Oratory

Waking Up in the Rockies

I went out to cut some chives
in the pale morning. On the hill, a herd
of deer, and bees leaving their hives,
coming to the garden, a sweet blur
of insect sound, full of honeyed purpose.
I, oblivious, dreaming of the ocean,
imagining coral beaches, surfaced
nearly nose-to-nose with a doe, stunned
as she, frozen, dazed past reason.
                     It seemed fantastic,
a wild gesture of this maddened season,
as though my dream had stretched, elastic,
to pull me back to this alpine day, blood
to blood with deer, with what is sacred.

   

What Does Love Want?

Jays
are back
blue & flashy & loud
arguing
with ravens
all around town.

The beach
is littered with glass
sharp-edged
stones, broken
crockery
shells, rain
from a slate
sky.

Today I nearly swallowed
a lady bug.
It was harsh
& pungent
a bitter
taste on my tongue.

I walked
to the end
of the road, dogs
geese
the sea
a garden of huge cabbages, gulls
crying
on the water.

I came home wet and steaming.

 

When Lives Were Saved

When you were parched
      with the needs of others
           and I washed up thirsting
                on your rocky beach, you

let me in.  When I raged
      against all fathers, all lovers,
           all men who cast away their
                women, you stayed, still and

deep as a mirror.  When
      you went down as far as
           you could dive, beyond
                love, beyond breathing,

submerged in death and bloated
      with all the drowning violence
           of your own raging father, then
                surfaced shouting at my door,

I let you in.  When I came
      to you weeping, choking on
           demands and accusations,
                hearing only my own gasping
      
fear, you let me in.  When
      you came to me, sodden,
           from another bar or another
                woman, mouth full of seaweed

and booze, I let you in. 
      If there are women who
           ask how you can hold
                to someone so breathless,

so far from shore -- if there
      are men who wonder how
           I can swim in such cold, deep
                water -- well, I say -- let them.

   

While Napping in Alaskaon a Sunday in October

Winter crawls out of the woods
and swallows the town.  Shrews slip back
      to the woodpile.  The road
slides downhill.  Black and white tiles
embrace on the kitchen floor.
      Coffee thickens in the pot
while lunch congeals on the plate.
The planet turns through crowded space.
      Dust drifts under the door.

The dog dozes while the cat
dreams of eating it, one black paw
      at a time.  Darkness rubs
my bedroom window.  The quilt
exhales cedar and mothballs.
      In my afternoon dreams, I
ride a rolling ball through star-
cluttered skies.  Bears climb to their dens.
      My sheets pile up like snow.

 

WinterSolstice

It was dark and cold and Grandmother said let's make a picnic, we'll hang the beaded sun on the ceiling, have lunch from a willow basket. She laid out great-grandmother's quilt, orange and yellow and blue, a homespun lawn on the carpet, and I in my nightgown and she in her lavender dress, ate tuna and crackers and chocolate off delicate china plates.
   

Charles Cummings: “A life of prayer is
a life of beginning all over again.”

As is a life of writing. Perhaps a life of
writing is a life of prayer.

From The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language: Fourth Edition. 2000

or·a·to·ry

1. A place for prayer, such as a small private chapel.

ETYMOLOGY:    Middle English oratorie, from Old French, from Late Latin rtrium, place of prayer, from Latin, neuter of rtrius, for praying, from rre, to pray.

2. Eloquence or skill in making speeches to the public.

ETYMOLOGY:    Latin (ars) rtria, (art) of speaking, feminine sing. of rtrius, oratorical, from rtor, speaker, from rtus, past participle of rre, to speak.

This is a place to archive my poems, written over the past fifteen years; the poems are listed alphabetically on the sidebar.  These include my best poems, but also some of my less-than-best.  Many are still changing.  New additions will be in the *NEW* category for at least a month or two.