Time is a Butterfly

—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

IN SAN RAFAEL 

 

A Victorian

stands deserted
on a hilltop
as we pass,
its ancient
apple trees
still leaving
windfall gems
in tall
sweet grass.

 

 

 

 

A PICTURE WORTH  . . . .
        
A stark, riveting
black and white photo
shows a homeless man

and his dog, asleep
under freeway overpass.
The dog resting head

on friend’s grimy hand
drifts to sleep, the two
bonded in life and death.

 

 

 

 

VIGNETTE       

Eleanor
placed
notes
toward
social justice
in a wicker basket
outside Franklin’s
Oval Office.

 

 

 

 

MOMENTARY MODEL

Gorgeous
iridescently green
bluelavenderpink
housefly
posing on my railing
nude

you are one calm
handsome dude
as I ponder angles
best to click you
Quickly you win the sky
winking, I swear,

in flashing on by.

 

 

 

 

 

A BRIDGING         

My
electrocardiogram
reveals (ah)
evenly-spaced
loops
like the GG bridge  
to Marin, its
Spanish-named
Tiburon, Sausalito,
Novato, Ignacio
& old San Rafael,  
while all the while
I left my heart
in San Francisco.

 

 

 

 

AT SIERRA CAMP

One evening
after B-B-Q   
we carry
flashlights
into woods
here where we
watch
rainbow trout
nibble
on
ripples
of
moonlight.

 

 

 

 

 

PAYING ATTENTION 

    via Mary Oliver               
                                                                
Our
switched-off
bed lamp
looks
lit afresh
from angle
of the
setting sun.
        *
In waiting for
a newborn’s
first tiny breath
time can
tick
slower
than grass grows
slower
than poppies close.     

 

 

 

 

COIN TOSS?        

Are we
given
enough
time
to
become
timeless?

 

 

 

 

STILL . . .

The butterfly counts not
months but moments,
and has time enough.
—Rabindranath Tagore


A butterfly
not long

for this life,
gathers pollen

to powder flowers
with immortality,

that springboard
to time enough. 

 

 

 

 

TOURING, BLACK FOREST

If in evening a nightingale
seemingly sings for you,
it is only fair
that some other evening
you sing
for the nightingale.

 

 

 

WHAT  I  MEANT

My email must have
   clicked out all wrong—
      a message you interpret
         as smart-aleck, not the
            childlike song I so intend.

Meanwhile,
   let’s keep breathing
     light into the stars
         that they resettle calmly
            back in place, and mended.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

AFTER TEMPEST
—Claire J. Baker

The sky quakes
when the sun pulls
pooled rain
back into the sky’s
lapis lazuli
lake.

___________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Claire Baker for today’s short/sweet poetry!

 

 

 

 

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Snake-a-fly