USA | Robertson Rambles

mud people

Posted on 21 July 2020

mud people

Then there were the first humans, whose job it was to offer prayer, tell stories, and remember the passage of time. Made of the clay of this earth, the mud people of the first creation did not endure; when it rained, their bodies grew soft and dissolved.
– “Creations” from Dwellings by Linda Hogan

mud people
we soft squish
puddle and
wear away

tears run rivulets
into furrows into
cracks into
crumbles

we have no hard
to hang onto
no set stone spine

instead we bend bow sway
pray palms high
heart pressed low to
earth’s chest listening
to pulse and wave
pliant supplicants
consumed by awe

all we need
is to make:
prayer / tale
sound salve
time taste

and for you to please take
what our muddy palms
hold out open
trembling

poetry

McKinley Park Sit Spot

Posted on 20 July 2020

McKinley Park Sit Spot

beneath a net of emerald leaves
riding a raft of restless wind
back to earth
brow to sky
I’m home

poetry

mission 2020

Posted on 19 July 2020

mission 2020

I want to burn
some bittersweet love for being
into your heart and brain

until your passion
for this little life spark
won’t stay inside you either

and we all break down
these flimsy plastic facades
that keep warm bodies stiff

and nurture every last
needy other soul
(yes, even our own)

poetry

sound work

Posted on 18 July 2020

sound work

I am rolling o’s and l’s
into lolling logjams

pushing s’s and z’s
into lazy buzzes

growling r’s gutturally
until they resound
in the hollow chamber of your chest

trying to use
little dots and lines
to make you feel
something
new in your body
not just your conscious crown

poetry

Hashkiveinu* for Jared Polis

Posted on 17 July 2020

Hashkiveinu* for Jared Polis

putting our lives back together
one pillowcase plate and
disconnected pipe at a time

while around us
we feel America
falling apart

how strong
will the blue bruise of Boulder
stand

against El Paso and Weld’s red
in this fairly purple state
that, despite its
humbling mountains
still has its share
of selfish bastards
is still enamored of
cowboys and renegades
western liberty and
the exceptionalism
you find in open spaces

thank you, God, for
our Boulder-born governor

Grant, O Governor, that we lie down in peace,
and raise us up, our Governor, to life renewed.
Spread over us the shelter of Your peace.
Guide us with Your good counsel;
for Your Name’s sake, be our help.
Shield and shelter us
beneath the shadow of Your wings.
Defend us against enemies,
illness,
war,
famine
and sorrow.
Distance us from wrongdoing.
For You, Governor,
watch over us and deliver us.
For You, Governor,
are gracious and merciful.
Guard our going and coming,
to life and to peace evermore.

*The last stanza is an adaptation of the Hashkiveinu prayer.

poetry

crisp trim

Posted on 16 July 2020

crisp trim

usually I’m not one
for crisp edges
clear boundaries
things being one-or-the-other

yet I find
painting baseboards
surprisingly satisfying

I decide and dictate
you will be wall
you floor
you trim

now I make sharp lines
strict delineations
keep things separated
for once

poetry

unvoiced

Posted on 15 July 2020

unvoiced

my first walk through our neighborhood
and onto the trail
we awkwardly dodge each other
out of kindness

in the beginning
I say Good morning!
but soon realize
people don’t respond
afraid of my exhalation
responsible for their own
so I begin to silently wave

never good with faces
now I’ve lost the voices
from mouths that I might know
in faces I can’t see

we become random bodies
circling around the lake
and an unexpected cold fog sets in

poetry

missing mom

Posted on 14 July 2020

missing mom

a friend asks
where is this young raw
I want my Mommy energy
coming from?

I rewind
when did I feel this way before?

third grade
I lost her for 5 weeks
while Grandy battled cancer
endured surgery
survived (just barely)
and all we could do
was talk on the phone

maybe this is one small part
of my crying need now
the current fear of death
wrapped up with the past threat
of losing my dear grandfather
and mom
in different ways all at once
the exhaustion
of trying to be strong and good and selfless
while also just wanting to be
hugged and held
told with certainty that things will be alright
that I wasn’t losing her forever

I remember the sudden understanding
of all she did for me
the terror that it could all be gone
and me undoubtedly unable
to handle things alone
the desperate missing
of her protective physical self

we all know
I was different when she returned:
kind caring compassionate
suffused with gratitude
I learned what I had taken for granted

in our family
where mother-love is not a given
she wrapped us in love beyond question
beyond hoping for

I still don’t want to do without it
and don’t yet know
how I’ll change this time

poetry