Calm

 Sometimes I’m just 

Calling 

For the kind and sweet 

Of you.

Title No Title

 After the eclipse, 

When my hair turned white

(and I’ll be writing about that later),

Now comes here Israel Iran

Biden Harris Austin, and

The tight circle of 

Situation

This, and have at what/who/where 

This is,

has been coming for decades,

Forever and ever amen,

Ancient

Mideast war that somehow 

Has to happen now

Or the new world war will have 

Finally come soon

Collision

Eclipse

Mids

Easts 

Clouds, canopy and air,

Earth moves,

Quake and water,

These are the lights, they point to 

real days beyond the flood

Drones

Missiles’ bombs

Fossils

To fossil fools

Revolution of

The Anthropocene

Arrives,

Rogue actors ascend

Though in our alert of senses

We know not who they are, 

Nor yet how we respond. 

Wrestling

 Last night I dreamed

I lost my cellphone and my passport

And then, oh

I found after some

Ultimately futile 

Contemplating

About what to do

That alas,

I’d also lost my driver’s license

And the billfold in which I carried it

And 800 dollars, and 

But, and  

Where, I woke to ask

Was I going?

In my dream, 

After I knew I’d lost my passport

And my cell, 

I was frantic:

Dad! Oh how can I even find you?

So I started

(In my dream) 

To look through the cupboards

In my grandmother’s pantry

And just when I despaired,

I found I’d tucked my 

Carryall,

My pocketbook—

The grey bag with lots of pockets—

Tucked it 

Into the cupboard where

The china was, 

That she wanted me to have

I found it

And so I woke to ask

Who am I? 

Way it Is

Winter

Pondering if it is a truth, that I’m kind of isolated and getting to be an old woman up here, trying to make a difference, juggling integrity, weariness, love and all that bit. I sit looking out of my nighttime windows, and it’s the strangest outside I’ve seen in some time. The north is still snow-covered, though mud is everywhere the rest.

I realize I’m becoming used to green winter, though it does feel random still, and in my recall I think on snow pinwheels in May, early snow before Halloween one year, powdering an icy sprinkle. Seems a little frivolous, a frivolity I may need to think on a bit more. 

It is 1-9-24

I wrote a poem a long time ago about green winter. I’ve been thinking about it for many moons. And ten years ago I sat to look into this kind of winter sky, wrapped as now into what just is, and later, in the shift in my interior wandering, I started to muse on my last quarter, and wrote about that too. 

The arctic, though, in that poem I wrote maybe ten years ago, shivers now, still, and dissipates into another kind of moment, deepening into a whole again. There is breath and life in an arctic, and I breathe anew that breath. Part of me has to wonder if it’s about this last, a past, in the beautiful warp of time. Perhaps we take our leavings on a wild, wondrous cold slide navigating worlds, cosmos, and so forth, and so I ponder.

I didn’t take my hearing aids out tonight. I usually do. Oh wind-whipping beauty, oh the life pattering on my metal roof: rain? Sleet? Hail? Small messages from restive clouds, portending snow? I don’t know, and I could be afraid, and maybe I should. But I’m not, really. As I write, I think hmm. Derecho. 

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