such complete unbearable suffering added to decades of pain and grief; Haiti's people need our prayers and our help. It is hard to carry on when one knows that such death and destruction is
happening not so far away. Our world is pretty small and we are all a heartbeat away from the ravages of nature, war, and hunger. May the aid being sent help in to some degree their suffering.

Resolutions?

into the new-
new year new attitude
unsteadily lurching into the next
wondering if I can recreate
myself anew

that old trick
used brazenly many times
new year new girl
new journal pages
new lists on the fridge
new underwear from Macy's
newly sharpened pencils
new health foods

only questions are
where does the old me go
what happens to
the old attitudes
the over worked dreams
the unfinished projects
the socks with no mates
the clothes that don't fit

where do I store the old me
while I conjure up a new version?
and what if I need the old me again?

Winster Solstice

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7Op3Sz3lPM&feature=related

Light a candle
add wood to the fire
pour a cup of cider
bang the drum
watch the bonfires
count your blessings
embrace the darkest of nights
and "burn the clocks"

welcome the light

Yup the nose knows!!!

Snow; pretty snow;not too much but a treat anyways...

Smell of Snow

the kids say my nose knows

I can smell snow
in Alaska my sinuses ached
in Germany the migraines would come
in Hawaii I waited endlessly
in Washington I smell it coming
no Kiro weather reports
are more accurate
dry air shifting
getting moister
then the big wet flakes

and the cameras come out...yay

Greenman

our greenman stands guard
over the garden
season in season out
watching life
witnessing new growth
recording bee hums
counting the daffs
birds shit on him
his skin rusts
nothing phases him
he just stands and waits

I could learn from him

Thanksgiving 09

waiting for the balloons
in Herald Square
stuffing the turkey
wiping down the counters
listening for memories

over the river and thru the woods
I am that place now
tried a new chutney
I already know
they will hate it.

Detachment

photo by betterlivingwithherbs...

dreaming about detachment

armed with layers of connections
duties, responsibilities, shoulds
fully weighed down

wondering what detaching unleashes
naked of the chains, what follows

would one float away like a
freefloating dream?

like dandelion fluff

Crow Woman revisted

my crows follow me everywhere

nagging, egging me on, taunting

caw caw, pay attention

we are the keepers of the sacred law

laughing amongst themselves.. little jokes

hopping to internal street beats

chewing on gum wrappers and carrion

charmers, old as time

November

only a few yellow leaves hang on
deck covered with crimson
webs span all the doors
spider girls spinning like mad
fairy lights hung in all the corners
cider simmers with cinnamon
searching for yam recipes
checked out cheap flights to Mexico

Must be November in Washington

Coping

Edvard Munch. Anxiety, 1894. Munch Museum, Oslo

investigate using more whole grains
check election results
get celica to the shop
call my senator
worry about health care bill
research Green River flooding
create something in studio
find new sources of protein
cry over over Ft Hood shootings

practice serenity
be transcendent?

Tea

Tea cups in hand
we lean in towards each other

The stories are eagerly waiting
they need to come out

Such joy at connecting
yet always a risk-never easy

Ah yes common ground
we are not alone

Ah yes women survive
even thrive

The stories are indeed
all that we have.

Into the New . what next?

the new scary gestalt

seeing the whole shebang

praying for skills to manifest

visions so clear I can touch them

muse calling

come and jump into the clay

wondering how I ended up here

red gems and old glass

bronze vessels and textiles

all intertwining

making jewelry,

making talismans

making amulets

making tools for shamans

who ever dreamed

of this

For Strong Women

For Strong Women

A strong woman is a woman who is straining
A strong woman is a woman standing
on tiptoe and lifting a barbell
while trying to sing "Boris Godunov."
A strong woman is a woman at work
cleaning out the cesspool of the ages,
and while she shovels, she talks about
how she doesn't mind crying, it opens
the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up
develops the stomach muscles, and
she goes on shoveling with tears in her nose.
A strong woman is a woman in whose head
a voice is repeating, I told you so,
ugly, bad girl, bitch, nag, shrill, witch,
ballbuster, nobody will ever love you back,
why aren't you feminine, why aren't
you soft, why aren't you quiet, why aren't you dead?
A strong woman is a woman determined
to do something others are determined
not be done. She is pushing up on the bottom
of a lead coffin lid. She is trying to raise
a manhole cover with her head, she is trying
to butt her way through a steel wall.

Her head hurts. People waiting for the hole
to be made say, hurry, you're so strong.
A strong woman is a woman bleeding
inside. A strong woman is a woman making
herself strong every morning while her teeth
loosen and her back throbs. Every baby,
a tooth, midwives used to say, and now
every battle a scar. A strong woman
is a mass of scar tissue that aches
when it rains and wounds that bleed
when you bump them and memories that get up
in the night and pace in boots to and fro.
A strong woman is a woman who craves love
like oxygen or she turns blue choking.
A strong woman is a woman who loves
strongly and weeps strongly and is strongly
terrified and has strong needs. A strong woman is strong
in words, in action, in connection, in feeling;
she is not strong as a stone but as a wolf
suckling her young. Strength is not in her, but she
enacts it as the wind fills a sail.
What comforts her is others loving
her equally for the strength and for the weakness
from which it issues, lightning from a cloud.
Lightning stuns. In rain, the clouds disperse.
Only water of connection remains,
flowing through us. Strong is what we make
each other. Until we are all strong together,
a strong woman is a woman strongly afraid.

by Marge Piercy

Late Bloomers

second wave of honeysuckle

wafting across walkway

late summer shadows

first glimpses of fall

ripe tomatoes

white phlox

late casa blancas

squirrels ramping up

for annual oak frenzy

red leaves at top of maples

me walking- finally

striding into fall