Watching for Spring Birds

COCKTAIL HOUR
—Patricia Wellingham-Jones, Tehama

For thirty years
they have sat together
as day fades into evening

Lifted glasses in toasts
smiled over triumphs
raged or wiped tears
over plans and people that sank

Today at his elbow
a cut-glass tumbler
filled with red wine
the color of hummingbird throats
diluted with water
and a trail of mucous down the side

In Alice’s hand
a crystal tumbler
of scotch over ice
barely watered
retaining the golden hue
of dried gorse and bracken

Wine abandoned
he dozes
head falls on chest

Alice wonders where wonderland went
picks up her novel
reads a chapter or two
Refills the glass of scotch
before heating dinner

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Thanks, PWJ, for this poignant poem. For the rest of you, send me any poem about change (seasons, moving, or otherwise) and I'll send you Jane Blue's wonderful new chapbook, Turf Daisies and Dandelions. Or Sharyn Stever's equally-wonderful chap, Heron's Run. Or something else, if you have those two. Send your change poem to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662 by midnight next Tuesday, November 14. Or send it in a bunch with your submission for Rattlesnake Review (deadline is next Wednesday!); just mark which is which. All "change" poems you send will be posted on Medusa.

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The year will be over soon,
But I'm still here in my little hut.
Cold autumn rain falls sadly,
And leaves pile up on the temple steps.
I pass time absent-mindedly reading sutras
And chanting some old poems.
Suddenly a child appears and says,
"Come, let's go to the village together."

—Ryokan

________________________

At dusk
I often climb
To the peak of Kugami.
Deer bellow,
Their voices
Soaked up by
Piles of maple leaves
Lying undisturbed at
The foot of the mountain.

—Ryokan

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A VISIT TO MR. FUJI'S VILLA
—Ryokan

It's several miles outside the town
And I walked there together with a woodsman
Along a meandering footpath through rows of verdant pines.
In the valley around us, sweet-smelling wild plum blossoms.
Every time I visit, I gain something new,
And there I feel truly at ease.
The fish in his pond are big as dragons,
And the surrounding forest is still the day long.
The inside of his home is full of treasures:
Volumes of books scattered about!
Inspired, I loosen my robe, browse through the books
And then compose my own verse.
At twilight I walk along the eastern corridor
Where I'm greeted again by a little flock of spring birds.

(Today's poems by Ryokan were translated from the Japanese by John Stevens.)

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—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)