aj’s haven

a warm home

welcoming grown children

and extended family

to potluck and skilled baker’s pies

chatter, love and laughter

and our lady, newly happy

o’s

 slender hope in oregon

to see leonid meteor shower

our night skies in november

are nearly always misty

if not pouring down rain

but the wet beats

shoveling snow off the roof

as we did in ohio

welcome barrier

toughened bare feet so the cold

is recognized but does not, for a beat,

spread through my being when i step into light snow

i can dash to do what needs be and hurry back to shelter

without chill if i am quick

how i wish my anger knew such a buffer before erupting

skill within one’s realm

trucker handling triple trailers on a windy day

chef adding a pinch of this and a dash of that

seamstress taking the one tuck that perfects the silhouette

salmon homing from ocean to single stream that spawned him

eagle finding invisible spiral of air to climb without moving his wings

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if only Leonid

memory of riding in the bed

of battered pickup out  of the Maine

woods to a sloped field to gather

bundled against the cold to watch

Leonids slap dash across the night sky

if only Oregon would yield its

November mist and fog for the annual

streak show

comin’ and goin’

computer systems got me - automatic renewal without notice

hours of chasing how to opt out - clear directions, only i can’t

do it that way because i have a subscription and need to downgrade

only there is no downgrading until the subscription runs out only

it is on automatic renewal without notification because

they want to keep the nearly $300

but i want to keep it, too

moon and particles

 pollution can be beautiful

as when it scatters

the rising moon’s rays

enhancing illusion on illusion

that our satellite is huge, orange

and shining

unwarranted conclusion

unwarranted conclusion

full moon and frost on pine limbs

stubbled lawn glints blue-white

convincing me just after midnight

of the season’s unpredicted first snow

glitter that is gold

only mount hood ghost-like on my horizon this morning

chill, pallid fog has muted the blue of portland’s west hills and pale

more distant cascade range

until flakes of burnished gold and snippets of vivid pink spurtle

like pinprick explosions of color to vouch for the coming of day

interpreter

to honor Daphne Clifton, poet

daphne watches nature

captures chickadees and titmice

in their daily, eventful little lives

with gentle words of compassion

and understanding that even too busy

humans can comprehend

banister to wisdom

at the head of the flight of steep stairs
i climb up and on, my right foot dangling
fifteen feet over the narrow hallway below

i close my eyes, afraid, but determined

i’ve seen my uncles and my older sister do this

but i wouldn’t try when they could watch

my palms are slippery as i try to grip

the dark, polished wood

slowly i ease my near-prehensile toes

from around the uprights

and let my bum first begin to move

i lift my left foot from its final anchor

the slide begins in earnest, balled red-plaid dress

and white cotton panties against the lacquered railing

i clutch at but cannot grasp the smooth, wide rail

i swoosh faster and faster, gritting baby teeth

to keep from screaming

a gasp escapes my mouth as i descend

but grandma doesn’t hear me until

i’ve reached the round, decorative curl-end post

swished near sideways off it and clattered to the wooden floor

i’m not crying, exactly, but mama would have rushed to pick me up

and coo sweet assurances

but grandma, mother of three boys, stands arms akimbo

come over here, she says, and I’ll pick you up

I’d have come to you but I have a bone in my leg

i stagger up, blinking, to check that i’m okay

next time, don’t come down so fast, she says over her shoulder

as she returns to the kitchen

i feel so bad about that bone in her leg

i hold onto the banister as I look back up its height

so much to learn  

still vivid

laughing lunch with elder daughter

phoned younger to giggle over memory

she chuckles, musing, “strange how

incidents of decades ago come flooding

back as though they just happened”

wayward words

 funny how a word or two

can run caustic over my being

it takes a breath and a moment

to reflect on past joys

to put the feelings of hurt and anger

back into my pocket

uh - oh

 befuddled after trauma

to an extent I am finding

only these months later

as i try to balance the books

frugal, ingenious mama

wrangled gold, red, orange, even blue

from green, hard-working leaves

chemical plants that produce, as waste

what we vitally need to breathe

how frugal Mother Nature is

surplus from one of Her species

giving life to another

yet, as we inhale to gasp at her beauty

we ignore Her life-sustaining labor

long may She forgive us

person to person

sweet laughter, throaty chuckle, lingering smile

nothing tells more of human warmth

stranger in the room

stranger in the room

admired the more he speaks

for the idealism he’s incorporated into his life’s work

and warm reaction to teasing and laughter

it’s reassuring to respond, even wistfully, after years of widowhood

i suppose i am still alive after all

haiku

 haiku

greed personified:

california quail wallow

in the birdseed bowl

work carried on and accomplished

a lifetime of careful labor

added to parents’

to make of a farm

a palette of charm and beauty

abundant for the eye and appetite

            mjNordgren  10/26/2022  McMinnville

interview with mjNordgren

now live on the City of Forest Grove Website - https://www.forestgrove-or.gov/bc-pac/page/local-artist-spotlight

In the spring of 2022, Pacific University students interviewed local artists and mjNordgren (author) for their art advocates class. What a fun time that turned out to be.