It is the official release day! I’m honored and grateful that my friend, Candice Louisa Daquin, “gently” nudged me to do this. Additionally, I am indebted to Candice for believing in me and for her diligent work in editing. Thank you, Candice. You are one of the most giving people I know. I want to thank Tara Caribou of Raw Earth Ink who has been patient with this novice at every step in the publishing process.
I also owe a debt of gratitude to Susi Bocks, Ivor Steven, and M. Brazfield who were willing to provide advance reviews on short notice. Thank you so much.
The wind and rain stopped by last night,
Had a few minor temper tantrums outside
As I stood watching from the door.
They slapped the trees limbs around a bit
And kicked at bits of loose trash in the street.
Nothing more violent than that.
No pushing down trees.
No pummeling hail.
Rather calm for a storm.
Yet it killed the heat of summer,
Murdering it without a hint of passion
And ushering in a cold windy day
To begin the fall to winter.
At dawn,
I stand here,
Warming myself
With this cup of coffee,
Mourning a summer
That passed without passion.
Tell me a truth
of burning flames.
Better yet,
Chant me all the truth
Of a holy rosary.
Or would you whisper a truth
Of a head on a silver platter.
Perhaps, you’d like to
Express the truth
Of a dance through the city.
Or act out the truth
In the washing of your hands.
Could you do all that,
Plus destroy a temple or two,
And it be the truth
Of your heart?
I know you say it would
But no bushes burn,
No seas part,
No lepers heal,
No dead rise
When you know nothing
Of your own heart and soul.
This red heart cedar stump, With its dark crevasses And holes where bugs had homes, Was sanded smooth. A urethane finish added for shine And protection. The rings are visible still, Rings that count the years Until the tree fell in a storm, Twisted from the earth By tornadic winds.
Thus, I found it In the yard. Took the chain saw to the tree, Cut it into chunks, Along with the others that fell That day while the dog and I Sought shelter from the storm.
Now I sand and chisel away. Routing out some hearts concave, Bowls to be used for filling At some future date, Now standing empty. Sanding some hearts level, Tables to be used for holding things, Yet these are empty too.
All this red heart cedar, Once stood filled with life, Now stands empty.
A whipped dog,
Head down,
Eyes, lowered,
Ears back,
Haunches drawn
Dreams the wolf--
Sharp weapons of tooth and claw,
Armor of hide and fur,
Heart of a free, wild warrior.
A dream of the lone wolf,
Who may find comfort
Here or there
For a season.
Then moves onward alone
Before what will come
As the whipped dog knows,
Always, always does.
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Hearing The Mermaids Sing 