The Huntress Stretches….INDIE-kissing Blogfest, Feb. 14

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The Huntress Stretches

Dawning

Rose – tinted clouds

Two silhouettes ripple

Long, slow grapple of

A kiss

Tasting, testing

Predator and prey

In the same instant.

The Huntress stretches

New light caresses

Sinew and soul

Leaving her mate

Asleep in her furs

Slips into forest

Death stalks on

dew-kissed

Paws

Second Anniversary smooch, 1999….still kissin’ and still lovin’ it! ;D

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  • Tattoo (neonrabbit1.wordpress.com)

Laughter – Thankvember Twenty-Fifth

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Laughter – Thankvember Twenty-Fifth

Today, I am paying tribute to our family’s secret superpower – laughter!

Laughter has been much on my mind, these last weeks, and, since I’ve written two pretty nifty poems about it recently, I am going to repost them as today’s gratitude.

May you enjoy, chortle, chuckle, giggle, titter….

Last Night, We Laughed

Last night, we laughed,

Annalise and I, together.

She is 8, and I am 43

And yet we were bound

In that just-right moment

By the sheer hilarity

Of the mental image

Of unicorns…

Vomiting

Through

Their

horns

!

Annalise as a pink unicorn rider!

And, on a slightly more serious note….

 

Laughter

Tonight, I am home alone.

With the television – music and inane advertising,

The pleasant and the irksome, in turns.

The rattlehum of the heater bouncing gently

Up and down the hall.

Predictably warm, and comforting on a chill night.

The rattling ting of the dog’s tags as he moves

The guinea pigs’ deep purrs and high squeaks.

Remind me that this solitude includes them.

The slliiissshhhthump of hot water

hitting a plastic milk jug, and the

so-soft pip-pop of newly born bubbles.

The slightly discordant symphony of

Our motley collection of dishes

clank tinkle sliding into order again.

And, woven through and all around,

The memory echoes of the music

That most defines my life.

It is the music of laughter,

Of giggles, and squeals, and sometimes snorts

Bubbling, exploding, surprising.

It runs through our lives and our souls

Like a flowing river, alive, mutable

Its song burbling mirth.

It is our nourishment and sustenance

The force that connects us one to the rest.

Our not-so-secret superpower.

Jeremiah and I share a laugh after a swim in the lake.

I hope I gave you a chuckle, a guffaw, a snort, or a snicker –

 

Or maybe all of them, and more!

Laughter, I love you! Thanks for the laughs!

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Balance – Thankvember Seventeen

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Balance – Thankvember Seventeen

I

seek it

constantly.

Life in balance

is a shifting thing.

Blending energies

focused within

I find my

balance

now.

Public domain image. Click for source.

 

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Taste – Thankvember Tenth

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Taste – Thankvember Tenth

Taste

fills me

with pleasure

or revulsion.

Frozen grapes so sweet

crunching melt on my tongue

more delicious than candy.

That first sip of morning coffee

sweet warm elixir of wakefulness

herald of connecting conversation

before we move on to our own projects.

The savory onion lentil soup

created by my imagination

blending spices, herbs, sauces stirred in

to the onion stock learned from a friend.

I made it so I could play

with taste texture scent food

making something new

something my own

blended from

other

tastes.

Annalise at 6, tasting a just-picked strawberry.

Touch – Thankvember Seventh

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Touch – Thankvember Seventh

 What does it mean, to touch or be touched?

Is it a surface thing, skin touching skin,

the soft caress of an edge of lace,

a cat’s fur warmed by the sun,

the perfection of a newborn’s cheek?

Is it the aversions?

For me styrofoam, velvet,

or the feel of socks on a rug

make me cringe.

Is it those moments of intimate connection

between partners of long standing, or new lovers?

Or is it something more…?

Does touch have depth?

Hidden meaning in

The stoking of fingers along skin

Gliding or gripping, embracing or clutching…

Is there a deeper place to know

A touch so deep that there is no need

For any physical touch?

My soul to yours

Your heart to mine

Ideas and emotions carried

In letters you read on the screen

Or the page.

I am touching you

Yes, you

Just now

In this instant

Of reading.

The Infinite Now – OctPoWriMo, Oct. 31

The Infinite Now

Time

Stretches

This moment.

This single Now

Becomes infinite.

All possibilities

Exist first and only here.

There is no other time for me

No other instant I can act in –

This heartbeat, this breath, and only this one

Holds the magic of thought, impulse, movement.

Waiting as open as the vastness

Of the Grand Canyon in the star-

Pierced near utter dark, open.

Unseen unknown landscapes

Their power soul -sensed

Wide deep fierce true

Only bound by

What I

Choose.

Grand Canyon 1

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Two Lives, Two Rings – OctPoWriMo, Oct. 30

 

 

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Two Lives, Two Rings

 

 

I lost my ruby ring on my wedding day

 

For years, I wore it on chain

 

Where it rested just above my breasts

 

Warmed y my skin, and warming my soul.

 

 

*

 

 

It was my grandmother’s ring, a treasure

 

From the days before rubies were grown

 

The deep wine red with tones of pink

 

That I had worn on my small finger

 

When I was nine

 

And attended her funeral.

 

 

*

 

 

The day I was married, I wanted to

 

Wear a necklace that matched my dress

 

And so removed my grandma’s ring, and

 

I never saw it again.

*

 

 

The stone was set in a delicate filigree of gold,

 

A intriguing braiding of supple metal

 

That reminds me of the nurse

 

Who stood behind me as I cried on the bed

 

And whisperingly braided my hair

 

As I held my dying fiance in my arms.

