Sunday, December 30, 2012


Photo by S. Auberle

In January I wish for you black velvet skies
and a million dazzling stars.
In February, may you walk beneath them,
a loved one's hand in yours.
For March, let fresh winds bluster
through you, clearing out the old,
and may April's halo of tender leaves
inspire you to new growth.
A dance 'round a Maypole
is my wish for you in Spring,
and fields of June blossoms to nap in.
July, may you know a quiet cove,
and endless hours to dream there.
For August, I wish you blue lakes to sail on,
September, fiesta days
of orange, red and gold.
In October, may that harvest moon
paint your nights with light,
and the soft snows of November
enfold you in stillness.
At last comes dark December,
and my wish for you then,
and always, is peace...
~  mimi
an old poem that will always be my wishes for you...Happy New Year to all!

Monday, December 24, 2012


digital enhancement of handpainted batik piece- artist unknown

I first posted Fra Giovanni's "Letter to a Friend" on Christmas Eve, 2008.  Though it was written long ago, in a far different world than today,  I think its message is still important and beautiful.  I hope you think so too. 
I salute you.  I am your friend and my love for you goes deep.  There is nothing I can give you which you have not got.  But there is much, very much, that while I cannot give it, you can take.  No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today.  Take heaven!  No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instance.  Take peace!  The gloom of the world 
is but a shadow.  Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy.  Take joy!  Life is so full of meaning and purpose, so full of beauty...that you will find earth but cloaks your heaven.  Courage then to claim it, that is all!  And so I  greet you, with profound esteem and with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away.
Fra Giovanni, Christmas Eve, 1513

Saturday, December 22, 2012


digitalized image of a sculpture by G. Panko

Day after Solstice, day after some thought the world might end.  It didn't, thank goodness, our lovely pearl blue mother still carries us gently through the dark Universe . The busy UPS truck skids past the house, a squirrel with a particularly determined look crosses the road after, and heads for the bird feeder.  Persistently, he (or she) keeps at the slippery feeder, and after five plunges to the ground, has it figured out.  In such weather I can't deny the squirrel, if only he weren't so greedy.  The cardinal family waits, respectfully, and then along comes red-capped, red belly woodpecker to take over.  The day would be so dark without all this red…but today the light begins its return!   The long tall white Santa I found at the thrift store gazes serenely out into the gray morning.  Stars spill from his bag.  I love this Santa who brings only light.  Of course there is a time and place and need for presents, but it seems to have gone awry these days.  Too much begins too soon in the year, with the slow inward turning and celebrations of harvest and thanks lost in consumerism's greed.  I am equally guilty, and this old Santa may help me to focus on what is true and right this time of year.  Down through time, all cultures have focused on light--the inevitable loss of it, and beseeched its return.  Shamans have danced, enormous ancient monuments constructed, which remain yet today as a reminder.  This year crowds gathered, respectful and silent, at Stonehenge as the sun rose through the giant sarsens and bluestones.  I look at the Hopi silver bracelet I treasure with its images of Kokopelli flinging stars into the night.  In some old petroglyphs and legends he is known as the "lightbringer."  I wear this bracelet with the hope that, in my time, I may bring my small share of light not only to those I love, but to all I touch at this dark time of year and always.  Let there be light, my friends, let us be light.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012


Digitalized Photo by S. Auberle

Of course you knew I would do it    I had to     who could not write a poem on this numerically auspicious day    on this day the Mayans may have predicted our world could end    then again they might simply have run out of room on the stone tablet     thrown it down and went over to the local ceremonial hall for a beer    but we'll never know unless of course it actually does end    perhaps even before I finish this poem    at 6:03 a.m. in the month the Anishnaabe call Little Spirit Moon when the temperature is 16 degrees and a lone icicle suspends itself out my window    a day when I am    o my god seventy    and the sky is turning fifty shades of pale rose   indigo     and cream      a day when Pope Benedict XVI hits the one million mark as he tweets dear friends and I hear my grandma rolling over in her grave   my stubborn grandma who really believed the pope was infallible    though we are assured    thank goodness    that his tweets are not    on a day when North Korea launches another rocket    there is another mall tragedy      a day when Manuel Pardo eats his last meal of pumpkin pie and eggnog before he is executed in Florida     this day when I'm thinking of getting a dog again though the last one near to broke my heart    and mother of god I'm seventy    and what happens   do you think     when we die     because even in the best of circumstances it can't be too far off    this one thing we all share    this one thing I'm even scared to mention    which is what this poem is really about and do you think Zackie my dog and grandma will be there to greet me        because jesus I'm seventy now    aren't I     and the colors in the east are fading     becoming one grand chorus of light…

Friday, December 07, 2012

DECEMBER 7, 1941

Digitalized Photo by S. Auberle

I imagine my mother that night--
December 7, 1941,
listening to the radio:
Glenn Miller’s String of Pearls,

Edward R. Murrow, wishing the world

good night and good luck,
breaking news…
the bombing of Pearl Harbor.
My mother’s hands are folded
on the mound that is me,
that pulsating cord connecting us.
Do I sense her fear,
feel the tightening, the pain? 
Beneath her dress I float,
extending a hand, a foot now and then,
wanting reassurance, perhaps
that all will be well
and my mother strokes her belly,
thinking of Japanese women
and their babies soon to be born,
as I will be three months later…
I have not yet lived long enough
to see world peace.
So many never have the chance.

Monday, December 03, 2012


Photo by S. Auberle

Now begin the long nights
a time to hunker down
bear in his den    sleeping
squirrel scurrying to bury seeds
red flags for snowplow planted.
I think of ancient shamans
dancing light to return
the Eskimo and his thirty words
for snow       Dr. Zhivago's
fingerless gloves      the love poems
he wrote by candlelight
for Lara--asleep in furs
wolves of darkness moving in
still he scribbled words
and his heart onto the page.
Time to go and draw
a steaming bath      sink down
in bubbles      dream poems
I'll  write by the window
ice creeping slowly up the pane.
~  mimi
unfortunately, no snow as yet this rainy, warm winter, but I  remain hopeful...