Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

Posts tagged ‘reflections’

Crow Code

The crow comes to the high tree across the way
and talks to me in code
two caws, three caws, seven, then two
I don’t know what he’s saying
but I respond
my ragged awks less resonant

and yet
he answers me
fluffing his black feathers
spreading his dark wings
upping the ante
with a longer call pattern

Today it was just one caw
one after another
and he only went to two
when I gave him two of my awkward calls

When I came inside he flew away
and I wonder what we have spoken of
what he believes of me
from our conversations
bird and woman
perched across the street from each other
in the spring sunshine

3-23-17 © RCGA

crowtree

For Livi

On the days that I sat by you
watching your fingers fly
on the calculator keys
you told me stories

I marveled that a woman
so tiny
so beautiful
had survived things
my imagination recoiled from
when only a child

There was hunger
and frostbite
there were nights with no bed
there was fear
there was loss
there were nightmares when sleep came
and all your family gone

Yet, here you were
a butterfly
an angel
your wings still full
and spread to embrace
everyone
and all life’s joys

I learned more from you
than how to add numbers
on those mornings

I witnessed the embodiment
of grace
and felt humbled
in its brightness

(c) RCGA
For Livia Gal, survivor of the Holocaust in Budapest and Hungary.

pinkbutterfly

Poets, Prophets, & Healers

The poets, the prophets, the healers.
So many have left us, it’s time to arise;
to dance in the streets
and to pull back the curtains,
to follow the dove where she flies.
If our hearts are broken, then love is the mending,
the way out of darkness is light…
come out from the shadows, and bring all your candles,
we’ve got work to do on this night.
Fling wide your eyes, and your minds, and your lips,
be the change, be the peace, be the goals…
for everyone’s longing for poets and prophets
and healers to speak to their souls.
(c) 2016 RCGAbigstock-candle-in-a-hand-19600874

Listen

Girl-Looking-At-The-Sun-At-SunriseLet me tell you something, people
Let me tell you something

You may think that it is trite to say
that you reap what you sow
because in this life you don’t always
get what you deserve
for good or ill…
yes, that is true

such a truth

Yet, let me tell you something
something important

Every time you send out hate
every time you act on that hate
with your mind, with your words
with your hands

you destroy a little piece of the world
and your soul

Someday there will be nothing left
of the former
someday you will be dust
and your soul

your soul will mourn

because you didn’t choose love
because you chose the straight path
that was easy and indulgent
because you turned your back on forgiveness
and wallowed in your righteousness
poisoning the well
we all have to drink from

Let me tell you something, people
Let me tell you something

It is not easy to sow kindness in this world
but it is the only harvest
you should want to reap and share
so plant it
plant it everywhere
some of it will grow
some of it will

RCGA 2016

Dear Janet

Dear Janet:
Writing you on the other side
to say that
I wish I could lie on your table again
and have you tell me
the same thing
you did before:

Remember a time that you failed.

I was young then, Janet
I was so green and full of hubris
I did not want to fail
and had worked hard
not to ever be seen as a failure

Pride.
Pride in the spring
before the long summer
Pride when the flowers blossom
ignoring the inevitability
of the petals falling away

Yes, I have failed, Janet
many times now
I have fallen and gotten up
over and over
as the weight of experience and years
piled onto my shoulders
and I chose a rocky path
or tripped on my own feet

The buds crested,
their full perfume a memory now
but there has been fruit
something to sustain me in the harvest
and hopefully, Janet
the seeds I preserve
will weather the winter
so I can share them
before I am part of the loam.

I am learning, Janet
I am learning that failure
as you said
means I am reaching farther
than the safety
of trying to be perfect
I am trying harder
to grow.

(c) RCGA 2016

This is my 200th post here.

For Janet Mentgen, RN and Healing Touch mentor, who passed in 2005.

Healing-Touch-Janet M

Ode to the Red Wasp in the Curtains

I hear your buzzing, and it drives me mad,
that soft, incessant humming that you do;
though you are not my enemy (I’m glad),
I’m still tempted to hit you with my shoe.
But I’m resolved to let your buzzing be
(Ha, did you catch that… bee? You are not one)
live and let live as long as there’s no stings.
You really push my human frailty
droning against my window in the sun
fabric chuffing on your beating wings.

I opened up the window for you twice
and shooed you towards it; but you clung there, staid
red body pushed against the glass, a vice
too stubborn to escape when you were bade.
What festers in that tiny brain of yours
that keeps you in, but beats against the wall,
unable to take freedom freely shown,
yet constantly seeks to be out of doors?
Wee russet warrior, you are very small
yet fierce determined, tap, and chuff, and drone.

I could just redPaperWaspcapture you and set you free
against your will into the sultry air;
but it’s become a test twixt you and me,
and giving in just doesn’t seem quite fair.
So I will sit, and listen to your hum
two feet away from a wide open door,
and contemplate the qualities of glass
and wonder what’s made my ambitions numb,
that I do not push boundaries like before,
but seek the least resistant route bypass.

(c) RCGA 2016

Μή μου ἅπτου (Noli me tangere)

Early in the morning
on the day after the sabbath
I went to where you lay
in a garden sepulchre
cold wet with dew

but you weren’t there
the tomb was open
the scent of myrrh still sharp
wafting from the stones

I couldn’t comprehend
why after all that had happened
this simple thing
all that I asked for
to be by your side a while
before that long forever
of separation

was taken away

why you were taken away
or by whom

Perhaps I had jumped to conclusions
maybe my faith was, after all
too small
but I had seen you gasp your last
release your spirit
lie pale in your mother’s arms

I had stood by your body
and bathed the blood and dirt away
anointed you a final time
as I’d poured the spikenard on your feet
brushed your hair back from your still features
wrapped you in linen

Those men, so bright
asked me why I was weeping
asked me who I was seeking
asked me…
didn’t they understand?

It wasn’t until I saw you
and even then, I didn’t dare believe

No, I couldn’t grasp the wholeness of it
until you said my name

You were as bright as they were

and I couldn’t stop crying

Teacher
Teacher

In every conversation we ever had
you reminded me this would happen
and yet somewhere in my heart
I didn’t know the truth of it
that your death
was not the end of the story

and I shouldn’t cling to you
in that way

Instead you sent me off
from the city of the dead
to the places of the living
to tell the others
the prophecies
were fulfilled in full

I am just a woman
who has followed you
basking in your wisdom

I am just a woman
who has been blessed beyond measure
to testify that one morning
I went to visit you in your grave
and instead saw you risen from it
accompanied
by angels

alonso-cano-noli-me-tangere

Alonso Cano: Noli me tangere

3-27-16 (Easter) (c) RCGA

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