Like Buddha's Breeze

—Poems by Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
—Anonymous Photos 

ONE FOR STROLLING

Street lights
and blazing neon
on a rainy night in Nashville
and San Francisco,
city avenues
a cornucopia of colors

__________________

ANOTHER FOR LOVE

Writing
contact-me-stuff
on a cocktail napkin
is akin to blowing
a kiss in a cyclone!

BIRTHPLACE

All night in a dream I write about
a parable of air, an open-windowed mansion
in a meadow silvered with three brooks.

Strong wind pelts my sheltie and me.
Wild roses exude cinnamon—
an act of giving like a poem.

Clouds collide; seeds inhaling rain
move the earth. The sky clears,
ample room for sunset's flowers.

On waking I remember the birth of air
in word after word
taking root.

FOR MY FIRST POETRY TEACHER
(Lucile V. McCurtain)

I learned you passed into the land
of endless alliteration,
your initials picking up lyrical L's,
V's and M's from metaphoric vapors
or as you might suggest, the simpler
"just plain air."

You told our Tech High night class
that you could not teach us
to be poets, but that you could help
explore craft. You referred us to Croce's
Aesthetics, to Millay and Frost.

My teacher, we learned that the arts
intertwine, overlap, that how we fill
an empty page half-depends on
fireflies clustering, lending light
to our nights of soul-making.

On your Berkeley brown-shingle porch
we pronounced after you wisteria,
lilac; in your backyard: fuschia,
violet, "Speak slow and listen."

In piano recital you played Debussy's
Engulfed Cathedral, the mystical,
murky notes, reverberating chords.
I saw a submerged organ played by
Neptune, coral pages turned by starfish.

My poet, friend, and teacher,
I will remember your fingers over the keys,
your face reflected in polished ebony.

A BRIEF HISTORY OF LOVE

We found each other scooping island sand
to hide in caves against the pounding wave
of all alone. I reached and held your hand;
you squared your shoulders, hoping to be brave.
Our youthful questions filled the island air:
How wide the sea? Do stars hold up the night?
I asked you, what is love, is heaven there?
Our answers vanished on the seagull's flight.
We calmed ourselves by touching; didn't know
if we could span the ocean, ever leap
to heaven as a real place to go.
"Our love is not to analyze, but keep,"
you urged we say. Grayed now in December,
let's warm ourselves by fires of spring, remember?

WHAT I SHOULD HAVE SAID

Kick the wheelchair into Kansas,
fling the walker and cane
into orbit.

Grind your own sand.
Flip the hourglass with a defiant
flick of the wrist.

Rearrange the sitting room where
memories will serve tea; reread
the ending of the drama where
all the characters are you.

Change locks. Lock your selfish lover
out. Set sail for Tierra del Fuego,
commune with wilder weather.

When it comes, request a padded bed pan,
frequent bathings, talcumed sheets,
lotion rubs every few hours.

Sketch a picture of your soul,
show it to the nurse; fly bright
banners over the final valley.

Stride like Buddha's breeze
toward the peak of
letting go.

OCEAN-SCATTERED ASHES

Will my ashes rock
on Pacific Ocean waves
to sounds of Ode to Joy?

Some of me might get lofted
on gull wings to Monterey,
San Simeon, San Riviera.
the vacation I never had?

My once-was might mix in a cave
with driftwood, soda cans,
oil from a leaking tanker,
splinters from ships that sank
rushing to the gold rush?

My cremains may intertangle
with a comedian, detective
biologist, painter, doctor?
I prefer a poet...

Chucking speculations
I hope my ashes drift
into a sandy cove,
romped over by kids and dogs,
pressed by quaking lovers.

__________________

Today’s LittleNip:

TRANSITION
—Claire J. Baker

The new life
I ordered special delivery
is arriving by drone.
I keep wondering if I'm ready to
own it.

_______________________

Thank you, dear Claire Baker, for today’s fine poetry! For more about Benedetto Croce (1866-1952): Guide to Aesthetics: go to www.minotaurz.com/minotaur/edu/aesthetics/Croce.html/.

Today in our area, El Dorado Arts Council presents a workshop by EDCPL Suzanne Roberts, beginning at 5:30pm in the Cameron Park Library, followed by a reading there at 7pm with Suzanne, Lara Gularte, and Loch Henson. Also tonight, Josh McKinney will host MarieWriters Generative Writing Workshop at Sac. Poetry Center, 6pm, entitled “The Poetic Line”. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa (Celebrate Poetry!)

 Gulls, of course, fly on Buddha’s breeze; 
for more about them, see 

blog.nationalgeographic.org/2018/01/31/just-a-seagull-nope/.
—Anonymous Photo

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.