MJ blathers

dark poet who loves to laugh


Leave a comment

walking stick

every place is within walking distance
if you have enough time
my time on earth
have i done enough?
could i have done more? done better?
of course
can i forgive myself the waste of precious sand
as my time eddies into the whirlpool leaving
the upper globe of that unyielding timer?
the grains now are so white and fine
most of the sand i have lived
has been gritty, rough, abrasive
and yet the joys!
my daughters finally connecting
to share supper last night
hugged one another in deep joy and love
knowing either would come
in the case of dificulties
what more could i ever ask?
what else do i need on this journey
i walk so humbly?
despite my own shortcomings
i am blessed to know
that the next generation – and the next
love and cherish themselves and each other

Advertisements


Leave a comment

winter mantle

a flannel of white
bundled layer by layer
snuggling rather than confining
close-fit down lending warmth
while outer, final layers
fend off gray cold
slowing our reactions
to more considered responses
discarding petty peeves
to bring to mind
what matters
life, survival, ultimate
loss of all we’ve held
common, and dear
giving us time
slow time
to reset emotion and
perspective to a larger
whole to which we
can only tentatively
cling
but not possess


Leave a comment

sun drawing water

grandma told me
the slanted beams
were the sun
drawing water
diagonal shafts
of particle-laden light
filtered by clouds
partial bridges to the sky
and, for those carrying down
sleet, snow or rain
that were lost
before reaching earth
men have given names
virga
named, or unnamed
bright ramps between
heaven and earth
that lift upward
my eyes and my
thirsty soul


Leave a comment

instinct

instinct, they say
touch a newborn’s feet to a surface and
the infant will lift one foot and
then the other
as though stepping

touch his palm and
his tiny fingers will
grasp and close
mere instinct

but when thos near-translucent
hopes for mastery of piano or guitar
stir and touch, surround your
pointer to the world’s
past betrayals
and present heartaches

when fresh, soft delicate skin
brushes callous and scar
and clings as though in trust

those vulnerable fingers melt the wrongs
and promise goodness and mercy
of a future
now in my hands