Aroma and bubbling of a Seattle blend
Dark splitting open by jagged blue
Promises of the sun
Soft light dusting treetops–only treetops–magic beyond miracle
Squirrel’s ass bounding to safety
The red barn where he once sculpted in metals
Old white house, black coffin shutters where I imagine Poe sailing on a brigantine in a bottle, the ancient bottle forever resting upon an antiquated sideboard with missing crystal glass pulls
Lanza’s voice at any volume
Moon roof parting like the gymnasium floor, Charleston revelers diving in
Gold sparkles on my fingers from latest spray paint project
Son adjusts side view mirrors
The mere possibility of these glorious events repeating
Tomorrow, while driving to school
thinking of Christmas movies on this warm, sunny day 😉
Shuffling on the dry balls of your padded paws.
Impermanence, your affliction.
Hard exacting breaths from decades of sauntering.
Protesting each movement to fling earth’s weight from your mind.
The weight must land elsewhere.
No more burning up the open plains.
Alive with dullness.
You, a bitter lioness.
Working bones unasked for fractional effort.
Heart wanting recompense from both moon and sun.
Roaring from miles away at injustices served.
Laying waste to shared land.
Sour notes break into others’ dreams.
The bitter lioness will disappear.
Upon the shrinking sands, an old lion slaughters its cubs.
And all other reminders of its imminent death.
this has to be something more than the dish
serving the meat my mother so tenderly cooked for us
after being on her feet all day
something more than my dad telling us his ice truck story
and how he began work at seven when he believed Staten Island was Italy
this has to be something more than my daughter
not yet realizing just how beautiful she is
or my son who embodies the compassion of a soul lived
much older than his fifteen years
or a husband who supports my artistic demons
this has to be something more than collecting these memories
like paperclips in a box and storing them
this has to be something more than an appreciation
this has to be love and living each moment
of that expression
I hope you all had a wondrous weekend
another day granted
to gaze at the sky above
from the earth below
woke this morning with these words in my head
artwork previously published
I wonder if she would’ve been braver
had her heart outrun the difficult years
her courage once supple and new
now evaporated by decades of living
I wonder if she would have been at peace
had she found the time to look ahead
knowing the past was what got her there
and primed her for a long detailed life
art previously published
Purfeath is part bird. Though his appetite is much grander and his bones are much denser, he believes he’s fowl all the way down to his clawed feet. Purfeath enjoys letting birds rest on his toes. Besides tickling his feet, the touch of feathers makes Purfeath feel loved and lets him know he’s not alone, even though he’s one-of-a-kind.
The other day I looked out at our bird feeder. It was nearly empty again. I can’t believe how much tiny birds eat. A gorgeous, red-headed woodpecker comes a callin’ every day too. A pair of bulky bluejays can’t fit their heads into the feeder. They luck out and get bread crusts and cookies for dessert.
I often look at the ‘frail’ birds pecking away at the feeder. How do hollow bones and light feathers keep them alive in these harsh, single digit temperatures? Nature is truly amazing.
The giant husband built this birdhouse. It’s hard to see, but there’s a little bird sitting on the “For Rent” sign to the right of the house. The giant husband’s sense of humor. 🙂
Thank you. May you dream of birds large and small gliding you across a sky of sleepy stars.
Purfeath created yesterday after bird feeder inspiration.