I’ll Be There (Anaphora)
I’ll be there when the dishes are done,
I’ll be there when the spreadsheets are finished,
I’ll be there when I’ve fed the cats, the dog and given Hamlet his
pill.
I’ll be there when the plants are watered and I’ve dusted the living
room.
I’ll be there when I’ve scrubbed the toilet and cleaned the floors.
I’ll be there when the papers are graded and tommorrow’s project copied.
I’ll be there when I’ve paid the mine and the Gallery’s bills.
I’ll be there when I’ve picked Robin up from school and given her the
car.
I’ll be there when I’ve lost 50 lbs.
I’ll be there when I’ve meditated twice a day for at least a month.
I’ll be there when I’ve meditated, written my morning pages, worked
out and had a nutritious breakfast.
I’ll be there when I get off the phone.
I’ll be there when the sun has risen.
I’ll be there when the sun has set.
I’ll never get there.
Haiku
Catch breath, heart pounding,
stunning view, high perspective,
now down butte to camp.
When did my poor feet
become translucent china
blue vein crazed so precious.
Abiqui Dam
Artificial gem
turquoise between desert buttes,
whose dream do you serve?
Where did I get that
no matter what I did
I should’ve done something else.
Hot fuschia flower
tops baby hedgehog cactus
a pit stop surprise.
Astonishing rose
old, red orange and yellow smells
like exotic spice.
Different mountains
than mine line the horizons
late afternoon peace.
I consider my
age and size clever disguise,
sometimes it fools me.
Lime verde valley,
cottonwood seeds dance in wind,
time to head for home.
She moves stuffed bear cub
from this to that side of store.
Love a little late.
June 10, 1999
Prayer
My child prays to Great Mother/Father God whose Path I am always on even though I don’t always understand today’s steps or yesterday’s actions.
My wise woman knows to be still, get connected, let the Earth and Spirit
energies flow and mingle, to connect to the All that is by breathe, by
focus, Within,
to take that connection out into the day and by choice of thought,
attention, with gratitude, with open heart,go through the day and create
the future.
Did I remember to notice?
Did I remember to breathe?
Did I remember to listen to the birds, see their wings flash?
Did I remember to feel love toward crawler, leaf, people?
Did I remember to pray?
June 10, 1999
Harleys ( run on but could go under Remembering)
The picture shows
Luther and Odie standing by motorcycles
before they left for the trip to New Orleans
all dirt roads, can you imagine 1917 from Brinkhaven
Ohio that far, and even though Mother thinks it was
the loss of her baby brother that made my Grandma
hard as a corset and cold to Grandpa I have often
wondered if it wasn’t that trip before they were married
that she wouldn’t go on down adventure’s road to a
southern sea, with caps and goggles on their heads
and grins of youthful anticipation.
In Praise of Solitude
The curves of this space are so uncharted, yet infinitely familiar,
the empty room, the empty car, the stretches of time
unplanned, uncontested.
True, there is no sweet known voice debating
the merits of any choice
sure to land on the opposite side of the fence,
route to goal, ethnic restaurant.
The racket is only of the weed trimmer
not the racket of individuality maturing
and needing to assert her rights.
Solitude siphons off the drama, the debate,
sips away the bitter feud,
long standing resentment.
Solitude surrounds with a light weight blanket of
one’s own energy.
Solitude sings with the caws of the crows
in the midday sun, with the shsst,
shsst, shsst of the lawn sprinkler,
with the distanced laughter of children.
Solitude has not the messy emotions of loneliness.
Solitude expands, uplifts.
It is a prayer, not a dirge.
Solitude gently unfolds the soul
from the everyday box of family duties,
kindly shakes out the wrinkles,
flips into the wind the sparkling cloth,
and allows it to float softly back to earth.
June 11, 1999
Lonely Semi (Pantoum)
Mango light hits western mesas
far below a lonely semi crosses sundown plain
heading home for enchiladas and Pacifico,
kids and a sweet kiss from her husband.
Far below an empty semi crosses sundown plain.
Where is the heart, the center?
Kids and a sweet kiss from her husband.
Are these enough to make a life?
Where is the heart, the center?
Scent of spirit, chuckles of soul,
are these enough to make a life?
Spiral out, bubbles from within.
Scent of spirit, chuckles of soul,
signatures of Self,
spiral out, bubble from within,
blessing scrambles eggs and pillowcases.
Signatures of Self
heading home for enchiladas, Pacifico,
blessing scrambled eggs and pillowcases.
Mango light hits western mesas.
Lindy’s Japanese Death Poems
Love, Light and La;-)ghter
postscript during life,
prayer for next step.
Learning to dance takes time,
I’ve almost got the step
this space between my toes and the floor.
