fallible human
you must remain fillable
no more ill fable

a triolet
with thanks to the heron
Every morning, at the corner of the pond
when I see the huddled heron
it calls my hunkered heart to respond.
Every morning, at the corner of the pond
with a wave of nature’s reflective wand
my muddled spirit is less bleak, less barren…
every morning, at the corner of the pond
when I see the huddled heron.

Grey Heron. PapaPiper. CC BY-ND 2.0.
A heron is, in short, a symbol that all shall be well
History believed in your magic power
Object of healing and deliverance from evil
Legend made you a crown for Saturn’s brow
Lore of Druids: tree of eternal life, that lightning won’t strike
Yuletide of yore endures

The holly tree was believed to have eternal life as it remained green in winter when other trees appeared to die. It is a symbol of endurance. This lovely specimen grows by the playground of the school where I work. Stuff of ancient legends and lore aside, its merry, festive appearance is a spirit-lifter here on the cusp of winter break…
a triolet for my grandmother
Come December, I’m remembering you
in the lights and silent night
—how years, like snow and feathers, flew—
Come December, I’m remembering you
at sight of ruby-red cardinals, too.
On the wings of the morning, all is bright…
come December, I’m remembering you
in the lights and silent night.

December is my grandmother’s month. She was born the day after Christmas, was married in the middle of the month at age 20, and died the day before Christmas Eve, at 90. She loved the season, children, cardinals, and the color red, symbolic of her name: Ruby. “Silent Night” was her favorite carol; whenever I hear it, she is near. Her home place and resting place are in the outskirts of a rural town named for the dawn… “on the wings of the morning” is borrowed from my favorite Psalm, 139, a hymn to the omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence of God.
The cardinal ornament in the photo was a gift from a friend yesterday. I hung it on the tree last night after choir practice with the kids at church. They’re singing “Silent Night” in the worship service on Sunday.
Grandma, you would love it all.
Sleep in heavenly peace.
The day dawns dark
with sheeting rain
a magnetic pull
to sleep again
increased water vapor
stealing oxygen
from the brain
a day of rest
oh let it reign

This day, every day
Holy in its own way
Abundance immeasurable
New mercies pleasurable
Keeping mindful of blessings
For living, for giving
Until the final ingathering
Let me not cease to give thanks

Drawing by Scout, age 6
Thanksgiving blessings to all
with thanks to Tammi Belko, host of today’s Ethical ELA Open Write. Tammi invited participants to take a personality color test and to write an “I am” poem based on the color results and their traits.
I took the test. I began to write a series of “I am” stanzas when the poem went running off in its own direction…
True Color
I am
the three bands
on the ring finger
of my left hand:
one worn by
my grandmother
engraved with
her initials
and my grandfather’s
alongside
their wedding date:
December 12, 1936
(the day after
Edward abdicated
for Wallis)
one worn by
my mother-in-law
a 1953 engagement
between a widow
and a widower
with two children each
with the long reach
of duty in Korea
calling
one given
to me
on the day
I married
thirty-seven years
two sons
and two granddaughters
ago…
a poet
named after
fleeting morning ice
may say
nothing gold
can stay
but I endure
because
that is what love does
like many before me
I am gold
*******

Interesting…
with thanks to Katrina Morrison, host of Ethical ELA’s Tuesday Open Write. Katrina writes: “The worlds of art and poetry meet in the ekphrastic poem. Whether you are viewing an original work in a museum or viewing it virtually, describing it through poetry is the definition of ekphrastic poetry.” Poet Ada Limón shares this reflection in The Slowdown podcast 780: “One of the things I love about art is how we bring ourselves to whatever it is we are experiencing. Whether we want to or not, we see ourselves in the film, the poem, the painting, the song.”
I write of the artwork that came to mind first; I was not the first to see myself in it…
Ripe Tomatoes
Long ago
your father
gave me a card
with a painting
of a woman
in a long white chemise
holding a basket
of ripe tomatoes
in her thin arms
her body is curved
toward the child
at her feet
an overall-clad boy
with a mass
of sunlit curls
atop his head
bent in eating
a tomato
straight from the vine
your father said
the painting
so reminded him
of you
and me
your curls
were black
of course
instead of gold
and I was never
a gardener
yet I can smell
the tangy greenness
of tomato plants
as the summer sun
beats down
over the rolling hills
and old barns
and tall yellowing grasses
rippling in the wind
could be a scene
from around
the bend
even now
I feel the
warm tomato skins
under my hand
as I think
of the abundance
I have been given
—take, eat,
my summer child
of the bounty
of the vine
so deeply rooted
so long ago
and know
love never ceases
to preserve
transcend
and grow

“Ripe Tomatoes.” Robert Duncan.
with thanks to Kim Johnson for the inspiration on Ethical ELA’s Open Write today. Kim offers the monostitch form: “a strong sense of connection between a title and a poem of one line inspires the writer to consider the relationship between the title and the word.”
And so I share an observation from today…
Heaven’s So Near
Little girl sings The cattle are lowing…preacher-Grandpa’s face is streaked with tears.

Here’s a two-line version, for good measure:
Heaven is Near
Little girl plays in the floor, singing so pure, so clear: The cattle are lowing…
Preacher-man Grandpa rests in his recliner, listening, face streaked with tears.
In my recent reading
I have encountered
the duality
of slow…
educators know
DEVOLSON:
Dark
Evil
Vortex
Of
Late
September
October
November
a mysterious force
an epicenter
impacting
gravity,
functionality
(=dark matter:
a nonluminous material
causing several effects
in space)
yet in my reading
I also stumble
across the word
Slowvember:
an admonishment
an acknowledgement
that one cannot possibly
do all the things
well
so one might as well
choose to act
vs. being acted upon
a recognition
a submission
a slowing of the pace
even at the edge
of holidays
brimming
glimmering
they are,
after all,
celebrations
of light
(=holy-days)
allow me
an antidote
in an anagram
or two:
DEVOLSON…
Solved? No.
Do novels.
Carve the time
vs. letting it
carve you
nourish
your inner light
it is only flickering
not snuffed
enough is enough
-evil? No.
A divine pull
to the gift
of slow.

slow down, slow down, slow… Victor Bezrukov. CC BY-NC 2.0.
with thanks to Chris Margocs for the DEVOLSON inspiration