Full of Light!

—Anonymous Photos and Paintings

—Poems by Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA

TRULY ALIVE!

Newborns
claim the universe
with a glance;
elders send forth sparks
of awareness that
perk up a whole room—

people as real
as the butterfly migration
down the California coast,
wings fragile
yet linked for flight
in a mist of gathered pollen

the entire congregation
lively,
full of light!

REINCARNATION FOR A DANCER
(for Natica Angilly)

After rereading Mary Oliver's
"What does the world mean to you
if you can't trust it to go on shining
when you're not there?" our dancer
finds the pressed rose grown
in her childhood garden...
On her 18th birthday, angels enfolded
her essence in a scarf which she wore
each time she performed.

She tells us: markings on the moon
are ancient shrines for reincarnation
we may turn to for comfort...
When she rides Velvet Night, hooves
cushioned for tender landings,
angels light her way across the sky.

If she's not able to ride—
maybe reincarnated as a bluebird,
the starry steed will find other
optimistic riders. Yes, she smiles,
the world will go on shining
away from darkness!
 

 Vintage Christmas Card

IN ALPINE WILDERNESS

Under snow-whitened peaks
a doe and fawn pause
between a meadow
and an evergreen forest.

Hidden by boulders
a young boy and I watch
as the fawn learns about
native grasses, pine nuts,
seeds, shallow roots,
shade for camouflage.

As the sun slips lower
a peak's shadow
inches across the meadow.
Head lifted, the doe
listens, then the pair
prance into the forest.
Such simple glory.

KINDA COUNTRY

Two boys drive up, park
between my truck
and railroad tracks.
Soon they stroll from sight
behind a thick hedge.

Inspired to feed the horses
in a nearby stable, I head
toward the tracks. The boys
stand merged, torsos hidden
by a dangled jacket.

Reaching the stable, I pull
long grass by paddock fence,
make a bouquet of green stems,
let a mare sniff my hand
before I feed her, stroke her warm
head, pull more grass, let time
gracefully slow down.
Then I return to my truck
and Jane Kenyon's poetry.
 

 WHAT MAKES AND SEPARATES THE CLOUDS

What makes and separates the clouds?
What causes them to fade away?
Why do some people weep in crowds?

Should we pick the garden flower?
Step back and simply let it grow?
It's a human time, no ivory tower.

Can we tell these two apart—
what arises from an avid mind
and what from an ample heart?

A quirky question: call it small.
Yet, world, we are the only species
we know to wonder this at all.


(first pub. in Blue Unicorn, 2018)
  

THE KITE

Troubled friend,
will you accept the kite we made?
Its rag-tied tail sails free
from tall trees and tears,
transcends prayers,
pills, potions.
The string has already known
fingers that claw at rock.
Its thin skin knows closeness
and wonder, thunder and rain...

We envision you flying the kite
atop a green hill,
your trauma unwinding
with the long string, the wind
rising and falling at your will.
The string finally let loose,
the kite uplifts
nearly out of sight, changed
by time, space and height
into a speck of sky.

LUCKY

Fly along with lady bugs
land on someone's arm
who needs more luck.

Raft down whitewater
ride the rush
into rainbow mist

See poppies, blowing
over a mountain meadow,
suddenly go still

Wander into wilderness
make eye contact with a bear
and both move on

Sunset over an ocean
is a rampancy of roses
mingled with hollyhocks

On a beach, pry
open a sealed bottle
let its haiku save your life.

Today’s LittleNip:

AS A WOMAN

there disputably are 11
openings in my body—
some not "fully open."
The belly button
anchored a feeding
cord to mom, who

launched me into
the revelation
of living a life!

Thanks, mom.

—Claire J. Baker

___________________

Our thanks to Claire Baker for her lovely poems today, as we celebrate her doe and fawn in photos!

A reminder that today is the deadline for Sac. Poetry Center's annual issue of Tule Review. For info, go to spcsacramentopoetrycenter.submittable.com/submit?fbclid=IwAR0w9s3e0F9x3Xbz67S5gOh0MROrBdr6n2FsmYksm8fsq5EKUDWjZg5KyDc

And a note that Katy Brown will be reading in San Francisco this coming Saturday, Aug. 3, from 7-9:30pm at La Promenade Café, 3643 Balboa St. near 38th Avenue. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa, celebrating poetry!

 “Fly along with lady bugs…”
—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.