Impatient, Laughing,
blowing All blessings of love,
I dance out the door.
Would I not give my
daughter infinite night’s days
of breathe and of life.
Clouds wait in the sky
for my return, holding back
soft sheets of spring rain.
When I leave you (Anaphora)
When I leave you I will miss the soft blush of your cheek
after you shave in the morning.
I will miss the blue of your eyes and the timbre of your voice.
I will miss the way you grill out salmon with Lamont’s BBQ sauce,
and I will miss your familiar snore beside me in bed.
I will miss your morning cough and throat clearing ritual,
and I will miss the voices you use to punctuate funny lines.
I will miss the feel of your hug, brief but well intentioned.
I will miss your chatty manner after 2 glasses of red wine,
and I will miss the meals you cook, the laundry you do, and the way
you constantly make fun of the cats and dog.
After I leave you I will miss that you remember:
the pattern and color of the sleeping bag we bought on our first camping
trip together two days after we met.
the birth and growing of our daughter
the struggles I’ve gone through to become a person
the names of people and flow of events for the last twenty two years
how I looked at 30 skinny dipping in Lake Powell with sand war paint on my trim body
the one and only time I flew anyone else in a plane, to breakfast at Show Low airport
the vexation and triumph of cooperative art
the day you graduated from college
the day I graduated from college.
After I leave you I won’t miss the
missed opportunities for love,
the power struggles,
and fights, the hurt feelings,
impasses.
I won’t miss the ongoing testimony to the
sibling rivalry of the heart.
I won’t miss the fact that no matter what
I do or don’t do I can’t get to your soul.
My Favorite Questions
What moment could be more precious than this
shared breath share soul with fellow poets?
How is it that feet come in so many shapes and sizes even on the same person?
Wouldn’t Earth get bored if we all spoke the same language?
What is the topic of conversation for my missing socks?
How do mismatched forks and spoons feel?
Does Heaven set a lifetime quota of books?
Are old encyclopedias sad?
How do the different colors of blue keep their names straight?
Could I be any happier if I was floating down the Chama River on a raft?
When will the whole world honor the Crones?
Does cherry think it is better than ebony?
Would I be relieved if I knew the date I was going to die?
Do angels get impatient at mid-life crises?
Does my tent wish for a cold glass of lemonade by 2 p.m.?
Does my crown chakra really look like a crystalline lotus blossom?
What would the energy patterns look like in a room where people are dancing 10 different dances?
What do the microbes look like that live in the bottom of a pine log crack?
Whose keeping track?
Whose keeping count?
Whose taking notes?
Whose looking on?
June 13, 1999
Lindy’s Goodbye
As ephemeral as the shadows of
barn swallows fluttering to a perch
on shadows of old apple trees
in front of Ghost House
on departure road.
July 3, 1999
Water wheel egg timer
sits in pre-monsoon heat
ultramarine drops
gaily spins the spiraled wheel
counting the days til the rains come
til all the boxes are packed
til the move is made and
Life forever shifted
impatient, with some
small anxiety, the level drops slowly
the infilling liquid
transparent
July 4, 1999
Intricately feared
Excruciatingly weird
surface, deep changes.
I fear for the cats,
Freddie’s cool place in the weeds.
What about my needs?
Overwhelming chores,
irrevocably closed doors
heart softened sighs, stirs.
I dread all the work
boxes and identities
to pack and change.
July 8, 1999
Too much coffee,
bun hurting head,
strange, high pitch buzz,
life grating on my nerves
daughter Not getting up
frustrated at circumstance,
I’d better go get boxes.
REGRETS
I watch his face and gaze
ponder, dream and look to watch its changing phase
to still my heart
when he is far, and gone, and not.
I float, a dust mote,
in a shaft of moonlight
knashing, flailing,
wailing, railing
against his position of omission...
how we thwart our lives.
I awoke to dreams of an abandoned gorilla
my ward, who at least spoke conversational English,
and of postmodern cityscapes.
Feeling somewhat anxious I had to remind myself to be delighted
at the peach glow on Mt. Elden rocks
at the taste of honey in my morning tea
at my new home, at my family, my Self
and as I was composing this poem
walking the dogs around Marshall Lake
I remembered to be delighted at the marsh grass blowing bamboo tatoo
in the relentless March wind,
at the bold chirps of the sandpipers,
at the Airdale's glee at rolling in the dried winter grass, and cow dung,
typing this I am delighted at the cat's purr and the quiet at day's end.
Stamping her foot,
She looks around for something to beat, throw, punch,
That won't hurt a thing of course, or her rag doll which had been first choice.
So she kick together a big body of leaves,
And out in the middle of the woods, stamps them, pounds on them and
