—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
THE POET CLIMBING
Wearing hiking boots,
she totes apples,
clean socks, band aids,
spring water, pen and pad,
inspiration and intuition.
When winded
she waits for her breath
to come sit on her shoulder
like a friendly Steller’s jay.
Within sight of the peak
she yearns to reach,
she sleeps in the blue eye of
a storm, awakening refreshed.
A crevasse swallowed
her trail map long ago
but now she knows the way…
When a waterfall’s wet wind
pushes her to the brink,
she braces and holds firmly.
In early afternoon, her trail
poem now entrusted to memory,
she reaches the chosen peak…
Resting, she names the view her own…
Heading down, she knows she will write
poems she can no longer resist.
Wearing hiking boots,
she totes apples,
clean socks, band aids,
spring water, pen and pad,
inspiration and intuition.
When winded
she waits for her breath
to come sit on her shoulder
like a friendly Steller’s jay.
Within sight of the peak
she yearns to reach,
she sleeps in the blue eye of
a storm, awakening refreshed.
A crevasse swallowed
her trail map long ago
but now she knows the way…
When a waterfall’s wet wind
pushes her to the brink,
she braces and holds firmly.
In early afternoon, her trail
poem now entrusted to memory,
she reaches the chosen peak…
Resting, she names the view her own…
Heading down, she knows she will write
poems she can no longer resist.
COZY CONSULTATION
I retreat to car-read and write
near a familiar range of hills,
just me and my sheltie
together. I ask if she will
get me through another crisis.
She gazes into my eyes
that she will try. Our wavelengths
dovetail to last week’s hilltop,
all the peace along the trail
and just the two of us.
I retreat to car-read and write
near a familiar range of hills,
just me and my sheltie
together. I ask if she will
get me through another crisis.
She gazes into my eyes
that she will try. Our wavelengths
dovetail to last week’s hilltop,
all the peace along the trail
and just the two of us.
O, LOOK
Stars make
of this night
a tree
millions
of branches
tinseled
lively
&
chiming
like tiny
bells.
DEAR DINORAH
Though poring over med books
to cram for your first exam,
don’t miss the harvest moon
moving west toward your window.
Young lady, take a break
from tiny-print pages, diagrams
and depictions to inhale through
evening’s relaxed lungs. Dear,
consider the anatomy of wonder,
arteries to anticipation,
capillaries to clarity,
tendons supporting tenderness;
primal DNA,
the pulsations of expectation...
May stars ring for you all
at once, like bells from childhood.
Though poring over med books
to cram for your first exam,
don’t miss the harvest moon
moving west toward your window.
Young lady, take a break
from tiny-print pages, diagrams
and depictions to inhale through
evening’s relaxed lungs. Dear,
consider the anatomy of wonder,
arteries to anticipation,
capillaries to clarity,
tendons supporting tenderness;
primal DNA,
the pulsations of expectation...
May stars ring for you all
at once, like bells from childhood.
WHEN IMMORTAL LOVE…
inspires a Taj Mahal,
the loving couple
does not stop building
until their temple shimmers
for all mankind,
though the shrine may take
two hundred years to fashion
to perfection,
and the lovers of origin
are gone, leaving the wonder
to sheer reflection.
MEDITATION GROUP
Listening to wave music
breathing slowly
evenly
we inhale fusions
of air in the room
our variations
numberless like galaxies
in mystical silence
as we inhale and exhale
essences of humans, being.
Listening to wave music
breathing slowly
evenly
we inhale fusions
of air in the room
our variations
numberless like galaxies
in mystical silence
as we inhale and exhale
essences of humans, being.
LYRICAL TREES
May our roots dig deep,
fingers unfolding like leaves
being born. Like apple trees,
we need air, earth, rain,
a nourishing sun.
Calm us, sky, with blue visitations,
drifted clouds…And hopes,
hold fast: be green-blooded limbs
when personal and world ills
wear rough boots and kick…
Somehow, may we thrive
through changes
stirring our roots. We have
survived, transcended
and we surely shall again.
May we offer shade, shelter,
fruit we warmly give away
and peacefulness
as exhaled
through our leaves.
________________________
Today’s LittleNip:
NORTHERN LIGHTS
—Claire J. Baker
May our inner crystal ball
align with our magnetic waves
while the heart’s hourglass
sifts away negatives
that we may move forward
into an aurora borealis
of pastels rippling through
a backdrop of stars—
each spark an answered prayer.
________________________
Our thanks to Claire Baker for today’s lovely, thoughtful poems, perfect for this day before Thanksgiving. And may your days be equally thoughtful, lively and lovely!
_______________________
—Medusa
May our roots dig deep,
fingers unfolding like leaves
being born. Like apple trees,
we need air, earth, rain,
a nourishing sun.
Calm us, sky, with blue visitations,
drifted clouds…And hopes,
hold fast: be green-blooded limbs
when personal and world ills
wear rough boots and kick…
Somehow, may we thrive
through changes
stirring our roots. We have
survived, transcended
and we surely shall again.
May we offer shade, shelter,
fruit we warmly give away
and peacefulness
as exhaled
through our leaves.
________________________
Today’s LittleNip:
NORTHERN LIGHTS
—Claire J. Baker
May our inner crystal ball
align with our magnetic waves
while the heart’s hourglass
sifts away negatives
that we may move forward
into an aurora borealis
of pastels rippling through
a backdrop of stars—
each spark an answered prayer.
________________________
Our thanks to Claire Baker for today’s lovely, thoughtful poems, perfect for this day before Thanksgiving. And may your days be equally thoughtful, lively and lovely!
_______________________
—Medusa
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
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!
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!
