Seeking Shade

When I walked in the sun this afternoon, I felt it’s heated warmth 

and sought the filtered shade of even the thinnest branch. The 

shade of a building, a large rectangle that spilled onto the 

street, was an improvement,

but to cross walk on the pavement 

there was not even a sliver of shade. 

A warm wind ruffled my hair and 

cooled my skin. Riding the bus in air-conditioned comfort 

my quick errand was accomplished. 

Returning home, I repeated the dance of 

seeking shade that ended with a cold drink of water.

“Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.”

~ Russell Baker, writer

In the Quiet

In the quiet of the evening 

it is possible to conjure up 

all manner of 

troubles and worries 

just as 

it is possible to conjure up 

all manner of blessings and joys

To choose which of these is good, 

is seldom difficult 

when we set such a choice in front of us.

“I was quiet, but I was not blind.”

~ Jane Austen,  Mansfield Park

Where is The Poetry?

Where is the poetry in today?

A hot, muggy day filled with banking, 

groceries, pet supplies, 

hair care needs, 

bus rides to and fro. 

to be greeted by the cheerful bank teller; to see students and grandmothers; parents with their children or wee ones in strollers; moving around the city, 

it is too easy for me to be 

critical of how people walk or talk; 

picking at the minutia flowing all around me; a Babel of languages rippling through the hot afternoon.

to feel the kindness of the young man 

who called out from his bicycle: “Be careful” 

when I crossed the street;

seeing the tiredness on the face

of the young mother next to me on the bus,

to hear the laughing chatter of teenagers 

in their last days of summer before school.

This is the poetry of the city.

“Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.”

~ Charles Bukowski, poet, novelist, writer

(1920 - 1994)

The World of the Prairies 3

 

In spring, give me a church 

made entirely of tender green leaves and blossoms 

of pink and white; 

grey-white blankets of 

cloud let the land drink deep 

while winds threaten to strip the trees of their beauty 

geese raucously announce their homecoming, 

settling on lakes and rivers to grow their flocks.

Yet it is a gentle, growing season ~ I stay outside 

on my veranda to watch and listen 

as spring wakens us all.

“Is the spring coming?” He said. “What is it like?”

“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…”

~ Frances Hodgson Burnett,  The Secret Garden

Give me a church made entirely of ….. from the poem Sea Church by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

*Author’s note: and after winter comes spring…….

The World of the Prairie ~ 2

And in winter 

give me a church made entirely of 

crystalline ice and snow while I bundle 

in fleece and down coats 

to feel the sting and burn 

of cold on my cheeks.

To flop in the snow 

to sculpt snow angels 

To push against a fierce wind 

to get to the rink only to 

hear the crisp and slice 

of skates on freshly flooded ice

To catch snowflakes on my tongue

And then to run into the warmth 

of my mother’s kitchen for 

hot chocolate and cinnamon toast.

“There was nothing so real on the prairie as winter, nothing so memorable.”

~ Martha Ostenso, novelist

(1900 ~ 1963)

Give me a church made entirely of ….. from the poem Sea Church by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

*Author's note: A wintery reprieve from the heat of summer!

The World of the Prairies

Give me a church made entirely of prairie grasses with 

wheat fields of green, 

flax fields of purple blue,

mustard fields of yellow. 

In that church under 

the broad blue sky 

I can see forever. 

Should a storm come upon me, I can see billowing, bubbling thunder clouds rise up over the horizon. 

Should lightening fork 

to the ground or 

spread a sheet over 

slate grey clouds 

I can run in to the shelter of 

my childhood verandah. 

Then I can still be part of that 

church that is the world of the prairies.

“She liked the enormous sky and the winds, and the land that you 

couldn’t see to the end of. Everything was so free and big and splendid.”

~ Laura Ingalls Wilder,

From Little House on the Prairie

“Give me a church made entirely of ….." 

~ from the poem Sea Church by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Before the Photo Op

Before the photo op

bees bumbled and stumbled 

drunk on pollen

never staying long

on to the next flower

once ~ 

  twice ~ 

    thrice ~

til the camera was put away.

I grumbled and walked on.

“Where there are bees there are flowers, and wherever 

there are flowers there is new  life and hope.”

~ Christy Lefteri, The Beekeeper of Aleppo