In Memory of Shannon Brown

Shannon Brown

 I have terrible news

sit down before you listen

our friend…

gone, the quirky stories

of a teacher who saw

beyond the pigtails

and ponytails

and dirty nails

and tongues sticking out

as little ones labored

at mastering letters printed

by pencils as long

as their forearms

to the unique person

promise of each child             mjNordgren  8/17/21 

so many alone

so many alone

bared of beach grass

sand dimpled

by multiple footprints

yet we feel alone

as spent waves

wash against

our human soles

gentlest rain

fog of tiny mist drops

suspended in air

slowly dampening arid earth

thirsty grass and trees

with early-browned leaves

sighing their thanks

Renewal

tears in my eyes

running down my cheeks

as i just listened and watched

Bells of the Cascades and Cathedral Bells

complete their handbell concert

at the national meeting in Arizona

such amazing skill and beauty

the final piece filled me

with the hope for peace

that reality sometimes hammers

into me that it can never be

but it can

with creative beauty

as in Compton’s final piece

it truly can

ethereal mustard southwest of Yamhill

wide field

deep to the distant tree line

velvet with mustard plants

glowing in the slanted sun

ethereal golden yellow

lifting my heart in joy

alone on the Oregon coast

we feel so alone

but generations

have crouched beneath the sound

of wind
moan-seeking among
withering branches

have started as shrill
fledged murres
shriek ‘me!’
above the roar of incessant
wave upon wave

have heard sobs

in the rain

before knowing

they

were weeping

sky change

gray nights without stars

layered gray mornings

but today’s dawn

brilliant orange and gold

rising sun heralded

by trumpets of color

twisted gladness

watching the photos

of their cruise of the Greek islands

of their safari in Africaand tour of Maine

i am glad for them

they earned it with years of intense schooling

and weary hours of work at their careers

but a pinprick of something—

a longing perhaps—

twists my joy for them

as i remember our years of school and hanging on

hoping, dreaming—

and then you left

Fist or Open Hand

how to reach persons
convinced they are victims
angry with their oppressors
filled with hate
or blinded by self
righteousness
all ages
all colors
all abilities
how to reach out
when i, too, am unsure
of my own worth
needing to feel
i am better than someone
even individuals
i have only known
by criteria which may
be irrelevant
to who they are

Complex Classical

though unschooled
about the nuances
of classical music
i find its complex
rhythms stimulating
as background
as i write my books

Morning Visitor

vivid florets, dark brown
squared face with perked
triangular ears
too stocky, too muscular
for a housecat
the young bobcat
awkwardly stalks a vole
nearly to my porch

Tiered Colors

tiered colors
of the sky
touch my soul
as the double-arced rainbow
or the gold horizon
layered with pink and mauve
glimpses of blue
between purple-gray clouds
stretched to contain fullness
of loving hope and promise