Almanac Questionnaire.end

Day Twenty Two
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Big Blue Bear

Sunday worship, a custom

child with hat and white gloves, black patent shoes
kneeling, hands folded, head bowed in supplication

guitars, women nearer the altar, kiss of peace

a pause, a long time gone

new words for old prayers, re-imaging Christ

no longer defined by Sunday or its tired formBigBlueBear

In reverence of Redwood architecture
joining air to earth to that which lies beneath
I stand in awe of your strength
pay homage to your constancy

Three minutes down the city banded
alleyway, a wall to halt my vagrancy,
you press me to change my viewpoint,
look up instead of down, past high rise windows
my eyes ascend to glimpse a peek of sky where
buildings join air to earth
to that which lies beneath
In observance I discover
You are also here

Outside my glazed glass frame
a tree bows in reverence under snow,
crow, owl and squirrel, bees and spiders
await their spring ritual
Tree, oh Tree, you brush my face
in morning hello
tap my window in icy storm
wear that which I cannot control,
innocent release to what Is,
you welcome me to journey
enraptured I bow to You

Lilacs, lavender, iris
purple flora scenting air
fill my lungs with song
I chant Your being

In weep of rain,
I receive your indulgence
wash away quotidian dust
rain, oh, rain
a baptism of comfort issued
Your lullaby and caress

I fear of being homeless,
without a house to cover my form.
But You are home within my being,
a house not of cards to collapse
with slightest breath
but Spirit filled dwelling
where I rest and cry, sleep and love,
You place yourself within
to walk with me in holy sanctuary
all the days of my life

Leo was there to welcome him home,
a scrap from a letter, condolences from Pam
angel doggie card in remembrance of Bremen
canidae, anubis, golden wolf,
protector of graves and cemeteries
I celebrate your unwavering devotion
Dog and God

Magdalene, a most notable person,
not whore who washed his feet,
that image only for those who boast
of saving souls, condemning sinners,
I know you as woman of understanding
the one who saw, the one who loved
the one who believed
I praise your grace

I am not the Big Blue Bear
peering into the great glass cave
hoping to be welcomed into
a walled-in temple, a postcard
perfect invitation to entice me
into a rigid model of salvation,
I choose to step aside,
turn around to join those in dance
under clear blue sky, each a unique
expression of You reveling in
your liturgy welcoming to all,
your holy sacrament to make us One

There is no conspiracy to
make me think I am Beloved,
I am
It is maitri,
through my bewilderment,
I find compassion
In disorientation, harmony,
with my befuddlement,
I am re-written, turned,
and in gratitude I accept me
I am Yours eternally

 

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Author’s Note:

Click for how this poem came to be!

What I’ve used to create this piece:
Almanac Questionnaire
Weather: rain
Flora: lilacs, lavender, iris
Architecture: Redwoods
Customs: Sunday Worship
Mammals/reptiles/fish:
Childhood dream:
Found on the Street:
Export:
Graffiti:
Lover:
Conspiracy: not being beloved
Dress:
Hometown memory:
Notable person: Mary Magdalene
Outside your window, you find: my Tree
Today’s news headline:
Scrap from a letter: Condolence card for Bremen from Pam
Animal from a myth:
Story read to children at night:
You walk three minutes down an alley and you find: Wall
You walk to the border and hear:
What you fear: Being houseless
Picture on your city’s postcard: Big Blue Bear

Almanac Questionnaire.4

Day Nineteen
napo2016button1

Sunday worship, a custom

child with hat and white gloves, black patent shoes
kneeling, hands folded, head bowed in supplication

guitars, women nearer the altar, kiss of peace

a pause, a long time gone

new words for old prayers, re-imaging Christ

no longer defined by Sunday or its tired form

In reverence of Redwood architecture
joining air to earth to that which lies beneath
I stand in awe of your strength
pay homage to your constancy

Three minutes down the city banded
alleyway, a wall to halt my vagrancy,
you press me to change my viewpoint,
look up instead of down, past high rise windows
my eyes ascend to glimpse a peek of sky where
buildings join air to earth
to that which lies beneath
In observance I discover
You are also here

Outside my glazed glass frame
a tree bows in reverence under snow,
crow, owl and squirrel, bees and spiders
await their spring ritual
Tree, oh Tree, you brush my face
in morning hello
tap my window in icy storm
wear that which I cannot control,
innocent release to what Is,
you welcome me to journey
enraptured I bow to You

Lilacs, lavender, iris
purple flora scenting air
fill my lungs with song
I chant Your being

In weep of rain,
I receive your indulgence
wash away quotidian dust
rain, oh, rain
a baptism of comfort issued
Your lullaby and caress

To be continued…

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Author’s Note:

Click for explanation of this growing poem!

