Saturday, February 23, 2013


Dawn by Teodoro S Gruhl


In that heroic moment the young mother watched

The stealing of her composure eaten piece by piece by the pounding of her heart as she watched
in silent doorway-discipline
her children, saying goodbye

Her children, straining the limits of their soft limbs, snuggling their length into each side of her mother lying still upon snowy linens
Her breath rattle-ricocheting off the walls
Into the lilies and lilacs
wafting from tall vase on the table

Her small children gazing upon her mother’s face, with liquid wide expectant eyes as though they would truly see their grandmother lift and fly upwards at any moment

Her small children, lying with soft flung limbs, relaxed in a patience worthy of prophets for this moment they had that dawn proclaimed

And as the end approached on slippered feet and gently walked into the present,
her children gasped and each clutched tightly a papyrus hand, in theirs,
cheeks against cheek,
as though they could see
In that heroic moment she stayed and watched
from the doorway, a would-be future phantom
flooded with the fall of tears sublime
as rattled rough breath gave way to silence

Sweet, soft, complete and utterly peace-filled
and her children rose and excited ran to hug her about her waist – 
“Did you see it?” they grinned  “It happened! Grandma took off-just like she said

“Did you see it?!” they chimed with wide sun sparkling eyes.
In the early morning of her newly minted orphanhood. 
And though she had seen nothing that final tableau, 

The young mother as all heroic mothers, for all time, in moments such as this– 
held her children close and through the blurred world of oceanic tears

Thursday, February 21, 2013

S.E. (e)


From cool crystal canada
to the tuscan sun
shines a voice
lilting through
bearing witness
with wordly words

in that
songs are sung
ringing through air
to float
land and lodge
in the heart

this mystic gift
all begun on
this day February
some years ago
in some magical
this gift from the
S.E. (e)

Happy Birthday Sharon Ingraham 

Monday, February 18, 2013

Still under construction

by Petr Kratochvil

Still under construction - Lesson from the Universe 

Ah I enjoy being
peacefully mindful
not busily mindfull
that is
I actually think I'm good at it
if not a grand-master whiz

Watched a film yesterday
Achingly titled Amour
Of dignity, death and
love - grand canvas perspective for sure

Perspective that did not
quite last through the day
As the floor men arrived
Finally finished they had gone
last week on their way

One day after they left a
main line backed up and out
and left puddles of sewered
water a grand might mess without doubt

Through it all remained sanguine
Just one spot after all
Could have been worse some folks
not back in homes not by a long call

Today was all set to begin back to work
Tomorrow upstairs repairs to begin -ha am I such a jerk
To think that I control the Fates that would be
As the floor men they came and yes, did they see

They saw what they saw and what that was - was this - said with a serious face
The entire level must be resanded and stained all that had been put back taken out of the place
So, we'll start not quite from the beginning but almost it does seem
Like a queasy night waking from an uneasy dream

I was losing perspective gained from the heart-wrenching Amour 
then phoned the florist to order something for a dear friend whose mother just exited this earthly door
I began to vent just a little in a gentle mindful (ha-not!) way
Until the sweet florist responded to say

"Anything that can be fixed is no problem you see"
My daughter out of the blue has just had a double masectomy
She is well, she is fine, she is recovering now"
And, this poet here listened as the Universe smacked me upside the head
and clearly whispered "Mindful? - Really? JUST HOW?"

We find what we need to put us back on our course
And so I put up a pot of coffee, add cream and go with the force
A reason for everything that comes to be
How ridiculous to need a reminder when it is so plain to see

Sunday, February 17, 2013

The Burrow

Greening by Teodoro S Gruhl 

The Burrow

"Quickly!" she calls in that crystal
pealed voice -"Hurry!" and he, little
brother drops his socks in
the grass and follows his confident
sibling, scurries, wriggles on naked belly into
the burrow, mind squinched shut against
what he knows is only an imaginary filthy-root-
munching-troll hiding, sneering in subterranean soil,
only an imaginary door into which he will be pulled

He must have cried out or moaned, as small
snakes or large plump blood-sucking slimed
worms slithered against his soft belly, reaching
for him with hungry suckers from the soil beneath

He must have cried out, for his sister hissed "Sshh!"
in that silent would-be- grave as her bare foot grazed
his cheek at her sudden stop, 

as she in church-struck wonder whispers

in the candlelight she lit from who knows where,
who knows how, there they were
as she had promised, two tiny cubs nestled one 

into the other, new fur, soft as the just held-dawn 
with a surging lack of all fear he reaches 
his now steady pointer-finger and touches -

They, his sister and he, sit
on bare haunches, transfixed faces
bathed in shimmered flickered light,
as the cubs sensing the same majesty
first one, then the other,

opened new eyes
and for an instant that
will survive the boy all his years
all eyes lock in liquid
pools of fathomless eternal depth

They, these four, in this springtime birth-burrow
are as one set of undifferentiated newlings,
hidden from all in the cool, calm velvet safety of the earth
as the World dressed in shame, artifice, aggression and disguise
rushes above them 

Saturday, February 16, 2013

the naked bulb

the naked bulb

under the naked bulb

the pair scurries
from the imaginary flashlight
of the father, or the cop, or
the jeering faces of friends

under the naked bulb

the pair in hiding lock
the car door, fix their clothes
one friend turning to the other
hearts pounding at the root
mystified at the lack of all they had
held known before this night

under the naked bulb

when everything changed

under the naked bulb

playing around with a newly invented form
4-6-2 with repeated refrain - first 2 stanzas
action driven -  final 2 lines 
resolve or explain the previously described
intensity, repeated refrain and title set mood 
and must be identical. 

fear flown -

fear flown

panic thought-scurries
flicker as neon-blind-flashing
fears flame from their hiding
in soft incandescent candlelight
shatter through the coping frosted glass
smashing mind door upon door upon door
pure rampant panic thought-scurries
root blossoms wildly rioting unbridled through
the rich loamed soil of long held imagining
hidden until this naked
moment under this crisp
white sheet draped legs spread
eagled in this cold-compassion-lack-lab
waves of pain pull me under

and then

I emerge with you wet and tumbled
in birth
and panic scurries across the floor as a billion
filamented vipers to vanish
already forgotten vanquished by the chorus
of our collective cry


Wednesday, February 13, 2013

My Sweet "Baboo"

My Sweet Baboo
I had a big card years ago
A Peanuts card to my Sweet Baboo
I used it year after year on a stick
in the center of the table
out in the garden
waving from your pillow
all sorts of places did it appear
I had a big Sweet Baboo card
through twenty five years or more
until it simply vanished one year
I see it still as February draws near
In my heart
In plain sight
Smiling on planted stick