 

 

*

 

 

I was twenty-five then, and the thought

 

Of my life without him was a jagged precipice

 

Like the fifth floor window I had so briefly

 

Considered trying to leap out of

 

Before the death-message doctor could stop me.

 

 

*

 

 

And then, when I ran out of things to say in

 

Tear drowned and crumbling words

 

And you simply relaxed soundlessly into

 

The undiscovered country where I

 

Could not follow you.

 

 

*

 

 

Because I had promised him that I would live

 

And accept love if it were offered freely

 

I went on and accepted the love of

 

A dear friend, and the gift of our

 

Children…

 

 

*

 

 

One little boy, and then a second-

 

Born not breathing, terror replacing joy

 

Twelve days of unreal, breathhold living

 

Traveling the long road to the hospital NICU

 

Each and every day –

 

Until he died.

 

 

*

 

 

A year later, less five days

 

Our daughter’s cries wrung out

 

My tears of relief and joy

 

Although I would not trust that

 

She was here to stay

 

Until after she turned one.

 

 

*

 

 

Another ring lost, some years back

 

A simple sterling claddagh

 

with a purple glass gem

 

Meant, perhaps to be amethyst.

 

It was bought for pocket cash

 

At a farmer’s market on

 

The Erie Canal, on a whim.

 

 

*

 

It slipped off my finger while

 

I was tending our home, and,

 

Although I looked and looked

 

everywhere I thought it might be

 

It was simply gone, and I

 

Eventually accepted the fact.

 

 

*

 

 

The, two weeks ago,

 

My daughter came to me

 

In her sparkling, laughing way.
“Guess which hand, Mommy?”

 

And she knew I would guess left

 

Because I always do.

 

 

*

 

 

There on her palm, as though conjured

 

Lay the simple claddagh ring

 

Symbol of love, loyalty, and friendship

 

A gift now from my daughter to me

 

Just as she is a gift given from sorrow.

 

 

*

 

 

The ring had fallen into a corner

 

Back in her closet, and lay

 

A hidden treasure, unnoticed

 

For the years until she chose

 

To make a sleeping nest in there.

*

 

Life is the story of loves and losses

 

Some enormous, some trivial

 

All bringing feelings and memory

 

Touchstones for our humanity.

 

 

*

 

 

Some loves are seemingly

 

Torn from our lives without reason

 

Or regard for our grief and the raggedly

 

Ripped wound left behind.

*

 

 

And sometimes, another life and love

 

Our another symbol to cherish and cleave to

 

Are given to us, if we will be open

 

And not insist on seeing only

 

What we think ought to be.

 

 

Claddagh ring

Claddagh ring (Photo credit: Eddo Kloosterman)

 

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Outside In; Inside Out – OctPoWriMo, Oct. 29, 2012

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Outside In; Inside Out

What do you see when you look at me?

Or is it presumptuous of me to think

That you notice me at all?

I am, after all, what might be called

Past My Prime”

If you are the type to judge others

On such a trivial matter as appearance.

My voluptuous youth has settled,

Fatigued from long years of fighting gravity

Gravity, eventually, will win.

I am becoming what is sometimes called

With polite dismissal,

Matronly.

You might notice that my untamed hair

Tousled and twisting into rampant curls

Is woven and shot through, now

With coarser silver, honestly earned.

I do not wear makeup

And so do nothing to disguise the

age spot lakes and deepening creeks

formed of laugh lines and crow’s feet

Changing the geography of my face

Making it perhaps more interesting

But no longer my culture’s

Perception of beauty.

Ahhh, but,

If you should follow the map of my face

Up to the twin geyser pools of my eyes

Sparkling with light, life and fire

You might get a peek into my soul

And who I am within, in my hidden depths.

Those lines and crow’s feet

Which do not know wrinkle cream

Are the outward sign of a life

Spent more in laughter than in scowls.

This wild hair is a perfect fit

For an untamed, unbound spirit

Symbiotically part of the golden fall grass

The thickening curves and settling plains

Echoing the shape of the rolling hills

I am a being more attached to nature

Than to the the city skyscape

More interested by far in the

depths and breadth of the inner life

Than in how others my see this outer shell

That conceals universes and subatomic

Particles of  my being.

Me, in the backyard on October 18, 2012. Photo by Annalise S. Burton.

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Related articles

Wild Origins – OctPoWriMo, Oct. 28, 2012

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Wild Origins

All

My life

People have

Tried to tame me.

To break my spirit, to

Make me easily led.

Sometimes, there has been fury

Because I remain unbroken

Something within me fiercely resists

Any and all efforts to shape me, mold

Me into something I can never be.

I am as I am, a wild child grown

Into a woman unfettered

By others’ expectations.

Never other than me

Always, only me

Freeborn, vital

Forever

As now

Wild.

The wild child who lives with me…and who is welcome to stay that way….

Beneath Visibility – OctPoWriMo, Oct.27, 2012

Curious? Click here! =D

Beneath Visibility

I

can see

And yet not

So much beneath

Within all I see

Upside-down images

Flipped by a trick of my mind

Just light bouncing off rods and cones

More physiology than vision

And so very much that remains unseen

But I aspire to a far truer sight

A sight not of lens and cornea

Nor the dilation of pupils

Sight born only of presence

Without assumption

To see what is

As it is

Not through

Me

Integrated photoreceptor cells

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