Poem for Autumn

The sun too dim
Rising too late in the morning
To warm our skin anymore

Wind
Picks up our hair
Whipping it against our cheeks
Freezing into our ears
Tossing leaves
Into a hiss

Is it all over?
Will we ever feel the heat of the world again?

Yes

But now is the time
To glow
To burn with our own fire
No longer depend on the earth to warm us
But to warm the earth

To let the heat within
Rise
Shine
To warm the world for others
Who too much feel the cold.

Notice

Rub sleep from your eyes

And you may see the sparkle

In the shadow corners

Of your messy bedroom

Trudge to the cupboard for a bowl

But notice, out of the corner of your eye,

The immaculate slate

Awaiting your chalk strokes

Wake up, and grumble

--If you like--

But don't grumble too loud

Or you'll chase away the spirits

They are there

All around you

Waiting

Hoping today

For once

You will notice.

Flowing

The wind is pulling at me

When I listen

When I stop to feel

But I spend most moments

Striving against it

Leaning in to it

Stubborn to push my will

Against its

Implacable

Force

The headaches come

A mace to my brain

But I ignore them and

Push on

The tension

Hardens my shoulders

And pinches at my back

But I set my chin

And push until I cannot push more

Only then

When I am out of my own steam

When I have been overcome

And think it is all over

Do I lie in the sand

Defeated

Quiet enough to listen

To the tiniest of voices

Still enough to feel

The softest of breezes

Only then do I realize

I was resisting the flow

Of the world

Of my life

Of the divine

And missing the path

Of my own destiny.

Made by Hand

Ever notice how a gift made with love and one's own hands means more than one purchased in a store? (Don't even get me started on gift cards.)

For instance, my children's great grandmother sent a bunch of knitted baby afghans for them when they were little, and while pretty much all of the other baby stuff has now been donated, I still have these blankets, and I will likely give them to my kids when they have children of their own. I save cards with handwritten notes in them, even if the notes aren't that brilliant, because the writing is in my friend's or sister's or hubby's hand.

Elementary school teachers understand this, too, and the hand-crafted macaroni gifts my kids bring home are treasured even after they start to lose their macaroni. I know the brushstrokes on that painting are my kids' brushstrokes, and that alone makes the gift worth keeping.

With that in mind, and inspired by my fellow blogger Crafty Green Poet, I'm offering the first five commenters on this blog something handmade by me. Yes, I am currently stuck in a hotel, but once I am safely tucked away in my own home, I'll get to crafting for you, my select five readers/commenters. All I ask is that you offer the same on your own blog--or at least make something of your own for five people, even if you don't have a blog--and that you give the handmade gifts out before the end of the year.

You can't be sure what you will get. Will it be a bright, framed watercolor of a fairy? A dried flower painting? A recording of me on the piano? A pastel drawing of orbs in space? A poem written just for you in calligraphy? Fresh-baked banana bread or chocolate chip cookies? Feel free to name some preferences, and, even better, tell me what you plan to make by hand.

And if you turn out to be a late commenter, just make your post count, and I might still send you something!

Tears

Tears of sadness

Hollowness

For friends I'll miss

Friends I'll never see again

Tears of regret

The souls I've missed

By passing through

Too quickly

Tears of pain

From the dismissal

From those who averted their eyes

Too self-centered to look at me for a moment

Tears of hope

Of adventure coming

Meeting it will all my energies

To make the next step greater than the last

Tears of promise

To use the everything I have

To become more

To make the world greater

Tears of joy

At new life

New possibilities

A fresh start

A new me

Summertime's Coming

The light at the end of the tunnel is glimmering at me... and though I spent all last night on one stack of papers, and another awaits me as I type this, I know the grading will end very soon.

Here is a summertime haiku, just since I'm in the mood:

Still shining sprinkles

Resting, waiting for the air

The golden sun sheds

Think you know what it is? Comment with your guess. Despite my horrid grading schedule (which should end next Thursday at the latest!), I'll try to post the answer tomorrow, with another haiku. If you'd like to go further (and have the inclination and the time), leave a haiku of your own!

Trees

[Note: For the next few posts--or however long it takes me to come down from my manic high--I'm going to be posting all about the stuff I LOVE... and if you prefer depressing, angst-ridden posts by me, you'll need to scroll down a few days (I have plenty of them to spare, I'm afraid). I'm too happy to be sad right now.]

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree. -"Trees," by Joyce Kilmer

I won't quote the rest, mainly because the poem isn't really that good (but also because this is my blog, not Joyce Kilmer's). But I share Kilmer's sentiment, for I like pretty much nothing as supremely as trees. Why do you think I moved to Seattle? For the rain? Come on!

I have lived in many relatively treeless places in the past--Las Vegas, Kansas, Oklahoma, central Illinois (cornfields for as far as the eye can see)--and it wasn't fun. In the heat, the sun beats down without a break. In the winter, all I can see is gray. My soul dries out during the winter, crackling like the deciduous trees after an ice storm.

I know a lot of people love flowers--but my nose is sensitive, and I've found over the years that I react to many flowers. Easter lilies will drive me out of a church just so that my throat doesn't close up. Even now, walking through a spring-ish, flowering world, I find that my eyes water from the heady smell.

But remember that evergreen scent from a real Christmas tree? Heavenly. A divine mixture of earth, magic, and the color green.

Can you hear the rustle of the trees when the wind blows gently through them? Even in your mind, I know you can. Close your eyes and wait, and the same wind, touched with the warm green of the trees, will reach you. Julius Lester's novel Cupid suggests that if you stop and listen, you'll hear the message the trees are telling you, for the sound is their whispering, and only the true believer can understand it.

If you can, seek out the quaking aspen, my favorite tree EVER. It's from the poplar family, but is far smaller and more delicate than its cousin the cottonwood... Its leaves look like coins, green on one side, silver on the other, and when the wind blows through them, the whole tree shimmers like magic.

Check it out: Aspen Video

So, what are your favorite trees?