stand down and stand by

 elderly now we

watch rather than live for

as our progeny work out

their own mistakes

and hug their chosen in triumphs

observers now of what we gave life

and fought to nurture

we are left to learn

our own eternal being

wind-driven stars and stripes

 awing, what a piece of cloth can say

curling, whipping upwards like a flame

twisting, unfurling to full banner in the wind

silently relating history and sacrifice

pride, hope, people striving for better

extending white and red as though to reach for freedom for everyone

showcasing stars, that, like celestial bodies above, shine on all below

long may it wave

not yet

not yet

frightened? yes, a little

all my life i’ve been independent

but now the vertigo threatens; the pandemic limits

the grass grows to my waist; cobwebs drape from high ceilings

over six months i’ve grown old

but not old enough to give in

high impact concert

high impact concert

Bells of the Cascades

intense individual musicians side by side, playing only

their own few notes as though D through F# on the piano

but creating a musical whole, ensemble

rapid runs, trills, intricate rhythms, varying techniques requiring skill

practiced change from mallet to ring to damping sound on padded table

to switching to chime rung or bowed

dedicated to difficult, complex, ethereal or passionate expression

rapt audience watching, listening

rising to their feet to acknowledge these incredible players made one

by genius young director Matthew Compton

touch

haikus

we need to touch, hand

on shoulder, not to possess

but to say i care

to touch is to connect

to feel, to know a presence

beyond my own world

a gentle, resting touch

to share experience

greater than each self

the bond of touch

the bond of touch

after seeing a black and white photo by William Wood

hair tumbling to her waist she sits straight-backed but not resisting

his hand gathering that silken hair to rest on her shoulder

expressing hope, care and tenderness in his touch

awakening in youth

what will bond and succor each

through pains and triumphs

of human life

                                    mjNordgren 5/31/2022  N

hate, too

     haiku

pain and fear encage

blinding panoramic views

of the joy of life

                        mjNordgren  5/29/2022  N

fear so deep

behind the mantra: “guns don’t kill people; people kill people”

must lie so deep a fear, so primal a distrust

a paranoia so terrifying that, to it, we willingly

sacrifice out children

slaughter of innocents

haiku

kindergarten child

drills for gun rampage lockdown

dad hugs tight good-bye

attention, please

windchimes tinkle in a gentle stirring of air

at the edge of the pine forest holding its breath to adore

the brightening golden intensity of sunrise

celebratory artist interviews

(with thanks to Emily, Margarita and Suba)

interviews of local artists by students learning marketing and advocacy of the arts celebrated in an evening of discussion and recorded tapes

well presented with dark background so each artist,

responding to unseen interviewer, is seen naturally

rather than embarrassed by the camera

each is led to speak of concepts vital to an artist’s being

creativity, nourishment for the soul, connection to the richest of life

and the need to reach to share

wandering thoughts then edited and presented as moments

of hard-gained wisdom and joy

a privilege to be a participant

floral personae

            haiku

street gang of zinnias

between choirs of calla lilies

violets cower

i love you today

pacific

pacific shore calm or ravaged

wispy white clouds or thunderous gray

rain-drenched or enveloped in fog

waves gliding in atop each other or pounding in masculine anger

ocean shore renews and expands a primal rhythm within me

synchronizes my soul with the universe

Kelley’s Island bonfire

Kelley’s Island in Lake Erie

primitive cabin with electricity that went off and came on

as it would decades ago

but plenty of driftwood drying on the lawn until ready

visiting extended family built a bonfire on the rocky shore

neighbors and strangers from up and down the coast

came to the leaping orange of the flames and spitting sparks

as we sang The Cannibal King and Swing Low Sweet Chariot

with my sister beside to hold me i let my toddler self be gleefully frightened

of the flitting firelight and shadow playing terrifying angles

on even familiar faces

grandma of great fortune

woman of courage completing her master’s

young women of solid accomplishment finding their feet and quiet strength

these are my granddaughters

fun musician graduating high school

caring college student working from and for home

brilliant young rebel honored by university for fighting for justice

firstborn of my grandsons taking on love and life with compassion and joy

these seven of my great fortune

oregon may 1st

may has arrived

chill, gray, deflowered, hopeful

man will learn to care

tarnished rules

rules are sometimes stupid, like the old one where, if two

drivers came to a four-way stop at the same time,

each must wait until the other had gone

but rules are attempts to prevent chaos, to lessen anarchy

so we can live at peace

thus, we are upset and discouraged by trending attitudes of

“I can do whatever I want”

a recent clothes shopping trip where several women before me

left the clothes they didn’t want in heaps around the dressing room

or vacationers who littered and damaged their rented spot

or anger in traffic escalating into gun violence

or, at our local school, a pair of youngsters planning to beat up

a fellow student, but when a teacher intervened, beat and hurt her, too

perhaps we need to simplify and turn again

to the Golden Rule

clouds have their own ways

individual clouds have their own ways

some, misty and delicate, float; some puff up as though

with laughter and good will

some, blushing blue, sprinkle rain; some pound the earth with deluge

a few gather discontented, angry friends and fellow haters

to dance themselves into spinning frenzy

creating pain and havoc

mostly on those who had nothing to do with whatever triggered

that cloud’s dismay

haikus this odd april

haikus in this odd april

osprey nest abandoned/ pair had nestled over eggs/ driven out by fierce cold

do does remember/ harsh winter or teach their young/ to hunt by instinct

do ducks know numbers/ how to count the trail of duckling/ mourn the one missing

distorting to delight

ribbons of water cascading appear as glass columns

shift-shaping greens seen through them

to fantastical beings, fairy-like, intriguing

drawing me to remember my delight in this world

before i thought i knew everything