Frog Buddha and Lawrence Welk

Frog Buddha
Frog Buddha and Lawrence Welk

Feeling
stuck in the mud today
just staring outside
unmoving
and unmoved
not even the smiling Frog Buddha
with a lap full of snow
or the ‘50s fashions of the Lawrence Welk show
can shake me out of this funk.

I tried snowshoeing,
homemade chocolate milk,
tall taper candles,
and watching the deer
yet nothing sparks me.

Frog Buddha
give me trust
that all paths go in the right direction,
that I am never on my own
or alone
That I am loved
and that happiness is always the best choice.

Maybe I should learn to tap dance,
listen to big band
and pursue the creative life

Lawrence Welk’s snappy music
is beginning to help,
the glass of red wine doesn’t hurt either
and the sun going down,
farm lights glowing in the gloaming
are warming me.

My spirit will not be denied.
A softer time is coming.
A time of simplicity
of touch
of love
and happiness bubbling
like the best champagne.
Frog Buddha is right to smile.

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Hope for snow

Hope for snow
Hope for snow

The high full moon
small and tight
in the puckered snowless sky.
Winter is slow coming this year
cracking only for a bit of Christmas snow.

Hope for a December lion,
a fresh, fierce tempest
to burst us out of the doldrums
and into a new year of adventure.

Adventure to explore the attic,
the cramped dark storage places
to confront fears,
to throw out old stories
to look for unused treasure and talents.

Adventure to explore beyond the yard,
beyond familiar ground
to find inspiration and courage,
courage to follow dreams
courage to flow with bliss.

So, hope for snow
to carry us into the New Year,
to carry us far
and remake the dull spots
into something grander,
something worthy of this one bright life.

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Angel tree

Angel tree Christmas 2015
Angle tree
Christmas 2015

Angels made of lace, satin, corn husk, gingham, and paper
cascade down the incline of the flocked tree.
They hover with fingerless wings
framing their painted smiles,
earless heads,
and eyes of black dots and string knots

Because angels see, not through their senses,
but through their halos.
They feel, not through fingers,
but through their wings.

Their halos look up to the tree top
open unending circles
allowing the light of the star
to wash down over their angel bodies.

Angels touch the pine branches through their wings
feeling the subtle flow of air and breath,
feeling the organic cycle of growth and death.

We too can feel through our wings and our halos,
see the divine light of good
and feel the flow of nature,
the flow of our seasons.
We too are creatures connecting the stars and the earth.
We, as angles, are the stuff between,
a heavenly spirit
housed in an earthly body
shedding the white light
on the shadows of this human life.

Go forth this Christmas season
with an angel’s heart
full of love, light, and goodness
sharing loving-kindness with those we meet
for we are all angels.

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Rules to observe for a good birthday

rules for a good birthday
Rules to observe for a good birthday
My 47th birthday

Never, never go to work.
Open your eyes to see the sunrise
but sleep-in to a luxurious time.

Be selfish
Spend time only with those you love
including some time with yourself.

Plan ahead.
Birthdays are not just one day
so many mini celebrations are in order.

There must always be cake
or lemon meringue pie
and a glass of something with bubbles.

Fashion rules do not apply
so wear your most comfy,
tacky, worn out jammie pants,
a soft fleece, and big scrunchie socks.

Listen to happy music,
wind chimes,
song birds,
the breeze in the trees
or the soft, tapping rain.

Remember today is a tribute.
Be grateful for the people your life touches
and the gifts you bring to the world,
gifts of love, art, engineering,
healing, laughter, industriousness,
and compassion.

Happy birthday to you
and many more!!

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Milkweed fluff

milkweed fluff
Milkweed fluff

Perfect seeds
ordered and sleeping
waiting in a pod
a pod like two hands cupped together
made of weathered barn wood
facing the wind.

Wind teases out the lightly knitted fluff
unravelling as they lift and float
like woodland pixies
carrying their flame seed
spreading the kernel of life.

I pick one up like a daddy long legs
and settle it in the palm of my hand.
The fluff is soft as wisps on a newborn’s crown
and the seed is marked intricately as a spider’s back.

I set it free with my breath.
As it lofts and drifts across the creek,
I set to dreaming
dreaming of this country life
with time for an herb garden, apple trees, and pumpkin pies.
Time to watch fox pups and spotted fawns and bright full moons
and time to walk along the creek picking cattails and milkweed.

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Dreary Day

Dreary day
Dreary day

I love a dreary day,
the muted trees
sketched in charcoal
against the blank canvas sky
Nearer our window
than those hoppy blue skies.
Today’s sky is soft,
watered-down white,
shrink wrapped around our country house
like a boat ready for winter storage.

It’s like Mother Nature
stayed in bed today
rocking gently
to the ticking drip off the eves
Her breath is slight
her rhythm slow,
Her arms are folded together
under fresh washed sheets…
dozing.

I think I’ll linger as well
listening to the sleeping
breath of my Love,
letting lazy thoughts
wander through my
blank canvas mind
and sketching a rough poem

in a little black notebook.

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Night lightning

Night lightning

The lightning had to tap three times
to crack the sky.
It whipped again
lighting the windows
like a popping light bulb.
Then the rain made a push,
bearing down on the house
tossing a bucket of water.
The torrent was thrilling.
Mother Nature giving us a show of muscle,
not threatening
but more braggadocios.
Then she’d laugh a throaty, rumbling laugh.

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