who

whiskered, whimsical

wishful-thinking

wrung dry by worry

little old man, little boy

youth and man

all part of one we lean on

often without empathy

reap far more

give bird seed daily

reap a harvest

of colorful flutter

and joyful song

if not through, then beside

weeping for my family

i cannot protect

i can no longer ‘kiss better’

sobbing for the pain and fear

i cannot absorb for them

knowing, remembering my own

longing to keep them from that harm

even understanding their strength

and that they must go through it alone

i can only stand beside or behind them

too wonderful for me

our minds conquer

time and distance

to maintain connection

to loved ones

in physics

there is an odd, instantaneous

connection between some far-

separated particles that makes

no more sense

and yet is true

each time we think we know

perhaps it would be better

to smile to ourselves

and admit we could still be awed

by reality

by the Pacific

dozens of people on the sand

walking, standing looking out

pondering the expanse of ocean

each feeling alone

caught in time

an infinitesimal part

of a greatness no one

can comprehend

taste of abundance

drink the wind

swallow gulps of snow

test the grit of sunflower

marvel at the texture of honeycomb

stick out your tongue to catch rain

taste generous Nature

then revel, appreciate, cherish

work to protect

drizzle shower

gentle drops, arriving individually

one-by-one, welcome

dot-dot-dotting the windshield

until my car picked up speed

down our steep Ihrig Road

splats now, group onslaught

across the width of the window

warranting wipers turned on

at least on delay

Stringtown Road asphalt blackened

nursery plants perking

maple leaves less dusty

soil between vast rows richer brown

mama osprey straddling her chicks

in the nest to feed them

as though providing shelter

as well as sustenance

osprey chicks

scrubby osprey chicks

now tall enough to peer

over the edge of the nest

at the traffic on Ritchie Road

and the man with awe in his eyes

and a camera

but their gaze is not for mere humans

they are waiting for a parent

with food

out of body

 so many cultures have believed

that dreamers leave their physical

body to experience what they dream

believing also, perhaps, that many

planes of existence are reality

and our senses are attuned

to only one aspect of being

intriguing, but life as we know it

seems so complex and interactive

i hesitate to want to take on more

without evidence as i do not

adequate for what i need to be

even here and now

tiny plea

tiny white butterfly flittered

near like an asterisk calling

attention to itself. ‘Here I am,”

it seemed to whisper, ‘perishing

in this early summer sun. I don’t

have dark blues or blacks

or large, wide-spread wings

that would help me cool myself.

Your global warming is killing me

and so many others. Please, please

tell your others to change

how you use our earth and air.’

Nana’s Irish Pub

Nana’s Irish Pub at Nye Beach

dark woods within, open patio

with shade to hide those who burn

in the sun and a metal water bowl

beneath each table to refresh dogs

while their people eat thick corned

beef sandwiches oozing melted cheese

while wrens flit along the cobbled

bricks looking for crumbs

when there are none, patrons sipping

ginger beer drop generous supplies—there is plenty to share

and all of it delicious

read aloud

‘read aloud’ proving

an invaluable tool to edit

so many errors i no longer see

as i read and re-read my manuscript

skipped word, awkward sequence

computer-initiated paragraph—

midsentence

the reader’s non-inflective drone

takes a lengthy pause and i look up

to the screen from my notebook

“Ah, okay,” my straining eyes grateful

for a change

this listening-checking is not

my favorite chore but it is instructive

and for that i as well as my sore eyes

thank the designers of my computer

complicate reality

reflected light skitters

through our conscious world

as though it had being

we perceive it with our eyes

allow at times our perception

to alter what we do

as though the image it projects

had dimension rather than mere

mental pattern recognition

dark of night

the ‘great white way’

was once the Milky Way

pondered by shepherds

their musings giving connection

to vastness above and beyond self

millennia before angels brought

‘tidings of great joy’

‘dark of night’

now conquered by fear-induced

electric lanterns that blind us

to that experience of belonging

to our universe and hasten

our separation from it

in our small fears

we conquer ourselves

unobtrusive

we seldom hear the quiet ones

who see without comment

often without judgment

aware and sympathizing

watching for unobtrusive ways

to remove an obstacle or ease

our path without our knowing

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not obliged

too much haze

too little flare

the northern lights

did not live up to predictions

or, rather, the predictions

were hopes and dreams

and gave the erupting sun

no sense of obligation

to fulfill them

copy editor

doggedly i filled out forms

sighing about another waste

of effort and time:  title, genre

number of pages, synopsis

sample of writing (3000-word max)

date for response – give her

30 days, at least

i pressed SUBMIT expecting to forget

i’d submitted by the time i heard

when half an hour later she emailed

“Interesting” and sent a proposal

a professional with contacts

is interested in my characters

several have been enthused in the past

but they were anonymous judges i had no way to follow up with

but this is someone I now have

a contract with, will work with

one-on-one

i am chin-high in correcting errors

in the manuscript again

i want to send her my best to do

these people i write about justice

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turquoise at the NW horizon

turquoise at the northwest horizon

remained so long, i had hope

watched, dreaming up movement

slithering colors that were not there

simply sunset clinging

to the foothills and pines

rather than a night early for promised Aurora Borealis but still beauty

beyond all the watercolor and pastel

i have ever lovingly spread on paper

Aurora

haunting, magical play of lights

i’ve seen twice now—three times

actually, as the second encounter spread

over two nights in August

a treasure experienced in Alaska

watching in shoulder-hugging awe

even knowing that solar flares

had sent particles to collide

with Earth’s magnetic field

science explains the colors and swaying

curtains of light, but not the depth

of feelings of the primitive within me

near worship of the vastness

of the universe of which i am less

than a speck flickering in time

back to basics

unexpected peace with going

back to our basics: warm, in-person

interactions and encouragement

leaving distant friends to work

on their own with promise

we’ll hold gatherings where

they are welcome to join us