Retreat Day

My daughter and her family are away today so I'm taking a retreat day to myself. I've hiked to the top of a nearby hill where there's a palm roofed structure open on all sides to shelter in out of the sun and occasional showers. The only sound is the wind and all it rustles and birds galore whose names I mostly don't know except for the peculiar echoing knock of a bell bird. The layers of hills in the distance display all shades of green in this lush rain forest environment. The breeze goes from warm against my skin to cool as the clouds scurry in to drop their rain and move on over the next ridge. Bits of wild flowers dot the area with color. Two old copper pots, huge and once used to roast cacao beans on now abandoned estates, are filled with water, small fish and water lilies to give them new purpose. A stream flowing down in a waterfall froths over rocks at its base in a gully by the house on this property. A flock of wild parrots  flies by squawking ferociously, voices so at odds with their beautifully colored plumage.

I've come to be alone and ask questions that need to be re-examined near my birthday. Who am I, what do I want to be doing, where do I want to be? The other vital question of with whom do I want to be has long since been answered, a sure base of love in my life. I realize in the tranquility I feel that the questions are being answered in deep ways that will become manifest as I pay attention to myself, my Honey and what opens up to us. Already I've felt the shift into an elder's identity, still on the journey but further along and in communication with more elder peers.

The morning blue sky has given way to afternoon gray. Clouds moved in and I can hear rain in the distance as it closes the gap between where it is and me. The rain is more immediate here as it pelts the fronds just over my head. As rain quickly slows, fog spills over the hills in back of me looking like it comes from the clouds themselvesthemselves. It's a lovely place. Its peace flows into me. I realize that this was the real agenda for today.


(I'm publishing this today even though it happened a few days ago because I just finished putting it all together. Such days are delightfully re-creative.)

Look Closely or Else

Just took a rain forest walk
and missed the snake wrapped round
a branch until the guide said to look
closely and see. It struck me that equivalents
happen each day- me walking by and missing
what's there until told to really look, to wake up
and pay attention, my task lest I get bitten.

A Friday Flash 55 for G- Man.
Ugh-my iPad app ate my post! It was up and had comments and disappeared! I'm trying again.

By Her Leaving

She tripped on steep cement stairs,

but her father snatched her

before she hit ground; still

she sobbed with the fright

of it; mother ran, face bears

fear as well, knowing how quickly

death snatches those we love, spills

life like a profligate until bright

dims to dark and we're left there

bereft where love once was, and it thickly

weaves webs to entrap when a moment ago

life danced patterns to fill our nights

with stories, embed memories that dare

to endure, be told as family lore that will

define us, but surely not as having lost this child, though

another babe left long ago, and us marked by her leaving;

she, etched in heart and mind as we transfer

pain to medicine, to somehow move when death stills

that opened place meant for this dear one, slight

light slants through the lattice of loss by her leaving.

This is posted in response by Gay Reiser Cannon over at dVerse Poets Pub who introduced us to David James who has devised Karousels and Weaves to challenge and expand our poetic options. This is a Karousel. Check it out, it's a great article that can take you in new directions. It certainly did me. 

Grown Up, Ready or Not

You were a sturdy soul right from birth,
hefty, substantial, a force to be reckoned with.
Your eyes took in the world purposely
from your first moments, you latched
onto my breast and drank with such
certitude that I was sure you were here
before, a wise one reborn to accomplish
what was left undone and wouldn't be this time.
This time you moved with inner
direction, sure- stepped architect of
a particular path that you alone knew.
I was intimidated when you looked at me
with your not me eyes. I picked you, you said,
let's do this. I was necessary but never
consulted or copied, a reference
point that kept your path true but utterly yours.
I don't know how you accomplished it,
but I knew from that first look you took,
my heart helpless with love, that this
was my life's work, up to it or not, and I'd better
love you in the way that helped you do this hard
but essential thing or you'd find someone who would.

This is in response to Stuart over at dVerse Poets Pub who asked us to write about growing up. This was the moment when I had to grow up, when I gave birth to Kelly. Being her mother is my favorite role so far. It is she who taught me the truth of E.E.Cummings quote: "It takes courage to grow up and become the person we really are." Also offered for open link Monday at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads.

It's a Timeless Story

It's a timeless story
but so completely personal
that it feels like
mine alone, involves me
with these grands in a love affair
that's new even as they age,
each age better than the one before,
we play board games now and cards,
discuss, dance wildly, write, and when we write
it's a timeless story.


This is a Friday 55 in response to the prompt from Fireblossom at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads to write a poem with the first and last line the same but with a different meaning. It's not as easy as it sounds.

Tobago, Last Day

Ten days alone with my grandchildren
for the first time. Their friends couldn't come,
they were disappointed, I wasn't.
On this last day together
we played in the pool, splashed
and invented games never known before.
They're ours now, silly, irreplaceable, part
of the stories we'll tell in the future.

I told them today that I can't do the dolphin kick
when I saw they can. Try this, Grandmother,
or this when they saw I till couldn't, or this. I'll show you,
I'll move your legs for you so you can feel it. Well,
you did one kick right, keep practicing, you'll get it.
It struck me that it's a gift to them to be bad at something
and they get to be the teachers. They admitted
they can't dive well and I could teach them.

We wrote poetry together and I learned
to let the poetry be about monsters when
I'd rather write about rain, and to listen better.
I wonder what their future will be, can't imagine it
really, it's theirs alone and indefinable.
I hold fear about it, about them in it,
about how to ready them, as if I could.
They're fine young people, they'll be fine adults.
That's their business, mine's to love them
and cheer them on. I do.


This is in response to Tashtoo over at dVerse Poets for Open Link Night who asks us to share our stories. This is mine this week.

Rain and Monsters

Dripping from the roof edge
the rain sounds like crystals falling
and when it's harder it's ice cubes pounding
like the drum in garage band.
Rain smells like water with one tiny touch of earth,
it makes the dog downstairs howl.
In one storm we had at home, the rain poured, thunder came
and the wind blew our orange tree down.
I like how it sounds on the metal roof when I'm in my bed.
Today, the wind blows cold, the clouds get dark
and in the west, where rain comes from, a rainbow appears.

My Granddaughter, age 6 1/2, wrote this and dictated it to me when it rained this morning.


My Grandson, age 10, wanted to do a poem about monsters. I tell him about the lune poem and we do a variation since it's easier for him to think in terms of words per line rather than syllables. He likes the result:
Weird Beasts

Awful ogres, trolls,
sphinxes, boggarts, goblins, dragons, chimeras -
weird, wonderful beasts.

A Poem by The Grands About Our Day

Our Day

Sunrise, sunset,
beautiful flowers, colorful butterflies,
the breeze soft against my skin,
the grass beneath my feet soft as cotton,
the sky is blue, the ocean seems new,
the songs of birds are noisy lullabies,
afternoon flowers scent the air.
We play together as a family.
Everybody in the world is family
and could play together.
I wish my friend was here but she can't be,
so I feel sad and say good-bye.
Let's swim!


Grandmother and the grands (ages 10 and 6 1/2)
I typed this as they dictated to me their poem about our day together in Tobago.