What I’ve used so far…
Almanac Questionnaire
Weather: rain
Flora: lilacs, lavender, iris
Architecture: Redwoods
Customs: Sunday Worship
Mammals/reptiles/fish:
Childhood dream:
Found on the Street:
Export:
Graffiti:
Lover:
Conspiracy:
Dress:
Hometown memory:
Notable person:
Outside your window, you find: my Tree
Today’s news headline:
Scrap from a letter:
Animal from a myth:
Story read to children at night:
You walk three minutes down an alley and you find: Wall
You walk to the border and hear:
What you fear:
Picture on your city’s postcard:

Tea and Rosemary

She stood at the bottom of the escalator for some time. When she first approached it, she stopped directly in front of it, dead still. The people behind her, a teen boy and girl, didn’t noticed at first and jammed right into her. She caught herself before she fell and her head came into contact with the sharp ribbed steps that are supposed to keep you from slipping, but always worried Mara for this very reason. If she fell and hit her head there would be blood, lots of it. But she was able to remain standing as the two pushed her aside with a snide remark.

Mara didn’t see herself as a duster. But she understood how they would think so. Only a loser would stop at the very edge of the escalator and refuse to move. That’s what escalators are for, to move you. And she was stopped, frozen, unable to move.

She watched the two rise to the upper level of the mall ready to disappear. They looked back at her and flipped her off. She didn’t understand why they were so upset.

Mara just stood there, now smack in the middle as the flow of people continued up the escalator on her right side and down on her left. It was as though she was inside a giant metal aorta carrying blood cells through the veins of a brick and mortar goliath.

It was then she felt him. Later, as she was trying to remember she couldn’t remember if she actually felt something physical or just sensed something. Regardless, she turned around and met his eyes.

If she trusted her reading, the one where the astrologist promised she would find her soul mate, the one she’d been looking for, the one who would fill her not with flattery and mush but real substance, the kind that excited her in all the ways, the kind that made her think deeper about things that mattered and not the color of her skirt or how pretty she looked, she would have turned with a confident smile. This would be the soul mate who would know her from within, know that she had something to give.

If she could stop worrying about the second reading, the one with the angel cards that said she needed to forgive herself for all those things she blamed herself for. That always tied a knot in her stomach.

She was to blame. She was to blame for it all. If she would have only walked the other way, turned right instead of left, it wouldn’t have happened. Life would be going on and no one would have gotten hurt. She was to blame.

So she did the best she could to set the angel reading aside in the dark cool place in her mind where it could sleep until she could deal with it. Later. She promised herself she would. One day, but not right now.

He was taller than Mara with blue eyes and a soft expression, not like the ones on the faces of the people hustling onto the escalator. He smiled and held out a paper cup.

“I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of stalker or something, but I noticed you when you came out of the tea shop. You looked lost and when I saw the kids bump into you, that wasn’t very nice of them, I went back into the tea shop to get you a cup of tea. I took a chance that you would still be here when I came out.”

Mara just stared at him. He continued, “They said this is what you always drink. Here. We can go back into the shop so you can check me out with them. Really. I just wanted to be of help.”

“Thank you.” Mara took the cup and walked back into the tea shop. The man followed her.

They knew her well in the tea shop. She came in every day for tea and twice a week for readings. She walked through the shop toward the front by the doors that led to the street outside of the mall. She decided to sit in her favorite spot. It was open.

It was a small round wooden table painted a pale blue and sat in a cove with a window looking out into the street. The table was chipped and cracked in places and you could see the dark wood underneath. Mara liked that. There was always a round crocheted doily in the center sitting under a small vase of flowers. Today the frosted green glass held a bit of lavender, some peachy achillea, and rosemary. That’s odd she thought. Rosemary was new. Rosemary. Rosemary for remembrance. What was she supposed to remember?

He pulled out the chair before she could reach for it. It startled her. She forgot he was there. Maybe she hoped he hadn’t followed her but she was glad he did. This time when she looked at him, she saw his smile. It was gentle and curved sweetly. His eyes seemed to dance a bit. They both sat down.

Mara took a sip, swallowed and let out a sigh. “That’s right. Perfect.” Looking back at the man, she thanked him.

“You’re welcome.” He nodded slightly and leaned back in the chair. He crossed his long legs and looked relaxed. Just the opposite of Mara. They sat for a long time without saying anything.

