Sonnet #37: Climate Change

 

Gray tumbleweeds roll thick across the sky

scattering wet dust on cerulean plains

which the sun burns off as she slowly passes by,

There may be clouds, but it rarely ever rains.

Old fences weave their variegated scars

across the dry fields, remnants of better days

when cattle chewed the grass and there were no cars;

when cowboys roped and branded any strays.

It's empty now and dry, land once so fertile;

the riverbeds now barren between the hills.

What water rushed between the banks and hurtled

over rocks, and sang so sweetly in the rills

is gone.  Who dares claim climate hasn't changed

has to be blind -- or just, perhaps, deranged.

Sonnet #36: Non-verbal communication

The What-Not Shop in Cerrillos sells antiques,

Indian crafts, and guns, and also rocks,

but woe to any tourist who dares peek

through windows, or perhaps rattle the locks.

A cactus plant now grows on the only stairs,

the ramp to the front porch is blocked with wood,

and a battered sign out back just says "Beware!"

(of dogs? of tumbleweed? surely nothing good.)

We stop to look and wonder, then drive on by: 

it's clear that we're not wanted in this place

appearances the inviting words belie:

there's no welcome to be found within this space.

The non-verbal communication here's quite clear:

don't look, don't touch, don't even dare come near.

Sonnet #35: Trust

While driving back to Boulder from Santa Fe,

past billowing clouds and cattle in the fields,

we chose a path that took us out of our way:

a minor risk, with great potential yields.

But bouncing up the rippled mountainside,

on thin dirt lanes with potholes big as calves,

I asked him, "Are you SURE?" and he replied,

"You have to trust: we can't do this by halves.

"Marriage:" he said, "it's an all or nothing deal.

Don't give up now; I've never let you down."

And so I took a breath, and said, "I feel

quite nervous but I trust we'll get to town."

And after two hairpin turns and a steep descent

the view that opened up -- Magnificent!

Easter peeps

Two daughters have I who are peepsters:

They think sugared chicks are delicious

And demand that they get them for Easter:

If I fail those two girls can turn vicious!

A basket and bunny alone --

With some jelly beans and chocolate eggs

But no peeps -- would elicit a moan,

And I would get stuck with the dregs

Of those treats while the girls wept and wailed

And demanded I go to the store

To buy yellow peeps: even day-old;

Better yet, buy three packs, maybe four!

But this Easter I've decided to travel

So I won't have to watch them unravel!

Sonnet #34: Beware, ye armored hearts

Let those of us who go into the world
with armored hearts know this -- however strong
the urge to self-protect, to live a curled
and inward life, refusing to belong

to the wounded tribe of lovers who have lost,
and sacrificed, and burn to feel again
that ecstasy whose edges have such cost;
who fall, and in that falling do transcend

the limits of existence -- the truth must yield:
a heart that can't be broken cannot be moved.
Why carry this proud flag and sturdy shield,
if you have no heart for battle? It's been proved:

A life which finds from death and loss exemption
will also lack the glories of redemption.

Refill your cup

Each morning
I refill this cup with love
and sip it slowly, breathing,
feeling tenderness slip gently down
to soothe the ruffled edges of my soul.

Drink up, refill, and sip, and sip again;
let grace become the lining
of my heart
and quench the urge
to hurl back bitter words;
transform their acid churning
into sweetness that will nourish,
even energize,
creative acts and thoughts
in the days to come.

On Presence

I said you were not there,
and yet you were.
I felt your presence,
an emptiness between the seats,
a yawn and then a distance;
a greeting at the end of course,
then home to other things.

Some other presence here,
and yet it's not;
a heart, though empty,
feeling that it's full,
a blessing,
wafting in the air,
a touch,
though there's no finger there.


And which is it that's real?
That body or this love
that radiates acceptance
into every pore of being?
No wonder all those saints held fast;
No wonder.