—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
AFTER JUNG
A poet backpacks a notebook
made of intuition and air;
she will read within, between
and beyond the lines
that will one day take root there.
Today, after reading Jung,
she visits a tributary
of the subconscious sea.
Afloat on a slow tide,
she reaches a sandy cove
where she props herself
to write. But first, holding
her bare ring-finger under
the full moon, she briefly
wears the pearl. By and by
the moon is retrieved by the sky.
A poet backpacks a notebook
made of intuition and air;
she will read within, between
and beyond the lines
that will one day take root there.
Today, after reading Jung,
she visits a tributary
of the subconscious sea.
Afloat on a slow tide,
she reaches a sandy cove
where she props herself
to write. But first, holding
her bare ring-finger under
the full moon, she briefly
wears the pearl. By and by
the moon is retrieved by the sky.
CELL-PHONE PHOTO
Spreading
her fingers
over a smart-
phone screen,
Sharon shows us a
close-up photo of a dragonfly—
wings and a Cyclops eye
we cannot deny: dry
But to us elders
that old dust
can fly!
Spreading
her fingers
over a smart-
phone screen,
Sharon shows us a
close-up photo of a dragonfly—
wings and a Cyclops eye
we cannot deny: dry
But to us elders
that old dust
can fly!
IN ALTAMONT PASS
The old camping van
is packed from rooftop
to hubcaps with camping
gear and five young boys.
In Altamont Pass,
spotting wings on hilltops
go motionless all at once
the kids blow
mightily together.
The closest bird
responds, priming its
wide wings for a take-off!
The old camping van
is packed from rooftop
to hubcaps with camping
gear and five young boys.
In Altamont Pass,
spotting wings on hilltops
go motionless all at once
the kids blow
mightily together.
The closest bird
responds, priming its
wide wings for a take-off!
DRIVING TO CAMP
This June afternoon,
we drive north out of Truckee,
travel closer to Feather River Camp.
This country is a maze of meadows,
its horizon the Sierra range.
We see tumbledown barns and fences,
horses and sheep grazing, a lone
lumber or forest service truck.
We wonder, who would live way out
here where summers burn hot,
and deep snow carries
a grim historical reminder…
We spot a gray-haired man
mowing a vivid green lawn—
his home a beacon for travelers?
Is he a latter-day Robert Frost who
offers poems and coffee to anyone lost?
Miles later, we pass another farmstead,
picture winter, a western Grandma Moses
at peace in her cozy cabin,
paint brushes soaking in turpentine
as she pours hot cider for a vagabond
who tromped by, caked with snow
under colossal clouds, his breath
the smoke she saw outside her window.
Hello and goodbye,
Frost and Grandma Moses!
Feather River Camp awaits us,
Hello and goodbye,
poet Frost and Grandma Moses:
historic Feather River Camp awaits us.
This June afternoon,
we drive north out of Truckee,
travel closer to Feather River Camp.
This country is a maze of meadows,
its horizon the Sierra range.
We see tumbledown barns and fences,
horses and sheep grazing, a lone
lumber or forest service truck.
We wonder, who would live way out
here where summers burn hot,
and deep snow carries
a grim historical reminder…
We spot a gray-haired man
mowing a vivid green lawn—
his home a beacon for travelers?
Is he a latter-day Robert Frost who
offers poems and coffee to anyone lost?
Miles later, we pass another farmstead,
picture winter, a western Grandma Moses
at peace in her cozy cabin,
paint brushes soaking in turpentine
as she pours hot cider for a vagabond
who tromped by, caked with snow
under colossal clouds, his breath
the smoke she saw outside her window.
Hello and goodbye,
Frost and Grandma Moses!
Feather River Camp awaits us,
Hello and goodbye,
poet Frost and Grandma Moses:
historic Feather River Camp awaits us.
MYSTERIES AT DAWN
at Feather River Camp
It’s 5:30 AM, the sun not yet risen.
Persian friend Simin is praying toward
the east, right through the Sierra-Nevada
range. Lyrical-sounding Farsi words
float toward Mecca…Through tent-flap gap
ponderosa pines seem to lean her way.
Between our cots, sleeping bags
and piles of gear, elder Simin
is on her knees
on our cement tent-floor,
here in California woodlands
Simin stands fully draped,
then kneels again on a small pad,
then bends, rests her forehead
on a large leaf, a flat pebble, a twig—
all items, she later tells from nature.
I’m 100% religiously liberal,
now fascinated and confounded
as electricity zips through the tent—
my wonder of her Allah, and/or
all the healthy camp meals
recharging my spirit?!
at Feather River Camp
It’s 5:30 AM, the sun not yet risen.
Persian friend Simin is praying toward
the east, right through the Sierra-Nevada
range. Lyrical-sounding Farsi words
float toward Mecca…Through tent-flap gap
ponderosa pines seem to lean her way.
Between our cots, sleeping bags
and piles of gear, elder Simin
is on her knees
on our cement tent-floor,
here in California woodlands
Simin stands fully draped,
then kneels again on a small pad,
then bends, rests her forehead
on a large leaf, a flat pebble, a twig—
all items, she later tells from nature.
I’m 100% religiously liberal,
now fascinated and confounded
as electricity zips through the tent—
my wonder of her Allah, and/or
all the healthy camp meals
recharging my spirit?!
BRIDGES OF THE MIND
May we sense them
in time to weigh options,
like chessboard moves,
or one-on-one dialogues
between our several selves,
then bravely cross into
fresh viewpoints that may
forever lead to change—
as we move our lives
forward
past old history
into new ideas, like skin
finally growing
over a wound we thought
would never heal.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
LAMBASTING THE PAST
after Terry Ehret
I kick
my tense past into
the past tense,
watch the rat
dig vertically into
infertile earth
only its back feet
sticking out like a
duck’s bottom
over water.
______________________
—Medusa, with summer thanks to Claire Baker for today’s poetry as she reaches “within, between and beyond the lines” for us on a sunny summer’s morn . . .
May we sense them
in time to weigh options,
like chessboard moves,
or one-on-one dialogues
between our several selves,
then bravely cross into
fresh viewpoints that may
forever lead to change—
as we move our lives
forward
past old history
into new ideas, like skin
finally growing
over a wound we thought
would never heal.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
LAMBASTING THE PAST
after Terry Ehret
I kick
my tense past into
the past tense,
watch the rat
dig vertically into
infertile earth
only its back feet
sticking out like a
duck’s bottom
over water.
______________________
—Medusa, with summer thanks to Claire Baker for today’s poetry as she reaches “within, between and beyond the lines” for us on a sunny summer’s morn . . .
—Public Domain Photo
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