Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

Posts tagged ‘reflections’

White Wing Owl

How can it be,
brother of dragons
and companion of owls,
that here I am
a noisy, dark-plumed bird
still spinning in the sky
around your memory?
I recall your amber eye,
the tilt of your head
against the blue,
the smell of your sweat
in the sea breeze
intoxicatingly familiar.
We shared the wind.
There were no excuses
for our fealty
as it happened such a way
we did not notice it,
until the hope surrounded us,
and we belonged;
the swirl of yin and yang,
a little of you in me,
a bit of me in you,
around in the blinking sunlight
until you disappeared.

(c) RCGA 2018Snowy Owl and Crow

For Mani: 5-30-49 — 5-1-08

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Wanderlust

It has been too long since I have seen

an ocean wave, a mountain peak;

it has been too long since I have gazed

upon a vista’s raw mystique

and felt my soul lift in my breast

in joy and ardor, finding rest

amidst the raw and gravid plains,

or out amongst the ruddy rocks,

upon a high place, valley spread

before me, full of grazing flocks.

It has been too long, and I must go,

because my spirit tells me so.

 

© RCGA 2018

antique compass

Riesling and Raisinets

The sound of bombs is thunder;

and as a storm front passes

I am medicating my nerves

with chocolate-covered raisins

and wine,

to distract myself from the thrumming rain

on the rooftop,

and the steady pinging of tweets

susurrating Syria.

The cats, of course, are ignorant,

and blissful, in that state,

spotlight eyes blinking slowly,

so that I imagine, for now,

in my grape and cacao cloud,

that they represent the public mind,

concerned only for their dinner

and a dark spot to nap,

somnambulant, belly-full of false advertising,

unaware of any dogs at all

outside their immediate purr-view,

much less ones that are wagged

by their own tails.

(c) RCGA, 2018

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Tornado Warning

I have been out of pocket for a while; the writing Muse has been hibernating, I’ve had the flu twice and a few other assorted winter maladies. I am brainsore, even as the end of Lent approaches, and Alleluia is dusted off from its forty days in retirement. Spring emerges early here, hectic and wet, and a geriatric cat came to live with the familiar and I following the passing of her person. Somehow I keep breathing, and talking to ghosts, staring into the centers of flowers and exorcising demons by exercising my wrists with paintbrushes. My steam-powered heart keeps thumping, and the bellows of my lungs heave with regularity. I assume this means I am still alive, whatever the reports have been to the contrary.

Last night there was a strange dog

in the neighborhood,

and frightened by the midnight train,

or thunder,

he bayed relentlessly against the thud and boom,

then fell silent at the sound

of the emergency god’s paternal voice

proclaiming all was well.

This morning,

heavy-headed,

I wondered at his smothered frenzy,

at how easily quiescent the most feral falls

listening to father.

In the daylight those that huddled down

pretended nothing happened;

a crow displayed glistening wings to the sun

high in a budding treetop,

and dropped a broken strand of plastic beads

onto the muddy sidewalk.

 

RCGA 2018

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
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