A TRAINED CLOWN

Photo by S. Auberle

A TRAINED CLOWN

Smile though your heart is aching.

               ~- Charlie Chaplin

She trained, you know

as a clown, says my friend

as if that made Sophie's life

all bright fun and merriment

untouched by sorrows

like the rest of us.

I wonder is Sophie happier

because she's the real thing

instead of we who fake it

with garish red smiles  

and sad eyes holding back

all those lakes of tears

     except for one painted drop

     trickling down our pallid faces.

Shiny Things

digitalized photo by S. Auberle

SAIL ON

for Lucha 

A friend and I are walking  in the forest this morning, talking of sadness.  Even though it's spring, still sometimes you must speak of such things, because it helps to share sorrow.   Even in May when trilliums are bursting out everywhere and bright birds are at their most songly selves.   

Afterwards we sit on her porch and drink tea, shoo away stinging things, share an orange.   The sun is warm on our upturned faces, and there are only one or two clouds in the high blue.   We drink in the small peace that our talk brought.  Still, sadness remains--friends gone too soon; unwelcome change; aging bodies no longer what they once were.   

And then something magical happens.  Sailing in from over the bay comes a shiny silver balloon.  It approaches slowly, on a gentle breeze, as if it's only reason for being is for us to see it float across our sky with its simple message of quiet joy.  The balloon gleams in the sun, a cord trailing beneath.  It snags for an instant on a treetop, and then calmly extricates itself to catch another breeze and rise again, finally out of sight.   Celebrate, it seems to whisper, disappearing into the East, as once did a magic star so long ago.  Now.   Here.   In this moment which is all any of us have.    Then it sails on.  

In disbelief we look at each other and laugh, because it seems like there might be magic afoot and because trilliums are twirling like white ballerinas and birds are crooning their nuptial songs and really, in spring, what else would you ever want to do? 

FOR MY MOM

unknown photographer

FLYAWAY 

If my mother returned this day

I would wrap her in my arms,

 

rest my cheek on her soft hair,

share my food with her-- 

this creamy slice of Fontina

a golden pear, a little wine 

and we would laugh

and eat and drink 

until it was time for her to return

to wherever it is she belongs now. 

            She would fly away, gently

            as the silk of this milkweed pod 

and a crow, awaiting

the crumbs of our feast,     
would bid her fond farewell.


~  miss you so much, Mom

HERE THEY COME

Photo by S. Auberle

The  dandelions have returned and was there ever such a yellow?  A truly unappreciated flower, for sure.  I love this little piece from a favorite book of mine:  "The Persistence of Yellow" by Monique Duval:

"You ask me how things work.  I think of endless cycles, the hum and spin of everything.  So I tell you this:  hold the pale green stalk up high.  And then run hard so the wind will catch the wings of the dandelion seeds.  Let them fall like sparks, like stars, back to the earth.  I can tell you are not satisfied.  But really.  That's all there is to it:  The persistence of yellow."      #204

ALMOST SPRING

Photo by S. Auberle

Something Keeps Calling 

all morning, it whispers in my ear--

go to the river--as I wash clothes,

make the bed, clean the garage,           

            go, go now to the river… 

By noon the voice is insistent

so I start down the path

kicking up last autumn’s leaves 

and no one sees the child in me

except a black dog I meet

who smiles, as some dogs do so well  

and just because it's spring, I guess

and then I am here at this river of light

where I sit on moist grass 

and don’t even notice the wet seat

of my jeans as a small green frog

wanders by, and red-winged

blackbirds serenade me in the cattails.

Sun glints off the feathers

of grumbling cormorants 

passing over in their somber black

and a busy kinglet--regal

in his golden crown scolds--           

            now honey, tell me--

            whatever in the world
            was more important than this?           

                          ~  mimi

yes, the river and poem landscape don't match, but it is a river of light, and it is May Day, so let's not worrry about troubling details and celebrate Spring at last!