Photo by Janet L. Pantoja
WINDS OF CHANGE I
Winds of change breeze
through trees with ease,
sweep fall into winter
broom away dead, dying leaves
create crunchy carpets of color—
gold, yellow, amber, brown.
Pine-cone or berry décor,
evergreens remain, offer
verdant or ruby contrast
to inclement dark days,
drab winter skies,
stark white snow.
WINDS OF CHANGE II
Winds of change breeze
through skies with ease,
bluster through winter
tow storms behind them
that dump rain, snow—
reservoirs for summer refreshment.
WINDS OF CHANGE III
Winds of change breeze
through our lives with ease
sweep grief into hope
broom away the past—
create different scenarios,
new vistas—new beginnings.
—Janet L. Pantoja, Woodinville, WA
Photo by Janet L. Pantoja
GOLD
—Patricia L. Nichol, Sacramento
—Patricia L. Nichol, Sacramento
flowers of wild mustard on the hills
sun sustaining all this gold
beauty farther than the eye can see
Do your eyes grow dim from all this joy
from the gilt-edged wonder
of the wild mustard flowers on the hills?
Or do you seek the cost of dazzle,
petals’ price, stems’ value,
beauty dearer than the soul can know?
Do you grieve that these fair plants shall fade,
fiery days ravaging
the bright mustard flowers on the hills?
but: whether sadness-struck or blissful,
you have encountered
beauty keener than the soul can grasp
you have entered the fierce corridor
of joy and loss entwined:
wild mustard flowers on the hills
and beauty farther than the soul can see
___________________
PREOCCUPATION
—Patricia L. Nichol
The paint is peeling from the gray wall.
She sees faces there in the flaking:
Albert Einstein who, if she looks
from a different angle, looks like
an old woman;
a young, exuberant man
with bright eyes and
a careless, laughing mouth;
and, there, the side-turned head
of a colossal dragon—
or is it a gryphon—
above vast, spread wings,
ready for adventure.
She lies on the bed, studying the wall;
her life slips by.
_______________________
FALLING
—Patricia L. Nichol
I.
Falling
down
the
walls;
falling
down
onto
concrete.
Bloody
scraps
of
people
on
the
concrete.
II.
Falling
into
the
call
for
war.
Falling
into
madness.
Free
fall.
_____________________
ARCHWAY
—Patricia L. Nichol
Thus is the time that death wings its way
and casts over us its finality,
reminding us we’ll pass through its archway
to be enfolded by eternity.
But the tapestry encompassing all
contains much more than this finality.
In warp and weft threads infinite and small,
birth and life are intertwined with dying
through this tapestry encompassing all.
So after winter, always comes the spring
with joy and song dispersing far and near,
birth and life prevailing over dying,
buds opening up as ice disappears.
So blent with death’s dispiriting command
is joy and song dispersing far and near,
delaying death’s immutable demand.
So in that time when death wings its way,
blent throughout its dispiriting command
spring accompanies us through that archway.
______________________
THE CHILD
(after Lucille Clifton)
—Patricia L. Nichol
She mistook your burning pain for greatness,
the pain you masked with pride and arrogance.
She trusted in your strut of dominance.
She was your child and could not believe less.
You hid your inner anguish and distress,
spoke in words that often overstated
what other people did and what they said.
She was your child and could not believe less.
You hid your anguish with pretentiousness:
talked all the time about how you were smart,
railed that your job was burning up your heart.
She was your child and could not believe less.
She mistook your burning pain for greatness:
she was your child and could not believe less.
_____________________
Today's LittleNip:
Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft. Unsurprisingly it sank, proving once again that you can't have your kayak and heat it too.
_____________________
—Medusa
Photo by Janet L. Pantoja
