FOR VINCENT

Photo by S. Auberle

I imagine you, Vincent,

on a summer morning

in your village in Provence,

whispering to yourself,

arranging sunflowers

in a blue vase.

I see you painting them,

over and over--your symbols of hope

that you will awaken one day

into a sunny world,

leaving behind your darkness

of potato eaters and crows.

But o, Vincent,

how brief the dance...

how quickly blossoms fade,

leaving behind only hope

and a trail of yellow petals

to follow into the sun.

~  mimi

an old poem, and one I may have posted years ago, but o well, I like it...

SING LIKE

Photo by R. Murre


Yes, this is an old saying, but one that bears repeating often, I think...

"You've gotta dance

like there's nobody watching,

love like you'll never be hurt,

sing like there's nobody listening,

and live like it's heaven on earth."

~  William W. Purkey

FOR SADAKO

Photo by S. Auberle

*FOR SADAKO  

who never got to grow old…

born the year after me, who did.

Her beautiful bones stricken

by the atom bomb disease,

she was only two

when Hiroshima was bombed,

and though spared that awful day,

the poison lurked within,

and ten years later consumed her.

Only because I was born

across the world, did I receive

 the gift of growing old

and when these bones

of mine are ash, fling them

into the sky, into wind

and my beloved lake,

return them to earth,

let them make a tree.

Mix my ashes with Sadako

and all those who have died

and are dying everyday,

in our still-misguided

attempts at ending war.

Blend me into that soul

waiting to be born, the one

who will finally  bring peace,

for until we learn, there is nothing--

not even a thousand cranes--

that can save us now.

~  mimi

*Sadako Sasaki is a heroine to the children of Japan,

who visit her memorial in the Hiroshima Peace Park

to leave the paper cranes they make in her honor.

GREEN THINGS

Photo by S. Auberle

the bouquet

of fresh tarragon

and rosemary

a friend gave to me

forest moss

my lover and I

lay on

one summer day...

still, the doe

dying

beside the road

tonight

her eyes

beacons

lighting

the dark

are the

clearest

brightest

green

I've ever seen...

~  mimi

HOW TO BE ENIGMATIC

Photo by R. Murre

HOW TO BE ENIGMATIC

Discover your alter ego.  Yes, we all have them.  Mine is Vanessa, though now that I've revealed her name, she'll probably change it.  To say she is mysterious would be a vast understatement.  Mostly she appears when needed, for instance, when I'm (trying) to write an erotic poem.  Let me show you how she'll say in her husky whisper.  Or the time she persuaded me to paint my bedroom walls a deep lipstick red and, as if that wasn't enough, insisted I buy red sheets.  She'd read somewhere that the Chinese believe red is the color of love, and that was enough for her.  She has great appetites, for which she puts forth absolutely no apology.  And music has always been her passion and weakness.  Last night as we were sitting outside listening to music at sunset, she demanded that O Mio Babbino Caro be played over and over again.  The reason being, she whispered, was that a cardinal and two robins were singing along.  (And they were, I tell you.)  Then it had to be Pavarotti serenading a chorus of crows with Nessum Dorma, as the full moon began to rise above the orchard.  All in all, thanks to Vanessa, a fine concert.  She knows these things and reminds me, which is all to the good.  But she can also take me down roads I might not have intended to go.  Though, in the end, they usually turn out quite wonderful.  And always, she reminds me--we're only small coins in the hands of Eternity.

STUDY IN RED

Photo by S. Auberle

STUDY IN RED

So I'm sittin' out here in the swing listening to a red bird sing, eating raspberries and cherries and tossin' the pits into my lily of the valley garden where I hope tiny cherry trees will spring up one day and shower the flowers and that person who lives here after I am gone with fragrance and blossoms from me in the hereafter…