Dia de Los Muertos

Digitally altered image by S. Auberle

"In earth, in blood, in mind,

the dead and living into each other pass."

- Wendell Berry

On this Halloween night I was going to post a poem about my father from a work in progress

entitled "Dancing in the Dark," about the stormy marriage of my parents. I had the entire post typed, including describing a strange happening that occurred when I was typing the very first draft of the poem, some months ago. The first three lines read as follows:

Dia de Los Muertos--day of the dead

when the veil, they say,

is thinnest between our worlds.

Every time I typed these three lines they would convert into "bold" without my touching that key. The words stood out bright and black on the hard copy. It was very strange, to say the least. And now, tonight, after I had finished the entire post and was editing it, including the full poem, it completely disappeared. Needless to say, this could be a result of my computer ineptitude, but I think perhaps I'll pass on sharing this poem tonight. I'll let you know when the book comes out.

(if it ever does...)

- mimi

BOO

ANASAZI DREAMING

"Shaman" - Photo by S. Auberle

Alone

in these canyons tonight

she hears horned owls

talking to the moon.

She is mourning

old losses--

loved ones and friends

but only the Ancient Ones hear.

She dreams of them

spirit-bodied

in cold silver coins of light.

She wants to touch

those gentle faces

warm herself

at the ghost flames

of their pinyon-scented fires

for what is there

in this world

this rough and precious world

that is as cold as the past?

- Sharon Auberle - 1996

REQUIEM

"Messenger" by S. Auberle

REQUIEM

The raven I come upon

while hiking the mountain

lies sprawled in the grass,

glossy feathered except

for the bullet hole in her neck

where flies crawl in and out.

The cruelty sickens me

as I kneel before her,

remembering a childhood tale

of a tree somewhere

on the road to heaven

where birds go to die

and I watch, for awhile,

a wheel of black angels

circling in the glittering sky.

- mimi

FROM MIMI'S KITCHEN

Photo of kitchen tile--artist unknown

GARLIC LOVE

take ten cloves of garlic

chop

never mince

words or garlic

boil

1/2 lb. of angel hair

laugh

a lot

play Italian love arias

even if you aren't

(note: this step must not be omitted)

kiss

season her well

taste

wine on his lips

sing along

Amore

and saute garlic

in 1/3 cup or more

extra virgin

olive oil

slow-dance

around the kitchen

adding spice:

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 teaspoon salt

lick from her fingers

one by one

then squeeze well

juice of one lemon, mix

add heat

and pasta

serve with fresh passion

and parmesan

savor

linger

celebrate

decide on dessert...

- mimi

CONUNDRUM

Photo by S. Auberle

I dreamed I couldn't sleep

till an old wizard gave me a shell.

Hold it to your ear,

he said, and listen to the sea,

and I did,

and dreamed I fell asleep.

This takes insomnia

to a whole new level

because when I awakened

from dreaming about sleeping

I couldn't get back to sleep

and had to get up

and take this picture

of Mediterranean shells

I found in Italy

and make coffee

and write this poem

till the sun came up.

- mimi

#8

Photo by S. Auberle

The highest good is like water.

Water gives life to the ten thousand things

and does not strive.

It flows in places men reject

and so is like the Tao.

In dwelling, be close to the land.

In meditation, go deep in the heart.

In dealing with others, be gentle and kind.

In speech, be true.

In ruling, be just.

In business, be competent.

In action, watch the timing.

No fight; no blame.

- Lao Tsu

Tao Te Ching

#8

MOONSTRUCK

Photo/Painting by S. Auberle

moondust

falling

from the sky

tonight

glittering

on the ears

of jackrabbit

dancing

- mimi

IN THE FOREST

Photo by S. Auberle

This morning

a chickadee lands

on my outstretched finger,

looks at me

and, I think,

pronounces me okay.

This was while walking

thinking about my sins

so--a few prayers for absolution,

a little penance and

I start all over again.

As the nuns used to say

after my tarnished seven year old soul

had just been to confession:

remember, child,

if you're hit by a truck

on your way home tonight,

you'll fly straight to heaven...

hope there are trees and chickadees there.

- mimi

THREE

Photo by S. Auberle

Three quotes about love (the first, because I wanted an excuse to post this photo of mushrooms):

"If only one could tell true love

from false love, as one

can tell mushrooms

from toadstools."

- Katherine Mansfield

"The Eskimo has fifty-two names for snow

because it is important to them;

there ought to be as many for love."

- Margaret Atwood

"If love is the answer,

could you please rephrase the question?"

