Feather Quills

When the sun sinks into the sea

–a candle snuffed out suddenly–

the silhouettes of palm trees darken

against the fading colours of the sky.

Their leaves become black as crow feathers–

old-fashioned feather quills

writing poetry upon the earth’s dome

among the shooting stars.

My brother Winston took this pic of our brother Monti’s back yard.

Island Lullaby

In Hawaii, the sun sinks into the sea

like a burning golden coin–

you can actually watch it slip below the surface.

The clouds show off their colours:

peachy orange and cotton candy pink,

dark grey accentuated by strips of shining gold.

After it’s done, the sunset hurrah,

deep darkness falls quickly.

The winding island roads are bathed in blackness.

Everything fades away except ohana, family,

the small circle of warmth

around you and and your loved ones,

sipping wine and sharing stories.

With no streetlights to prolong the day,

it soon feels so late and sleepy.

Bed beckons after a day on the beach.

You’re ready for the windy palm tree lullaby,

that endless rustling of phantom rain

that is simply leaves swaying in the starlight.

The crickets convince you to close your eyes and listen.

“Be soothed, be soothed,” they sing.

“Soon enough the sun will return…

rooster will be sure to let you know.

Early and often he will call:

‘Get up! Get up! A new adventure begins!’ ”

The snow lies still

The snow lies still upon the rooftops.

From a few houses

smoke rises in a misty haze

and the streetlights blaze

like midnight suns.

All is silent

except the steady breathing of my toddler

whom I’m rocking back to sleep.

In the upper bedroom

across the street

insomnia reigns

and the blue lights of the television

flash out a noiseless dance.

But the snow lies still upon the rooftops

and silence greets my sleepy glance outside.

The Persistant Insomniac

Late at night

her eyes are wide open

as two full moons

beaming out in the dark.

Inside fires burn

flames flicker and refuse

the stillness of sleep.

 

She gets up

grabs her book

a sweater

a snack

and keeps a late night kitchen vigil

with insomnia…

–this date with quiet–

delicious silent solitude.

 

She feeds her soul

with bread and words,

then rubs her fingers together,

lights the surrounding gloom with sparks

and writes fire!

Contemplation by Moonlight

Outside the moon smiles lopsided

ever laughing, ever the same

despite my foibles, my losses

my little tragedies and defeats,

the moon continues in it’s ever changing sameness,

shining down like a flashlight 

from eternity,

each difference but a dance with shadows.

And while sirens blare 

and strange cars drive by 

on late night voyages,

the cool air caresses me with the same

light breath and the stars quietly proclaim 

“We are forever.”

Can it be that I, too,

despite my little daily battles—

the exorbitant dishes, the laundry piles that heave and grow

like monsters animated by dust and finger-paint, 

the millionth cup of spilled juice,

the sweet stickiness of the table after pancakes—

am somehow part of this cycle of sameness

which is a gateway to eternity?

that through these daily things

and my yes to the “now”

to the goodness of each day

I am also saying yes

to eternity?

An amen which fills the heart

with joy unquenchable..

The moon looks down 

through the cool night air

upon my littleness 

and laughs, “Yes!”

Watering Flowers by Moonlight

  

Tonight the evening air is dusky

and has a faint smell of smoke

as if someone was stoking their fire

on this warm May night

The slightly bulging half-moon 

beams down yellow 

and sleepy like me 

I seek poetry in the shadows 

and realize the smokiness

is the peppery scent of purple lupins

spicing the dusk with their presence 
   

Lingering in the quiet evening

I take pity on my planter pots

and water my flowers by moonlight

lest in the heat of the day I forget 

A little bath for the basil

a big sip for the tomatoes

and lots—with love—

for my Josephine flower

Misty Moon

  
There’s a misty werewolf moon tonight
and it reminds me of a poem I wrote you

 just over 6 months ago

before you were born,

while you were still with us. 
The stars twinkle reassuringly 

in the cold night sky,

but the gloominess of this moon

covered in snatches of thin clouds 

like scattered veils,

brings me to tears.
Perhaps it shines brighter from your side

—up in Heaven—

with no clouds in the way. 
One day, honey, promise you’ll show me. 

Star Gazer

I step outside
the night is quiet and dark
but the stars in the far-off dome of the sky
are piercingly bright

Something stirs within me
a longing for the infinite and indescribable
a feeling that if I had jetpacks on my legs
and a special suit
like Iron Man
I’d take off without a moment’s hesitation
to explore those stars

to try to touch that light
that’s been travelling here for millions of years
from new born stars
now ancient