The beech rises
stalwart on the ridge
brooking no challenge,
his smooth gray bark
shining in Fall sun
among yellowing leaves
and as I lean
to watch, a golden leaf
falls, whippling,
barely stirring air
to come to rest gently
on a twigged fork.
On a day
when politics
is too much with us,
I repair to the woods
to admire the beech
with a crook
like an elephant’s knee
in its massive trunk.
Each day is a new one
Made special by me.
I breathe deeper, dream harder, look closer.
It’s all here right now,
All that I need or want it to
be.
I’ve no time for playing
Earth Mother, Hecate or Crone.
I’ve found out the mystery—
My wise woman’s alive
Every minute inside me.
I practice a hundred frugalities
I eat my toast without jam
I shut off each light I’m not using
I try to live small as I can.
But, music keeps playing inside me
My mind sings a million new tunes
My-self is a universe unfolding
I’m a river that will not be damned
I run into mornings with laughter
Little Goddesses dance on my windowsills.
Perchance a bleak future awaits me
Living does take what it can
and
Death may be an added adventure
Yet, to living I answer
I am!!!!!
Wandering…
Through fields of tiny flowers
Mindful not to tread on them
I wonder…does God hear me?
Hear my prayer?
Why am I here?
Stumbling over stones
His answer comes
In a trinity of bright violets
Blooming midst the rocks
In the whisper of trees
In bird song — in scented air
He speaks to me
Answers my prayer
I hear — I care —
The night has death within its hold
Not a creature creeps
Nor a baby weeps
As on the edge of day we wait
Each mind suspended fear
Lord, let me not be bitter
For bitterness crawls into itself
And awaits a shrunken death
But let this raw heart
Stand back from its wound
Accepting and knowing
That love is its healing
Going with the Flow,
Floating on the surface
That’s what so many of us do in life.
But not a duck.
Sure, he floats. But look at his legs paddling away.
And when you’re not looking, he may dunk his head to eat.
Ninety nine – that number resonates.
What does it mean to be that age?
It means a weaker body and using a walker.
It means pain – chronic pain that never goes away.
Ninety-nine – that number resonates.
What does it mean?
It means recalling the years of childhood
As years with a golden glow but not dwelling on
The scarcity of those years, the near poverty.
Ninety nine – that number resonates.
What does it mean?
It means reliving the Glories of Love
And the despair of loss – the Loss of two
Husbands, one young and one old.
Ninety nine – That number resonates.
What does it mean?
It means the wisdom that comes from
Living many years and the humility
that comes from growing wiser.
Ninety nine – that number resonates.
What does it mean?
It means watching your children, grandchildren,
Great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren
Arrive and grow up.
Ninety nine – That number resonates.
What does it mean?
It means a life well-lived, joyous and busy,
Full of love and service,
Ninety nine years of laughter and care.
The weather’s unsettled on Easter Eve
like a restless cow about to calve,
the land licked clean by heady winds.
By early evening
sleet takes the land
collects on branches
slicks old snow
burdens old limbs—
conquered
they conjure thunderous cracks
like mindless destruction.
Lights flicker off
a match flares
a kerosene lantern
a smoke-smeared chimney.
The dark kitchen presses
in on Mother, Daddy, and me
huddled in a puddle of light
over eggs, the tang of vinegar
in cups of
rose
blue
yellow
green.
One by one
we balance them
on spoons,
lift them into the night.
She is called Quan Yin,
She is called Tara,
She is called Mary,
Hers are the believing arms wrapped around a raped teenager
Hers is the cool night blessing a disturbed mind
Hers is the today no of the father who turns down a beer
Hers is the mercy of the last breath
Hers is the forgiveness in a lover’s heart
She births the hope in every soul.
We are She.
We are One.
Glory be.
Oh, to be free as this fledgling pine alive on a mountain ridge like a tree nymph, breeze brushing her nipples, red leaves nesting in her hair.
You look at me and see
everything you fear:
every truth,
every lie,
every puddle,
every apple,
every brick in the wall.
I look at you and see
the sample boy
in a wool factory.
And that is the difference
between us.
heat lightning,
I give thanks.
For fear at bedsides,
for faith that held
us all in sturdy arms
even when we cried,
I give thanks.
For school folks,
for church folks,
for the music of perking coffee
during the last hand of cards,
I give thanks.
For two old elms
creaking outside my bedroom window
leaning toward each other
like old women telling stories,
I give thanks.
For a kitchen swelled by the smell
of baking bread,
for Grandma’s feet treading
the Singer sewing machine,
I give thanks.
For kerosene lanterns
when ice storms rattled the house,
for the wall phone’s melodious ring,
for the angel of mercy
ending suffering at last,
I give thanks.
For the wonder of library books,
for teachers who were kind,
for a dog to keep me company,
for parents who loved me,
I give thanks.
For tornadoes, for hailstorms,
for blizzards and sweltering summer days,
for the sweet rich soil of my youth,
I give thanks.
I will not ask for relief; only for stamina to make it through the night. I cannot ask for a convenient belief, instead an enigmatic mosaic full of darkness and light. I do not desire magic in a bottle. but the need to pay attention to the miracle of butterflies and flight, and all the life around me that is so often unseen. I do not desire a throng of friends, help me to find love in my own skin so that when we meet, you will recognize my face. I will not wish for a cure. I only need the strength to take that next step and when I reach the top I will wait for you there. I will leave behind this little prayer.
Human are little bits of stardust, so a professor once told me.
And maybe they become those stars after death.
I believe stars are really little holes in the floor of Heaven
And the light shining through is the love of those gone before.
Daddy, my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends –
They’re all there waiting for the rest of their family to arrive.
Before those still on earth come home, the ones already in Heaven
Act as our guardian angels, covering us with warmth and protection,
Guiding our way in life.
So look to the stars, those millions of twinkling bits of light, and Remember love.
— Jenny Munro