Friday, August 24, 2012

Thought for the Day: Cleaning Up

It seems to me I need to get angry and frustrated more often. I do my best cleaning when I’m mad, and things have been a bit dusty around here. Just to be clear, I wasn’t mad at hubby, but another source of my displeasure has given us a very clean bathroom.

Another Look at the Ladies

. . . at least I think they’re ladies!

To Find a Fixed Place

It is a longing for the moment to last, for the beauty to find a concrete place—
a fixed place in this head and heart.
But it passes,
leaving me hungry,
not just for more—another framed piece of the world—
but for beauty itself.
For source.
For love.
For all that would satisfy the heart-pinching yearning for things to be made right!
It is the memory of what has been lost—a residue of hope-life micro chipped into my soul
to keep me,
to keep me pressing on toward higher things,
toward pure joy things,
and to keep me from sinking deeper into the sucking despair of what is.
So this winged wonder chirping by my window,
this diamond water refracting pleasure,
this panorama of color and pattern and breath, filling my camera and filling me
is the longing for that fixed place that fixes me.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Thought for the Day: Names

When I had my eye appointment, I was a little nervous to find that my doctor’s name was Dr. Kevorkian. I almost asked that the door remain open during my examination.

Pre-mug Mystery

The mystery and the magic with teacups is that even when served with cookies or fine sandwiches with white bread or even cakes with piles of frosting, the repast is nourishing and calorie free.

The mystery and the magic of serving tea in teacups, or even cocoa or milk, is that little tomboy girls who just came in from a romp in the hay bales, looking for newborn kittens, are tamed to the point that they might be mistaken for ladies.

Gifts for Christmas and birthdays and special special days–a tradition long forgotten–mother of pearl, flower crested, ones with too tight handles fill the china cabinet and remind me of the pre-mug days of mystery and magic.

I forgot . . .

I forgot to inlcude these photos that I took at our house that showed the effects of the Station Fire even 40 miles away. The sky was eerie ochre and red for days. These were film pics scanned in.

Remembering the Station Fire

A photo from the LA Times
The Station Fire in the San Gabriel Mts. near LA was the worst fire of 2009 in CA, destroying not only forest, but habitations and even the lives of two dedicated firefighters. The shameful element in it all was that it was arson. Such an evil thing.
Saturday, August 18, 2012, my husband and I drove through an area that had been closed for a year after the fire. It was a ghostly viewing of so many black and denuded trees, but also a wonder at how life rises from the ashes to spring anew.
Our recent photos:

Morning Grace

You wound the threads of morning into this bright and burning ball,
pulled as if out of desert sands,
hung by strings of love and gift,
morning’s song to wake the birds, the trees, and me.
How can my voice not blend with morning grace
. . . and praise?


I have caught my hummers with their eyes closed, in flight, drinking, acting quizzical, and of course talking. :-) But this is a first!

Pentultimate Daycation Before School

School is a-comin’–where did the summer go! Yikes!
This world is not too far from our urban world, perhaps only a stone’s throw. I guess if you are Paul Bunyan. But it seems strange to have “nature” so close. We took the long way to the beach, and this is what we found.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Jewels in the Shadows

Even the weakest light reflects,
and jewels are found in the dark.
The weed-weary, filth-choked—
dark below and above—
receive the wet-washed Word, freely given,
falling, falling
raining from above,
glistening the darkest of shadows.

Monsoon’s Gift

Sunset on 8-15-12

A boring expansive blue has given way to clouds,
driven, boiled, and broiled by wind–monsoon’s gift to a bone-bare desert.
A bleeding sun burns into the Coastal Range,
trailing ribbons and swirls,
leaving shadowed colors and photographers in its wake.

Another beautiful desert sunset . . .

. . . and I almost missed it.

Monday, August 13, 2012

Molten Monday


I had a poem running around in my migrained head,
it flitted in between jabs of pain in the wee hours.
Something about molten red and ribbons and burning a hole in my searing brain–no wait. That was the migraine.
I will write it later when Motrin and coffee have done their duty!

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Meteor Sprinkle?

(The sunset before the momentous watch!)

only two gone-in-a-flash streaks.
Not exactly a shower,
not even really a sprinkle.
Standing hopeful in my yellow nightie,
in the dark,
in my yard—
that same yard where I envision invader robbers crouching in the shadows.
In the dark,
confusing my collie, who had followed me out to pee—him, not me.
Staring skyward, it’s so hard on the neck,
but I was determined,
4 a.m. to 5 a.m. determined.
Was it Pacific Standard Time? Or Central?
Where is the light show, the Pleiades’ panorama of shooting lights?
For all my whining and neck stretching,
I saw two.
But the slivered moon, Venus pulsating attention, and Orion’s belt
kept me company as I waited . . . and waited,
their crisp lights shining in my yard,
uncovering every hiding place a wild coyote or nocturnal snake could possibly hide,
streaming light, making sure all the neighbors with second-story windows could tell,
could tell I was on watch in the dark,
in my yard,
in my yellow nightie—
on the watch for two.

(The sunset before the momentous watch! Don’t confuse the birds for shooting stars.
Stars are brighter and faster . . . at least, I think so.)

Saturday, August 11, 2012

The Simple Truth

Gossamer threads stretched—
Wait! What is gossamer anyway?
Overworked clich├ęs,
worked and worked and worked till the play is gone.
Right up there with azure skies. What happened to just blue?
(And why, exactly, am I splitting up my lines like this? Hmm.)
not to be simple, but to be true—to be searing plain,
meaning not bound up in the frills of puffed ego and ethereal dress—oh, sorry.
I meant otherworldly, eerie, ghostly, or maybe . . . gossamer!
(I love the synonym function.)
Maybe I just meant meaning is lost in the trappings of too many words.
I’m sure my husband would agree.

Friday, August 10, 2012

I Love You, Baby!!!!!

Okay, y’all, give it all you’ve got!!!!

I love you, baby, and if it’s quite all right,
I love you, baby, to warm the lonely nights;
I need you, baby, trust in me when I say.
Take a big breath! (And close your eyes like me; that proves you have soul.)

Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down I pray;
oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay,
and let me love you, baby, let me love you!
You’re just too good to be true . . . ♪♪♫♫♪

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Pardon the way that I stare . . .

. . . there’s nothing else to compare.
The sight of you leaves me weak;
there are no words left to speak.

So if you feel like I feel,
please let me know that it’s real;
you’re just too good to be true.
Can’t take my eyes off of you.
I’m feelin’ it. Are you feelin’ it? …….. OH, WAIT! I took my eyes off of you!!!!

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

At long last, love has arrived . . .

And I thank God I’m alive;
you’re just too good to be true;
can’t take my eyes off of you.

Are you singing yet? :-)