Wednesday, October 31, 2007

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


Tuesday, October 30, 2007


"Shaman" - Photo by S. Auberle
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
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

Monday, October 29, 2007


"Messenger" by S. Auberle
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

Sunday, October 28, 2007


Photo of kitchen tile--artist unknown

take ten cloves of garlic
never mince
words or garlic
1/2 lb. of angel hair
a lot
play Italian love arias
even if you aren't
(note: this step must not be omitted)
season her well
wine on his lips
sing along
and saute garlic
in 1/3 cup or more
extra virgin
olive oil
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
decide on dessert...
- mimi

Friday, October 26, 2007


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


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

Wednesday, October 24, 2007


Photo/Painting by S. Auberle

from the sky
on the ears
of jackrabbit
- mimi


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

Tuesday, October 23, 2007


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

Saturday, October 20, 2007


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

Thursday, October 18, 2007


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

Saturday, October 13, 2007


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 is floating
Only I can see.
The dream,
it is free.
In my dreams
I see.
- Sophie

Friday, October 12, 2007


Photo by S. Auberle

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

Thursday, October 11, 2007


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:
"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."

Wednesday, October 10, 2007


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
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

Tuesday, October 09, 2007


Photo by S. Auberle

once again, my heart
comes the time of letting go
catch me as i fall
- mimi

Monday, October 08, 2007


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