Finally, after Mara finished her tea, he introduced himself, “My name is David.”

He waited. Mara looked up from the cup, she was never good at reading leaves. Her eyes focused on a blur outside the window across the street. She chose not see anything clearly right now.

“I’m Mara.”

“I know.”

The bus stop came into focus. Keeping her attention on the old woman sitting on the bench, she asked, “How do you know that? ”

“I know what happened. I want to help.”

Click

He left without saying good-bye. The door clicked behind him and Anna’s eyes opened. The gentle click was like an alarm to her. Big slams never bothered her. Big slams were meant for show, someone wanting attention, making a statement. He didn’t do big slams. It was the almost imperceptible click that banged in her head. Then fell to the pit of her stomach to carry it with her through the week.

Anna slid out from under the covers. With a slight limp she padded to the kitchen in her satin slips-ons, mules her aunt used to call them. She made a cup of tea. It was always peppermint to soothe her stomach, give her a little pep, and fill her with good memories of her aunt’s summer garden.

As she sat at the table, a chill seeped between the cracks of the worn window sash and frame. It mixed with the steam rising from her cup to make a ghostly swirl in front of the blackness outside the window. Anna watched it twirl and twist, a ballerina on pointe, a bit off balance, spinning out of control, fading into nothing.

She took the last sip and lifted her eyes to look through the window. She could begin to make out the shape of the perfect maple across the street silhouetted in the morning glow. No leaves, just long branches reaching out to no one. Under the tree sat a bench facing another tree across the cobblestone walk, a path that led lovers through the park to quiet spots where secrets were made. This tree, only a bit smaller, an ash sat opposite the maple. Arms still reaching but this one not so perfectly shaped. A heavy snow one winter snapped her branches leaving the ash a bit lopsided.

There they were. Two trees. One tall and perfectly shaped, the other a bit broken. Two trees not side by side but separated by a path. No one would think them a pair, certainly not by shape or genus.

He gave Anna a drawing of the two trees. Part of the drawing was above ground, two trees growing in their separate worlds. The other part of the picture was below showing the roots of both trees. One stray root from each tree grew and twisted towards the other until the two met embracing one another, coming together without being seen. That’s what he named it, the drawing, Coming Together.

The memory of the click of the door rose up from the pit of her stomach, the click that happened each week when he left for home. It would come back up and want to bang around inside her head reminding Anna that that was all there was to embrace until next week when he would visit once again to draw.

Drawing was his passion and she gave him the room. He couldn’t do it on his path outside. It wasn’t allowed in his place where it was looked upon as frivolous, a waste of his time. But Anna knew it was what filled his soul, hers too. So she offered her room and herself. Also something seen as an unacceptable frivolity.

They would have tea. Earl Grey for him. He was really a coffee drinker, but she assured him tea would do the job. She would eventually introduce him to her herbal teas, but that would come later.

Anna would drink her own mix, a love potion of sorts. Only she never shared it with him. Rose hips, lavender, and rosemary made a bit of a bitter brew, but she liked the bite. That’s what love was all about. The bite. The sting.

When he finished drawing, she would make another cup for each of them and bring out a sweet, always something with chocolate. They would discuss philosophy. Not religion, she demanded. She wasn’t religious. Just like the Earl Grey, he started with philosophy to make her comfortable. He eventually planned on introducing her to religion. But that, too, would come later.

Then he would stand to leave and Anna would touch his hand. And he would stay until just before dawn when the click of the door would announce his departure, fall to the pit of her stomach. And tea would be steeped, much like Anna waiting for another week.

I Am Cold

I can hardly keep my eyes opennapo2014button1

I hear the wind
as if in a far tinned tunnel
voicing its distraction

I can’t answer questions
step onto the platform
I have no answers

I am cold

I am going to take a nap
under a soft blanket
and when I awake maybe
I will have felt your warm breath
and know

I am dream

I walk the labyrinth
hedged by clean scented lavender
my step takes me back
upon itself
weaving round and around
and back again
as I step nearer
to your sweet  invitation

I long as each curve bends
my step closer
to your whisper
curving me
back to reflection
circling close
to what seems the beginning
a start over
yet drawing me nearer

I reach for your hand
to hold me near
but I know
this is my journey alone

I keep hope you are there

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Author’s Note:

From NaPoWriMo Day 27: And now for our prompt! Our early-bird prompt this year (on March 31) was an ekphrastic poem. This is something similar — a poem written from a photograph. There are four below, one of which I hope will catch your fancy. But if you’ve a particular photo in mind that you’d like to use, go right ahead. Happy writing!