go

lake splashy and sandy
the gulls are crying
go to her
because
she needs you now

irrational eggs for breakfast
speeding trains for lunch
through a head that insists
on flitting dangerously in the briers
with
a gracious sparrow, calling
now, now, now

Cookbook, page 29

Breakfast was unsatisfying
The sunshine made too much of it all
The rain is coming, not nearly soon enough
The birds complained about the bread crusts
(breakfast, sun, rain, birds, bread)
Recipe for a morning.

The night was interrupted twice
The stars made 2 a.m. worth it
I found myself dozing, pen in hand
The rain (still) has not arrived, and I wait
The birds sang me awake so I could write to you
(night, stars, pen, rain, birdsong)
Recipe for joy.

Separated by inches

Pacing at the window while the clock ticks in disbelief
Every hour today is wrap’t up in my irreverent grief.

Pointed fingers say it is my choosing and I take my penance
Our two languages have robbed us of our romance like a thief.

Agendas were voted on and no one else could be deemed errant
Watching twenty years drop one by one like an October leaf.

Outside I hear the robin’s and the bluejay’s raucous discontent
‘Twould be arrogant to view their passing as more than merely brief.

Oh Rose, you have done yourself in by worry’s cunning snares
All your cares now laid upon pillows of music and belief.

**

I dislike epilogues, or explanation of any kind accompanying poetry. But, this poem is a long time coming, and promised to Uma at One Grain Amongst the Storm . I read and enjoy his ghazal poems, a form in which I have wanted to try for some time, with only confidence holding me back. Like the haiku, the ghazal comes with a respected history, of which I would not want to disrespect with poor lines.

All that to say, here is my version of an English Ghazal. Thank you

Come now and rest

trees and sky

The trees are welcoming me back
and the dust from which I was created
my flesh, failing me from too many nights
no sleep, too many words, not kept
and my lack of care has brought me here

The dirt says–come now, be still
rest here where no one will harm
I am soft and forgiving; I will not push back
when you lay over me seeking rest
your heart stilled by serial killers–

The ones we know, we all know
take your soul and they won’t let go
moving on to others, despite my best effort
to hold them here, but I tired, got so tired
leaves surround me, weaving a blanket

The sky watches, the clouds in their misty wisdom
call upon the Father to bless. I know
He sees all, he sees me, when I long for home
and home’s not best. Don’t fail me now
warm hay, soft fur. Take me back

where I came from, take me back
where I was born, this pure, safe place
bring me back to forest,
and dust and dirt
and home

*

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
Matthew 11:28

*