- Lily Tomlin

SENSORY OVERLOAD

Photo by S. Auberle

Driving at sunset tonight--sensory overload. Vivid, intense gold overlays boiling purple clouds. Now and then the clouds break to reveal a new moon climbing through. Then, in an instant, torrential rains, thunder, lightning. Chaos of wind-whipped, brilliant reds, yellows and greens of autumn foliage nearly blinding in the intense sunlight. Arching over all a vibrant double rainbow. There are poems here but it will be many years, I suspect, before I grow into them...

"Everything in this world has a hidden meaning...

men, animals, trees, stars,

they are all hieroglyphics.

When you see them you do not understand them.

You think they are really

men, animals, trees, stars.

It is only years later that you understand."

- Nikos Kazantzakis

EVERYBODY'S TALKING

Photo by S. Auberle

Well, not everybody, but at least hundreds. Fifty? Two or three? About Mimi's appearance in the fine online magazine--PASSPORT JOURNAL--which can be visited by merely pushing this hot button: http://www.passportjournal.org

I am honored to be included in such fine company. Thanks to Editor Lucia Greer and Poetry Editor Charles Ries, et al.

AUTUMN DAZE

Photos by S. Auberle

After a visit from two sons, one daughter-in-law, five short people between the ages of three and eight, and one dog with an underbite and a severe separation anxiety, I am in a daze. But it's a good one, and after all, as grandparents know, any visit that does not involve hurling or a trip to the emergency room can be qualified as a grand success.

Highlights were a hike on the golden mountain, a delicious pumpkin soup served in the shell, and fresh roasted pumpkin seeds prepared by daughter-in-law, new works by budding poet/painters Mariah and Sophie, and a conversation with six year old Henry that went like this:

H. What are grandparents?
M. Well, they are your mama and papa's parents and that makes me your Grandma.
H. NO WAY!!! You're not a grandparent. Grandparents are like 200 years old or something...
M. (YES!)

A Zen-like poem to ponder from the seven year old:

A DREAM

A dream is floating

free.

Only I can see.

The dream,

it is free.

In my dreams

I see.

- Sophie

SELF PORTRAIT #436

Photo by S. Auberle

DOORS

after all these years

there are still doors

in my heart, unopened

unlighted corners

gathering dust

old rooms redesigned

passages that lead

to a multitude

of joys and sorrows...

if you wish, love,

here are the keys,

even though

you did not ask

- mimi

O MARY O

Provincetown - Photo by S. Auberle

"Be ignited or be gone."

- Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver, a fine, fine poet and my hero(ine) lives in Provincetown. All the days I was there I searched for her--stores, faces, beaches, roads. Not that I expected to find her, but oh what a fine thing that would have been... Here is one of her poems that is a favorite of mine:

WILD GEESE

"You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you of mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things."

IN THE GARDEN

Photos by S. Auberle

Last week, while visiting Provincetown, Massachusetts, I stood behind the iron gate in front of the late poet Stanley Kunitz's house, hoping that some leftover poetry vibes were still floating about. From my recent poetry attempts it appears they were not, however, just to see the garden he tended so lovingly, till he was over 100 years of age was pure grace. The flowers were magnificent, a bit untended, but perhaps all the more beautiful for their wildness. If you've not read The Wild Braid, you must--if you care anything about poetry, gardens, life, death or passion. It's simply a series of conversations about personal recollections, the creative process, and the harmony of the life cycle between this master poet and the woman who interviewed him on daily walks through the garden.

The title of the book is taken from this poem about snakes in his garden:

"In the deceptive balm

of noon, as if defiant of the curse

that spoiled another garden,

these two appear on show

through a narrow slit in the dense green brocade

of a north-country spruce,

dangling head-down, entwined

in a brazen love knot.

I put out my hand and stroke

the fine, dry grit of their skins.

After all,

we are partners in this land,

co-signers of a covenant.

At my touch the wild

braid of creation

trembles."

Along with the profligate display of flowers there is a tile imbedded in the wall just behind the gate. I'm sure this was not pure chance that the tile depicts a snake--perhaps the serpent in his garden of Eden, whom he did not abhor, but embraced. A touch of his dry wit, or a deep and needed lesson on the sacredness and harmony of all creation?

"What makes the engine go?

Desire, desire, desire.

The longing for the dance

stirs in the buried life."

- "Touch Me"

Stanley Kunitz

LEAFSPEAK

Photo by S. Auberle

once again, my heart

comes the time of letting go

catch me as i fall

- mimi

RETURN

Photo by S. Auberle

Have returned from the other coast
with a poem or two and yes,
yet another sunset picture.
Sorry, can't help myself...

even the birds pause

in their dance across the sky

stop... and feel the awe

- mimi