—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
HERE IN THE HEAVENS
We humans transcended
fiery upheavals,
dangerous convergences,
primeval swamps,
the wildest of animals—
ourselves.
Now we climb mountains,
study Mars, love,
weep, emerge from scars
to love again.
Through darkness,
we come into the light.
World of skies,
skies of other worlds,
we flicker off and on,
sparkle like stardust.
Our adventurings fan
embers back into flame.
Here in the heavens,
beyond astronomy, astrology,
physics and philosophy,
truly as Carl Sagan exuded
with boyish wonder:
We are the stuff of stars.
We humans transcended
fiery upheavals,
dangerous convergences,
primeval swamps,
the wildest of animals—
ourselves.
Now we climb mountains,
study Mars, love,
weep, emerge from scars
to love again.
Through darkness,
we come into the light.
World of skies,
skies of other worlds,
we flicker off and on,
sparkle like stardust.
Our adventurings fan
embers back into flame.
Here in the heavens,
beyond astronomy, astrology,
physics and philosophy,
truly as Carl Sagan exuded
with boyish wonder:
We are the stuff of stars.
SEEKERS….
Seekers of the exotic,
riders of water and wind,
shapers of jewels, jet planes & jazz,
builders of bridges & breakthroughs
explorers of the psyche,
embryos this moment conceived—
whatever happens tomorrow,
in a hundred years, or
at the last turn of the earth
under moonlight’s incantations,
whatever happens, may we lean
toward the language of roses.
Seekers of the exotic,
riders of water and wind,
shapers of jewels, jet planes & jazz,
builders of bridges & breakthroughs
explorers of the psyche,
embryos this moment conceived—
whatever happens tomorrow,
in a hundred years, or
at the last turn of the earth
under moonlight’s incantations,
whatever happens, may we lean
toward the language of roses.
THE MIST TRAIL
Yosemite Valley
Try us, rock
and water,
dwarf us
to sand size,
yet we will rise
as on wings of wind,
to conquer ifs
of incomparable cliffs—
to prove that
with granite desire,
mankind
can
climb
higher.
Yosemite Valley
Try us, rock
and water,
dwarf us
to sand size,
yet we will rise
as on wings of wind,
to conquer ifs
of incomparable cliffs—
to prove that
with granite desire,
mankind
can
climb
higher.
THE DOG WHISPERER
A young trainer runs a pack
of renegade rejects along
a grassy hilltop above L.A.
No one wants these dogs—
their time slipping away.
Testing the trainer, the dogs go wild!
Alpha man keeps whispering,
calming the pack as they circle him.
He offers treats, chances to trust
a human, to become tamer,
maybe even adoptable.
*
Some days I wish a kind person
would run me along a hilltop,
work out quirks and trauma,
whisper whisper whisper,
calming me to the core.
A young trainer runs a pack
of renegade rejects along
a grassy hilltop above L.A.
No one wants these dogs—
their time slipping away.
Testing the trainer, the dogs go wild!
Alpha man keeps whispering,
calming the pack as they circle him.
He offers treats, chances to trust
a human, to become tamer,
maybe even adoptable.
*
Some days I wish a kind person
would run me along a hilltop,
work out quirks and trauma,
whisper whisper whisper,
calming me to the core.
SOLDIERS OF THE SEA
Naval Academy Graduation
Speeches silent, festivities
faded, bullhorns muted
concourse deserted,
the Anchors Aweigh anthem
only faint echoes, we
wander over the huge field,
pause to pick up the cap
of an unknown cadet who may
crave peace
while superbly trained for war.
Naval Academy Graduation
Speeches silent, festivities
faded, bullhorns muted
concourse deserted,
the Anchors Aweigh anthem
only faint echoes, we
wander over the huge field,
pause to pick up the cap
of an unknown cadet who may
crave peace
while superbly trained for war.
YOUNG BELLA
school project
Today,
in third grade,
Bella lets her long
blond hair
be
cut short
butcher-boy style
for weaving
into a silken wig
for a child
balded by chemo.
school project
Today,
in third grade,
Bella lets her long
blond hair
be
cut short
butcher-boy style
for weaving
into a silken wig
for a child
balded by chemo.
WRITTEN IN THE DARK
What do we read in each other
beyond what we imagine or assume?
Are we gifted in sensing personas,
gentle in lifting a mask?
Sensitive when shown someone’s
shadows, glories, handicaps, stories—
respectful of any need to withhold?
Do we dare translate their pages
before editing our own?
Dear people, our trees cling to earth
at the same time, our leaves
flowing together, backward and
forward—our roots tingling
as we grow toward
heightened humanity.
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
WHAT IF…
through every
delightful or harsh
life experience,
trees
of our spirit
add another
growth ring until
our limbs sweep the sky
like Sequoias
leaned on by ferns?
—Claire J. Baker
_______________________
—Medusa, thanking Claire Baker for today’s fine poetry, including the sharp scent of roses and the stuff of stars ~
What do we read in each other
beyond what we imagine or assume?
Are we gifted in sensing personas,
gentle in lifting a mask?
Sensitive when shown someone’s
shadows, glories, handicaps, stories—
respectful of any need to withhold?
Do we dare translate their pages
before editing our own?
Dear people, our trees cling to earth
at the same time, our leaves
flowing together, backward and
forward—our roots tingling
as we grow toward
heightened humanity.
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
WHAT IF…
through every
delightful or harsh
life experience,
trees
of our spirit
add another
growth ring until
our limbs sweep the sky
like Sequoias
leaned on by ferns?
—Claire J. Baker
_______________________
—Medusa, thanking Claire Baker for today’s fine poetry, including the sharp scent of roses and the stuff of stars ~
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.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
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kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
