—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
JOHN MUIR, AT HOME
We visit his Victorian home in Martinez,
the serene homestead now an historic site.
We recall his words written in Yosemite:
Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine
flows into trees….
Outdoorsman, naturalist, preservationist,
your orchard still produces fine fruits
which visitors may enjoy in season.
There’s a cozy shop with books you wrote,
& Sierra souvenirs. Expect to succeed,
you urged early members of your Sierra Club.
Your town is now Superior Courthouse country.
I’d like to be hiking anywhere in California,
but I’m a prospective juror in a double-murder.
So far, each day I am called, I am retained.
Mr. Muir, I take your psalm with me into court:
The winds will blow their own freshness
into you, and the storms their energy, while
cares will drop off like autumn leaves…
***
This day was long: we saw the young
defendant, his mother weeping in the last row.
Another psalm rides home on my dashboard:
…we all dwell in a house of one room—
the world, with the firmament for its roof,
and we are sailing the celestial spaces
without leaving any track.
We visit his Victorian home in Martinez,
the serene homestead now an historic site.
We recall his words written in Yosemite:
Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine
flows into trees….
Outdoorsman, naturalist, preservationist,
your orchard still produces fine fruits
which visitors may enjoy in season.
There’s a cozy shop with books you wrote,
& Sierra souvenirs. Expect to succeed,
you urged early members of your Sierra Club.
Your town is now Superior Courthouse country.
I’d like to be hiking anywhere in California,
but I’m a prospective juror in a double-murder.
So far, each day I am called, I am retained.
Mr. Muir, I take your psalm with me into court:
The winds will blow their own freshness
into you, and the storms their energy, while
cares will drop off like autumn leaves…
***
This day was long: we saw the young
defendant, his mother weeping in the last row.
Another psalm rides home on my dashboard:
…we all dwell in a house of one room—
the world, with the firmament for its roof,
and we are sailing the celestial spaces
without leaving any track.
JOHN’S CAMPFIRE
(in memoriam)
After 25+ years of camping,
John & I arrive at Crater Lake.
Unloading, we inhale evergreens.
Near evening, John splits a log
into fire-ready chunks. We add
crumpled newspapers, twigs
& two pine cones, one for each.
From an antique waterproof tin,
John flares a large wooden match.
Kindling ablaze, cones snap,
as flames bite into rugged petals,
crackled sparks swirling
safely up & over the forest canopy,
small logs blazing,
When our campfire burns low,
& before we sleep,
we gaze into embered rubies,
silently heartened by our camp site
by each other as old friends,
our explorations into nature —
including human nature.
(in memoriam)
After 25+ years of camping,
John & I arrive at Crater Lake.
Unloading, we inhale evergreens.
Near evening, John splits a log
into fire-ready chunks. We add
crumpled newspapers, twigs
& two pine cones, one for each.
From an antique waterproof tin,
John flares a large wooden match.
Kindling ablaze, cones snap,
as flames bite into rugged petals,
crackled sparks swirling
safely up & over the forest canopy,
small logs blazing,
When our campfire burns low,
& before we sleep,
we gaze into embered rubies,
silently heartened by our camp site
by each other as old friends,
our explorations into nature —
including human nature.
TO A YOSEMITE BUTTERFLY
While I shift my feet, greet
a young camper who pets my dog,
you land on my boot,
begin miniature calisthenics
over the dusty leather.
Hello, wings full of grace,
light-and-shadow pause-
and-stay-awhile-beauty,
do you fantasize my boot
an alpine flower, a meadow,
another shade of sky,
an earthbound altar, a softer
kind of rock? With total delight,
thanks, little colorful gypsy,
for the generous compliment.
While I shift my feet, greet
a young camper who pets my dog,
you land on my boot,
begin miniature calisthenics
over the dusty leather.
Hello, wings full of grace,
light-and-shadow pause-
and-stay-awhile-beauty,
do you fantasize my boot
an alpine flower, a meadow,
another shade of sky,
an earthbound altar, a softer
kind of rock? With total delight,
thanks, little colorful gypsy,
for the generous compliment.
