Without Definition

Trust is without definition. 

It is the colour of water 

   in its vastness, 

iron grey ~

  troubled by rain clouds or 

clear blue ~ reflecting 

   sun and moving cloud, 

shades of green ~

   at the shoreline where trees 

  bend to caress the water,

~ or capped by lacy froth 

       on a windy day.

Our only definition grows 

  from the details of our lives

lessons from those we grew up with until 

  our own definition blossoms 

a definition that is confident and sure.

But trust remains without definition and 

  yet with a form we feel in our gut.

“To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. 

When you swim you don’t grab hold of the water, 

because if you do you will sink and drown. 

Instead you relax, and float.”

~ Alan Wilson Watts, British philosopher

(1915 - 1973)

In the Light of Day

In early morning, 

  when fear sets in 

   

shrouding 

  the colour of the day 

  

in blackened shades of grey, 

    I find my feet, 

   

plant them carefully 

  on the slippery base of fear 

 

that drains away 

   in the light of day.

“Fear doesn’t shut you down; it wakes you up.”

~ Veronica, Divergent

Things I Did Understand

Things I did understand ~

questions unanswered 

asking why of no use because 

the answer was ‘because’ 

But when those ideas floated away 

I understood crayons, 

cartoon shapes to colour, 

dresses to cut out with the little tabs

Then I could

design ball gowns

for paper dolls

colour inside the lines

just right for this little girl 

bright crayons within my reach

What I understood was that 

I didn’t need to know any more 

than what the next picture needed, 

which doll I should cut out.

But I filled expectations, 

like setting the table for a meal, 

practicing piano or 

getting cleaned up for church, 

going to school. 

I did understand that I was ‘growing up’ 

but didn’t know that meant 

more than how tall I was.

Today in retirement I am still ‘growing up.’

“If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older.”

~ Tom Stoppard

(English dramatist)

A Yellow Fire Hydrant

I didn’t notice the exact date or year that fire hydrants turned 

yellow from red. 

Nothing that drew my attention when 

kids needed to get to baseball, 

or the groceries needed putting away, 

or bills were stacking up or work schedules interfered with street life.

One evening, 

I sat across from this stolid guy, 

his paint crumbling, 

marked up around the top.

Time to ponder this deep question.

It’s been since the 1950’s! 

At home, I looked it up.

Why? 

A perennial question for a child; 

a question I keep for such occasions

No answer was forthcoming, 

it just squatted there, 

little arms awaiting fire hoses.

Again, at home I looked it up.

Yellow is more visible to fire fighters than red!

Simple, logical and now I can rest my tired brain. 

“A fire hydrant is not something you 

want to lose, especially in an emergency.”

~ Shannon Wiersbitzky, What Flowers Remember

The Whole Show

Damn! I missed the Oscars. 

Entertainers entertaining us

and themselves. More than 

that they are honouring each 

other past and present. The 

glittering gowns and colourful 

ensembles are attractions, 

but it pleases me to hear the tributes, and gratitude poured out lavishly. Not just for the actors that work to entertain us all, but the people behind the cameras, lights and costuming; 

directing, cinematography, set design, writers and musical scores; Honoured as well are those that have passed in 

the previous year from all departments 

behind the making of films throughout their careers. 

The dark threads of cynicism and politics 

weave its way through the glitter and gratitude. 

A bitter sweet part of the whole show.

“We must find time to stop and thank the 

people who make a difference to our lives.”

~ John F. Kennedy

Along the Fence Line

Along the fence line 

between day and night, 

the minutes and moments 

of the day drift and pile up 

against each other til 

they brush through  

to ripple and colour

the landscape of dreams.

“For what one has dwelt on by day, 

these things he sees in visions of the night.”

~ Menander (c.342 ~c.292 BCE)

Translated by Francis G. Allinson 1921

Red Things

Red things, 

things that sparkle with memory, 

Christmas mugs ~ 

the porcelain one with a Santa or 

the big bellied one for hot chocolate, 

satiny slippers and fuzzy pyjamas

snowmen with red scarfs 

and holly tucked in the hat band

shiny red balls with gold trim 

candles, squat and round 

a delicate glass reindeer on the tree

a cheerful gnome in long winter cap!

“Remembrance, like a candle, burns brightest at Christmastime.”

~ Charles Dickens

Blue Sky Poetry

Azure or cobalt,

sapphire or royal

Wrap around our world blue

save for errant clouds hiding 

in mountains and forests

or traveling carpets of water 

off to parts unknown....

Today at the bus stop I had time to look. 

The clear blue sky, leafless trees reaching 

into the void. Tall office buildings, straight edged, 

diminished by the grandeur of the sky, 

mere cutouts on the ball of dust that we stand on.

The magnitude of the morning sky 

and our tiny lives was not lost on me. 

We have it all arranged in roads and sidewalks, 

squared off fields and plantings. 

The night time sky shows only a hint 

of the myriad of planets, stars and galaxies 

that spin and revolve in the space past the sky

We discuss and plan, build and tear down 

but in the end the beautiful sky is over us all.

“I never get tired of the blue sky.”

~ Vincent van Gogh