Wednesday, February 27, 2013


Photo by R. Murre

Blow, west wind
that the small rain down can rain,
Christ, that my love were in my arms
and I in my bed again...
~  Anonymous, 14th century

The poet walks alone,
listening, dreaming, watching,

because this is what poets do
and centuries are passing

with every breath she takes,
 and stars are being born,

and all around her
women are birthing new dreamers,

their miniature heart-fists pulsing
with desire, eager to begin

transcribing the music
and laments of love...
~  mimi

The little fragment of verse at the top was the first poem I fell in love with--in high school--and is probably the reason I became a poet...  

Saturday, February 16, 2013


Photo by S. Auberle


Foxes are pairing up now;
coyotes singing their love songs;
birds in dull winter coats
dreaming, perhaps, of nuptial plumage.

Peaks and valleys of frost
line the windows this morning.
Outside gems sparkle
in the tiny snow tracks
of a mouse scurrying to shelter.

The sky is that diamond blue,
light cascading down
the tapestry of branches
black and bare for now,

green only a memory
except in wind-twisted cedars
and the winter palace
of bay ice—marble floored
in pale jade and sapphire,

but seeds are stirring now
awakening beneath the earth
their verdant fire rising
slowly, ever so slowly
in the lingering light
of these forty days till Spring.

an old poem, published in a slightly different form in "The Clearing Speaks"

Friday, February 08, 2013


My digitalized photo of a stamp--artist unknown

sixteen degrees
this eighth day of February
and about this time
winter begins to hurt
but the black brush
of crow wings
still inks this sky
a Chinese painting
in flowing progress
cracked voices singing
all is joy...
~  mimi
slightly altered version of poem which originally appeared in Crow Ink