Dry Bones Blooming
They look like a bowl of dried bones,
cold and lifeless–
a tragic ode to time lost
and utterly incapable of change–
but look more closely!
Within their crinkled-shut hearts,
clenched in the knuckles of their bony hands,
are tiny gems
bursting with possibility!
When the sun’s warm gaze melts
the unfeeling snow
into lovely spring water,
blooms will unfurl
from these dusty bones.
After winter’s grimness,
we’ll see the world in colour again,
and the flowers will laugh
that we thought them dead.
Bodies of Water
The trees are so stable,
their moods have such endurance.
They hold on for months
to the bare bitterness of winter,
the absence of even a rustling leaf.
Then the trees embrace the sweet joyfulness of spring
in a long coquettish smile,
a blossom-blush lasting months.
Afterwards, the trees sail into the smooth serenity of summer,
wearing their regal wreaths with proud satisfaction.
Even the flaming, flickering colours of fall flash across their faces for months,
the trees, with their moods more stable than mine,
for I am but a tiny body of water
wrapped in skin.
My thinly guarded surface subject to tremors of wind,
the harassment of a sudden hailstorm
or the steady pounding of rain.
I’ve been know to get icicles in my eyelashes
tears of pain frozen before fully released.
Some things are better to let go of quickly.
In all this variable moodiness,
this passionate intensity and depth of feeling,
I am not alone,
for are we not all but small bodies of water
wrapped in skin,
the tides in our hearts tugged about by not just the moon,
but by the moods of all the other bodies of water
bumping around us
in this space
that is earth.
Post-Hawaii Baby Blues
Need we say more? 😉
PS Don’t worry, Grandma, we only stayed at the park for about 10 minutes then hurried back home! Snow looks prettier than it feels!
Oh, hey, aloha!
I’m outside walking on a January day;
the sidewalks and the sky are matching gray.
I pull my hands into my sleeves,
–the cold wet air is biting me–
but inside there’s a flame no one can see.
I’ve got Maui warmth
hidden in my heart.
The sunshine from Paia
is here to stay, yeah.
Oh, yeah, aloha!
Oh, yeah, aloha!
When you are in Hawaii,
no one asks you why
you’re doing what you’re doing
or you’re wearing what you’re wearing, today.
They say, “Oh, hey, aloha!
Hope you have a great day!
Oh, hey, aloha,
it’s just fine doing things your own way.”
When I was out swimming
with my brothers in the sea
I cut my foot on coral
now the sea’s inside of me.
I’ve got mermaid scars
(perhaps I’ll grow a tail).
The ocean’s salt is in my blood
and bright Maui stars
are ever in my eyes.
So oh, hey, aloha,
hope you’re having a great day
Oh hey aloha,
I’ll be going back to Maui,
First Canadian Shower
It was with some regret
that I washed the salty windswept wildness
from my Hawaiian holiday hair
and cleaned my sea-spattered glasses,
hesitant to send any lingering remnants
of my joyful January trip
down the drain into the chilly pipes below,
letting the island warmth
sleep into the cold Canadian soil.
Bare New Year’s branches
Bereft of last year’s splendour
Grasp the grisly sky
Prairie Fire Under Snows
There is a flame the cold can’t quench
and so we joy-filled fill
this giant wooden teepee with song
We reach for the hand of one
whose wounded one reaches for ours
Sheltered in this house of God
by a cone of boards bound with nails
like a teepee sewn together
—holes through pierced skin—
protecting us from the winter storms
Like the people of Jerusalem we process with palms
but instead of hot sand the snow swirls around us
a soft spring snow
full of hope of future harvest
as the fire-golden wheat fields lie hidden
under the cold kiss of a blanket of snow
the way you lie hidden
the fire of your divinity
submerged in the wheat coloured wafer
We live in the shelter of his love
the humble king of glory
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
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.
No leaves to receive
to give or gain
in the mist
Twigs too thin
to clench a fist