Saturday, April 5, 2014

13 Ways of looking at a Sword


1.
Flash of steel
Clash of metal
Crimson on the snow

2.
Walking like a dog
All in brown leathers
Wagging his stiff tail

3.
Humming gently
The light sears the air
Cleanly separating hand from arm
Son from father

4.
Not these wild swings
Don't leave an opening
More finesse than strength
Parry
Riposte

5.
Glowing on the anvil
Sparks fly
Under the weight of cool hammers

6.
"Under this sign wilt thou conquer"
He wipes the blood on lambskin cloth
Kneels with the sword before him
The cross casts a shadow on Golgotha

7.
   One
   One
Handed hilt
   One
   One
   One
   One
   On
   O

8.
The dagger is a coward's weapon
Throw the gauntlet
Let's take this outside
Man to man

9.
Life and death
Right and wrong
King and corpse
Husband and bachelor
Knight and mercenary
Priest and pawn
God and tyrant
The distinction is as fine as a blade

10.
Forget thought
No emotion in the void
No self
Just one
Instinct
One forgetting
There is only the dance

11.
Measurements
Weight
Breadth
Length
Width
Guard
Pommel
Hilt
Balance point

12.
Live by the pen
Die by the pen
Which is stronger

13.
I salute
I destroy

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

O child of night,
Gently lonely,
Softly lost--emerge
Into cool air,
Stillness,
Weeping

Monday, October 21, 2013

Monster

he rises from the foot of my bed
like a warm, soft blanket
with terribly sharp teeth

singing my child's lullaby


Sorrow

Downward
Pulls a great weight
Half longing, half regret
I am a tree about to fall
Roots loosening
Trunk bowing
Deep in my chest

Or maybe a man
Who hung a hammock
Between the sturdy oaks of my ribs
Who swings gently back and forth
Watching color return
Waiting for sunrise


Friday, April 6, 2012

And His Dark Secret Love


Furl out into the cool air
Unheeding the snowfall next week
Bending the branch
But the sun was right

Easy to be pretty and awake
Well-scented, ultravioletly attractive
Every sunbeam belongs to me
Every visitor is lover

My belly fruit no longer sleeps
What pain can I hope for
This burgeoning birth
A quickly scattered death

Thursday, April 5, 2012

First Day of Granola

the big green bowl
the biggest one we have
liquids rushing into dry grains
slimy measuring cups
and now
the wide glowing face of the oven
staring at a landscape of wet brown oats
wait
cloth oven mitts, white with blue-red flowers
get the big spatula and stir
careful not to spill
slide back into the oven
wait
spatula again
it burns if you touch if you taste
collect fresh pencils ruler three-ring binder
wait
small bowl at bedtime
in pjs
leaves strangely warm speckled milk in the bowl
now off to the pillow
wait
for red brick rectangular dreams
fears and names
wake
for cool almond clumps
with raisins
from the tupperware
chewy crunchy unround

hurry
clean clothes
brush teeth
backpack secured thumbs through the straps
hurry out
heavy honey in the tummy
hurry out to the corner
cinnamon on the breath
hurry out to the corner watching for glints of yellow in the house windows
suck your teeth
climb the loud stairs

hurry
to the red building
the strange little people in lines
who don't understand the first day of granola

--

Mom's recipie

Bake 10 min on c. sheet:
5-6 c. oats

Combine in mix bowl with oats:
1 c. coconut
1 c. chopped almonds
1 c. wheat germ
1 c. sunflower seeds
1 t. cinnamon
1 c. powdered milk
1 c. bran
other opts - zoom, millet-meal, ses seeds


Combine and heat:
1/2 c. margerine (and or P. Butt)

1/2 c. honey (or some brn sug)

1/2 water
1 t. vanilla

Bake at 275 degrees, stir about every 10 minutes

Add:
1 c. raisins
opt 1 c. dates &/or apricots




Tuesday, April 3, 2012

The Coronation of the Queen


When you reach the door,
Feel the silence of the three knocks
You will not make today
Or ever again.
Step carefully over the jamb
As the iron doors swing inward.
Wait for your eyes to see by candlelight.
Do not spill your lilies, your grape flowers, your trembling heart
On the cold stone floor
When you kneel at the cross-hall where his ancestors are.
Chestnut eyes, Charcoal eyes, Cedar of Lebanon eyes...
The dead require nothing more than a nod.
For the living, the bronze bell tolls above the altar.
Grasp the rope and pull steadily:
Long the throng shall laud your womb.
When the final echo evaporates,
Whisper your prayer
Thoughtlessly.
Bathe in the holy font,
Fed from the warm spring of the waking mountain.
Anoint yourself with oils
As the earth trembles:
Musk, cinnamon, and apple bark.
Wrap your body in song,
Stars, and silk.
Mount the stairs,
Attended only by the emerald dragonfly in your hair.
Warm your feet on the hearthfire rug,
And open the door of his scarlet bedchamber.