WATER WINGS
Tiny
dazzling
silver sparkles
ride
ripples
wistfully.
Will some
while we watch
fly off
singularly
in pairs
or as a flock?
Tiny
dazzling
silver sparkles
ride
ripples
wistfully.
Will some
while we watch
fly off
singularly
in pairs
or as a flock?
MOSAIC TREE
All of us are damaged in some way.
Linking together, working
through brokenness, we fashion
from shards of our lives
a large mosaic tree.
Here’s a key, a dented gold band,
a shattered compass.
We work as a team, all ages,
each from a need to contribute,
forget, or hold in memory…
Glue keeps us bonded, as we
gather once a week for a month…
The completed mosaic crowns
our wide walkway, its hardy trunk
rooted to the earth’s far side
through oceans, mountain ranges—
a soldier’s medal beside a fireman’s
seared badge; a child’s chipped
marble nudging a pearl amulet—
our mosaic perky from fingerprints,
play, imagination, forgiveness—
tears and laughter all melded
with mosaic leaves, repentance,
acceptance, the moving on.
(prev. pub. in Benicia Herald)
All of us are damaged in some way.
Linking together, working
through brokenness, we fashion
from shards of our lives
a large mosaic tree.
Here’s a key, a dented gold band,
a shattered compass.
We work as a team, all ages,
each from a need to contribute,
forget, or hold in memory…
Glue keeps us bonded, as we
gather once a week for a month…
The completed mosaic crowns
our wide walkway, its hardy trunk
rooted to the earth’s far side
through oceans, mountain ranges—
a soldier’s medal beside a fireman’s
seared badge; a child’s chipped
marble nudging a pearl amulet—
our mosaic perky from fingerprints,
play, imagination, forgiveness—
tears and laughter all melded
with mosaic leaves, repentance,
acceptance, the moving on.
(prev. pub. in Benicia Herald)
UNSPOKEN
at memorial service
Our friend freed insects
and bees trapped by
windows and screens;
saddened with felled trees,
road kill, barren gardens,
blighted roses.
One summer she rescued
oil-slick waterfowl
and washed them clean,
thrilled as they finally
flew free
from off her fingertips.
Rest in peace, dear poet.
at memorial service
Our friend freed insects
and bees trapped by
windows and screens;
saddened with felled trees,
road kill, barren gardens,
blighted roses.
One summer she rescued
oil-slick waterfowl
and washed them clean,
thrilled as they finally
flew free
from off her fingertips.
Rest in peace, dear poet.
WEAR THE POEM
IF IT FITS
To you, who say you are only
a grain of sand,
lost & lonely on the shore,
I wish the ocean’s
sea-salted scent and roar.
When trapped in caves
where shadows hide,
I wish you the push & pull
of tides, sun rolling in
on a wave, washing
your image bright & brave.
(prev. pub. in Street Spirit)
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
PEACE CONSULTATION
—Claire J. Baker
I retreat to my car to read and write
near a familiar range of hills,
just me and my sheltie together.
I ask if she will ease me
through another pandemic.
Gazing deep into my eyes, she vows
that she will try…Our wavelengths
dovetail to last week’s hilltop,
all the peace along the trail,
just the two of us.
_______________________
—Medusa, with our gratitude and thanks to Claire Baker today for poems that take us, with the butterflies, camping in Yosemite and on a visit with John Muir.
Today’s LittleNip:
PEACE CONSULTATION
—Claire J. Baker
I retreat to my car to read and write
near a familiar range of hills,
just me and my sheltie together.
I ask if she will ease me
through another pandemic.
Gazing deep into my eyes, she vows
that she will try…Our wavelengths
dovetail to last week’s hilltop,
all the peace along the trail,
just the two of us.
_______________________
—Medusa, with our gratitude and thanks to Claire Baker today for poems that take us, with the butterflies, camping in Yosemite and on a visit with John Muir.
“When trapped in caves where shadows hide…”
—Public Domain Photo
—Public Domain Photo
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