Prophecy

iPhone photo by author (Hipstamatic app)

Foretold
I told you before
you remember that time
we did that thing
well, this is like that

No, this is not like that at all

Forewarned
you were told before
so where are your arms?
bare in the winter wind,
unguarded
defenses down for the count

The news is disarming anyway

Remember cracking open
the fortune cookie
and reading something telling
on the slip inside:
“the best prophet of the future is the past”

it was the present, then
it is the future, now
it is the present, now

the past is always in sight



Another in my series of Advent poems from my Medium page. Thank you for reading!

Prophet

New Mexico | Polaroid photo by author

Prophetic nature
sending signals of a change
it’s our choice to see
free will lets us stay asleep
free will lets us take notice

At the door: a knock
an announcement of a change
waiting for our ears
if we choose, we can listen
if we choose, we can open


Further to yesterday’s post, here I am sharing the Advent poems I’ve put on Medium this year. Thanks for reading!

John

Rio Grande | Big Bend National Park | Polaroid photo by author

The wisest ones are always called crazy
ratty and preoccupied
pockets full of proclamations
muttering their way through the crowd
with bits of wilderness stuck behind their ears

Possibly he could carry on
in that fashion forever
if people didn’t start to listen,
gathering with hesitation
that turns to alarm
and then conviction
around his street-corner sessions,
each day a new rambling
making more sense
answering the questions
they had forgotten they needed answers for,
lulled as they are into sheeplike acceptance
of the status quo

But once a flock grows,
the state takes notice,
grows its own alarm,
makes its own convictions
to reinstate the order it prefers,
brings its fist down to scatter the people
again, driving with their ruler
to compel them apart
again, reinstating complicit silence

nipping wisdom’s voice in the bud
cutting hope off at the head


So I’m writing on Medium again, but as many of you (most? of you) aren’t members there, and I want everybody who would like to read what I write to have access to it, I’ve decided to share those poems here too. Right now it’s all Advent all the time!

The Waiting

iPhone photo by author; hipstamatic app

On the cusp of Advent
with the fires lit
but the bells still stowed away
in closets, cabinets, boxes, and shelves
all decoration trembling
like tinsel in a soft breeze
waiting for the starting whistle

the blessed season stirs in its slumber
subtle movements behind the eyelids
show signs of awakening

the dawn holds its breath in anticipation
heralding that midnight long ago
when the stillness ripped open
with rapture to the sound
of angel voices

the halls begin to rouse
in humble preparation
to be decked out like a bride
pine-scented for the birth
of her long-awaited groom


I’m a little late posting this, since Advent started on Sunday. I wrote it beforehand, however, sitting around impatiently waiting to celebrate Thanksgiving so I could start decorating the house! I have been extra impatient for this season to start this year. . . . Thank you for reading!

Remembrance

Diana Instant Square image by author

Nostalgia is a warm soft bed
downy, drowsy, a burrow
well insulated by last year’s leaf-fall
the earth turned and fragrant
welcoming a snug hollow
where memory can dwell

what slept all year awakens now
brought forth by the changing light,
the yawning season stretches and emerges
bedhead crazy wild with
prolonged hibernation,
stuck with twigs and leaves like an old nest

the kitchen fills with smiling anecdotes
taken down carefully
one by one from their storage places
at the back of high cabinets

the table is laid,
the feast waits for preparation

a gathering is called
and so the flock assembles
drawn by a scent of recollection
drifting with woodsmoke
through the air, descending
with its own soft reassurance

window light beacons
reminders reach out from the
padded soil, stone markers
etched with names and house numbers
map out the path
for each synapse to follow

each passing moment carries
the breath of belonging
long forgotten
but transported forward
and held dear again
for a time
for the present’s gift


All this week I have been sharing this poem in pieces on my Instagram, along with instant photographs made on one lovely November afternoon when I let myself have a day of rest and creativity. Thank you for reading!

Cyanotypes & The Graves of Poets

Mega thumbs up for this post!!

John Wreford Photographer

Standing in the cold lifeless air of Westminster Abbey, surrounded by marble morbidity, the good and great and privileged interred at every turn, monarchs at the head of the table and poets consigned to a dim corner, and there, amid the flag stones of the nave lie the mortal remains of Charles Darwin, a three lined epitaph for the founder of the theory of modern evolution, we need little explanation of who he is or what he contributed, your attention soon wanders, you glance at the neighbouring grave, so close they could be related, the Latin inscription reveals little and you could be forgiven for wandering off in search of dead poets and princesses.

The obscure tomb suspiciously close to that of Darwin’s is that of Sir John Herschel, astronomer, biologist, chemist, and mathematician. He was a mentor and source of inspiration for Darwin. Herschel came from good stock, his…

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October

Polaroid duochrome double exposure by author

seeds within the orange month of sweetness:
the cauldron full of candy
spooks that knock for treats
playing tricks on the memory

time folds, past meets present
like a ghost in the machine
suddenly showing its face

night gathers, softens
the faithful beat a path through the cornfield
amazement-bound for
the labyrinth of childhood
that never really ends


Fall has always been my favorite season! Thanks for reading

Cafe Tanka

iPhone photo by author

breaking the silence
brooding over the laptops:
a loud group of friends
socializing is daring
participating in life


When I was young I remember coffee shops / coffee houses as lively places I would frequent to hear live music and hang out with my friends. We would talk and laugh, people watch and play games. Nowadays it seems like they are remote offices and study halls for everyone with a laptop, so it pleases me when I see a group of people daring to enjoy themselves instead of just staring at a screen. What can I say, I was born in the 70s. . . . . Thanks for reading!