Sunday, November 28, 2010

The Fight for Light and Night

Cirrus cloisters, stratus strips,
Fomenting fogs with blacking kits.
Scowling shadows, hoary hinges,
Like savages on drunken binges.
Barb’rous troops, annihilating;
Ghoulish gargoyles, regurgitating.

Puffed up paunches of nimbus naughties,
Wasted wantons, woolpack haughties,
Nebulous nymphs, cumulus hustlers —
Seek revenge and flex their muscles.

Spirited scuds of nautical speed
Shoving and pushing. Nasty indeed.
And the twisting pursuit of a funnel turbine
Wraps all unapparent that won’t fit in this rhyme.

Oh, ‘tis a sturdy force discharging the night,
Against the campaign of that last arc of light.
Victory, too soon, comes to the stronger—
‘Twould be a grand thing if the fight could last longer.

But, ‘No! — all too soon — the death of the day
A brutal fight? — Yes.
But one lovely fray!’

NOTE: Admittedly this poem is a bit rough in spots, but come-on-now, I was writing it in the midst of a battle. All that aside any editing suggestions to smooth the rough spots would be most welcome.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Winter Garden

Winter gardens...what a sight!
Respectful, subservient,
Humble, contrite.
With textures softened and
Colors subdued
An invitation to
Coffee-tea-hues –
That’s how we like it –
Gently steeped and infused
And delicately splashed
With pastel winter blues.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Sky Ways 2.


Trespass again; disguise of night
Lift your shadows to hide the light
Night after day, ‘tis totally trite
Yet, I can’t look away.

Seems that other regions pass
Day is shattered like shivered glass
Monsters appear from a dark crevasse
Yet, I can’t look away.

Purgatory –– there’s its bluff
Paradise — in golden rough
Sacred hills — newly stuffed
I can’t look away.

Woolly fold and sculptured frieze
With honeyed middle interleaved
Replete with soul-thought in the weave
I can’t look away.

On hallowed hillock; a golden pillow
And near-to-by –– a burning willow
Waves of glory, seas that billow
I can’t look away.

Now the night is in full bloom
Hung up high –– a silvery moon
Heart-swell for loves who want to
–– I look away.

NOTE: What can I say about this poem except when Pauline told me my inspiration to write sky poems was a “brave” endeavor, I broadly interpreted that as a challenge and immediately snapped another sky photo and grabbed my poetry stylus.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Sky Ways 1.

Pastel origami
Inter-folds of
Withered and prostrated.

Breathless tide
In a river lock
Without perfume of
Tangle, or wrack

Fermented rills of foam
Agitate the borders of
A sandwiched abstraction.

Painted in frolic
By a terrestrial artist—
With medium of
Atmospheric suspension,
And a soft brush of light.

NOTE: This poem (and my previous post), gave me an inspiration to try to write a Sky Poem once a week inspired by some changing cloud formation. But to be totally honest, my inspirations, though passionate initially, are usually short-lived (and I no longer do commitments). Still…who knows?

Want to join me?

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Moving Mountains

I still remember how fascinated I was the day my Mother talked to me about faith that could move mountains. She who knew all things, believed all things, hoped all things, endured all things – my mom – told me that if one had enough faith, one could say to the mountain, “Be thou moved, and it will be moved.”

I was about seven years old at the time and that was pretty impressive stuff but coming from my Mother it was not to be doubted. Not for one brief moment.

But there were a few hitches. To start with there was a lot of stuff about readiness to give such a command. You know, stuff like faith. Not superficial faith, but real deep-seated-without-a-doubt faith. And of course one had to be humble. And one had to love God more than life itself. Oh, and that faith, had to be so good that you were praising God for moving the mountain before he moved it.

So I totally geared up for all that. Broke no commandments for over a week. Stole no cookies. Was excessively kind. Prayed without ceasing. Chanted faith into my mind to sink it deeply and solidly into my being. Then I looked out on the landscape at the big hill far away on the horizon and said to God, “I want that mountain moved. Please move it.”

It didn’t move. A few days later I said to my Mother, “That hill over there. I asked God to move it. I believed he would move it, but he didn’t.”

Then came the excuses that always come when people want to believe there is no conflict in their convictions, and no falsehoods in their beliefs.

To my dismay this is why God did not move the mountain according to my Mother. I lacked sufficient faith. It was my desire, but perhaps God saw no purpose in it. Oh yes, I almost forgot. There is a time factor when you pray for something. God answers prayer but in his own way, in his own time. And if my longing to move the mountain stemmed from a sense of power or pride, it of course would not happen.

But it should have happened. I was humble, seeking, contrite, prayerful, and exercising faith that I had never had before or have ever had since. And that mountain did not even tremble.

Anyway, children being what children are, the attempt to move that mountain was a radical disappointment and truly puzzling.

I eventually forgot about it, dismissed the situation as no fault on God’s side. Obviously, some flaw in myself caused the request to fail even though all my intensive internal inspection revealed nothing more that I could do. Which only furthered my confusion because I had also begged during my readiness period for forgiveness for any impure thoughts or unkind acts that I might have committed unwittingly.

Now when I was a child I lived way in the North Country of this area and the mountain, or rather very large hill I commanded to move was visible at a great distance from our home. I now live in the Far Western Part of this area, a goodly distance from my childhood home. This is flat country, there are no grand hills here.

Now yesterday, late afternoon, I was out on my deck and I looked out across the landscape, and you’ll never guess what I saw. My mountain had been moved. It was across the field looming on the landscape in my back yard. I examined it closely. Yes, this is the same hill. It has the same contours, the same shadows, the same shape, and boundaries.

Mother had said God would pick his own time. Who would have ever thought it would be some fifty years later? But I needed a miracle today and I got one. The mountain I commanded to move so long ago, was moved.

Hub and I woke up a bit dismal the other day. We laugh today, we laughed yesterday. My neighbour laughed as well. We laugh, we find joy, because the mountain did move. It absolutely did. And just in case you don’t believe me, here is the proof. See it for yourselves.

This is the usual appearance of the landscape from my deck.

And my mountain -- the one I commanded to be moved!