Lilac

Blossomed full lilac long years ago,

Beauty’s lush petals have slipped

through open fingers

man by man,

day by day, year by year.

Desired flame dwindles to

cooling ember soon to ash.

Is this all I am?

Oh, Love!  Beauty was never

mine, but yours to behold.

The Plant and The Gardener

I am the Plant

waiting for nourishment from

the Rain and the Soil.

I am the Gardener

bringing water and care

for my Plant in its container.

My Plant is unable to move; I must watch

when the Plant needs to be trimmed, shaded, and fed.

The Plant that I am depends on

Me, the Gardener, to remove

dead paths that nutrients

may seek, robbing

live paths in mid blossom.

If I am to flower, then I am to prune,

bringing growth in new green limbs.

Cat on a Fence

She sits there

waiting for the tom

or a robin.  She preens her long

Siamese coat.  She waits for the

Someone to let her back in to her

comfort, her food bowl, her safe bed.

She tucks against the

elements and unseen enemies

and imagined dangers and her fears.

She and I wait on our fences,

not willing to venture out, sitting on

 both sides of a decision.

 

Blue

I am blue frigid ice, still and deep and transparent,

dripping away day by day to my death.

With smooth curving waves on top and gurgling washing machine

underneath – the chemical blue swimming pool work mode is

unnatural in appearance and masks my clear nature.

I am blue eyes and dark grey edges searching intently into your

Soul until you cannot meet my gaze going back into myself and

both of us at once.  I am blue ink flowing from God onto paper

in ideas I did not create and cannot explain nor take credit for.

There is blue mood sadness and melancholy matching that ice blue cold

so closely that no one wants to linger long at my side.

I am blue in every piece of clothing that was my high school wardrobe until,

I changed;

told it was too much and that I needed to be different than the blue

that I was, the blue that I loved.   Okay, I said, and walked away

from blue me only to return a lifetime of years later to find me,

again,

rich blue velvet in ageless style.

Rumi's Poem (not mine - so worth hearing I'm posting it on my blog)

Those who don't feel this Love

pulling them like a river,

those who don't drink dawn

like a cup of spring water

or take in sunset like supper,

those who don't want to change,

let them sleep.

This Love is beyond the study of theology,

that old trickery and hypocrisy.

If you want to improve your mind that way,

sleep on.

I've given up on my brain.

I've torn the cloth to shreds

and thrown it away.

If you're not completely naked,

wrap your beautiful robe of words

around you,

and sleep.

-Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

Outside and (G)In

Hostels and beer on the sidewalk café

                Gates Foundation and biotech

                Approachable folks, accepting

                                Willing to add a sketch to the book of European experiences

Talk flows without effort as if old friends have met again

Four-star hotel and wine with ho’rs dourves

                Pressed shirts and gowns and heels and dangling diamonds

                Congregate in safe groups

                Excluding in tight huddles

A challenge to seek

                The gift of a sketch as I

Escape the corner box!

This is Outside and Gin

Blue Veil

  Silk blue veil covering the silver-shimmer
sequins of fish, she
dances her windy watery soft
shimmy.  Unhappy with her outfit,
she changes into something
brown, then foamy green, then a
bottomlessly deep black with
white lace and caps accented in wide stripes
of a metal riveted belt in two layers.
She wakes in the morning
yawning clouds in her sea gull
pajamas of Berkeley cloud
patches; dreamy and Tolkien,
magical as if she'd just left a night
in Middle Earth.  Matching
her lover's blissfull look with
clarity and calm;  two mirrors of
eternal blue.  At night she brings
out a velvet gown of midnight,
studded with rhinestone stars and
she flirts with the crescent watching
from above.