USA | Robertson Rambles

some words for when there are no words

Posted on 11 July 2020

some words for when there are no words

I wish I could take away this pain
the senselessness of your immeasurable loss
I wish the day could be done over
and life could go on
without the color drained out
I wish all your warm bodies
were home safe in bed
I wish you weren’t now being asked
to do the near-impossible:
to go on waking and walking
making breakfast and holding your children
convincing them that things will
one day be okay
whether or not you believe it
I wish you were bored with
the mundane certainty of tomorrow
rather than peering down
a dark tunnel of echoes
holding your racing heart
dreading what’s next

may rock strengthen you
water soothe you
air breathe for you
fire keep the light burning
in your chest and eyes

may all beings in your path
pause and reach deep into their pockets
to hand to you
some of their very own
extra fragments of hope

poetry

putting animals at ease

Posted on 10 July 2020

putting animals at ease

Three months of talking to our animal neighbors
has changed the way I am in the woods –
no more tiptoeing and blending in
I salute them each with a hearty hello.

Today after spying the mountain chickadee nest
and stopping to sit and watch
the babies poking their little striped noggins
right out of the aspen’s trunk,
the mother came close to
assess my intentions.

Hello, mountain chickadee!
I called and smiled
I’m resting here for a moment
and I’m taking out my binoculars
to get a better look at your handsome children,
if that’s okay.
You can keep feeding them, though.
You’re all safe.

Seemingly satisfied,
she cocked her head,
gave a little shake,
then flew off to keep at
the busy job of feeding her family.

Talking is a much better way
of setting at ease then freezing,
I’ve found.
Even if they don’t understand my words,
my tone and energy give them much more to go on
in determining friend or foe.

It’s like the skateboarders
down in the library parking garage
all by themselves after dark.

When I steeled myself
and got out of the car
they called a cheerful
Hello. How’s it going? –
all that was needed
to put me at ease.

poetry

a sweet offering

Posted on 9 July 2020

a sweet offering

early July and the trees smell like matches
each cloud is a blessing of shade
and (less likely) possibly rain

today the first wild strawberries are ripe,
ruby packets of pleasure
even the smallest souls can reach –
how can such sweetness come
from sun rain rock air?

and what comparable kindness
might I possibly make
given all the energy poured into me
these 47 years?

poetry

Red-naped Sapsuckers, Early July

Posted on 8 July 2020

This is in response to a prompt from Radha Marcum’s workshop Write Your Life in Poetry offered by the Boulder Public Library.

Red-naped Sapsuckers, Early July

you can’t help but hear them
the insatiable insistent peeping
hungry beaks open and shut
almost as fast as hummingbird wings
inside a perfectly round O
perforating smooth beige aspen bark

with binoculars you can peek inside
and after a few seconds of dark blank staring
a small striped head and desperate beak
pop up into view
like the start of a puppet show

now and then she collapses
then eventually works her way
eye-level with her window on the world again
her pleas the same tempo and volume
wherever she is

the dogged parents fly in and out
red crests and napes brilliant
against backlit aspen emerald green
on approach they issue a rough nasal call
swoop in, load the mouths
take a deep breath
look out toward their next dead tree to loot
then fly off with great up-and-down flap-glides

it gets easier
I want to tell them
you should talk to the hairy woodpeckers
just up the road
their handsome son just joined them
out in the trees
and he calmly plink-calls them
now and then while they hunt together
and enjoy each other’s company
while sometimes just listening
to the quiet ruffle of wind
through needles and feathers

but the ragged sapsuckers don’t have time
to even listen to our encouragement –
the little mouths never stop begging
and the hole is never filled

poetry

endless knot

Posted on 7 July 2020

endless knot

one year after his death
not much new has come to light
except a few photos
including one of my mother and him
tender, both in Irish sweaters,
as if it were all meant to be
as if things once fit
even as if one might trace
the complicated thread uniting
all our lives
follow along its convoluted loops
and one day see the whole thing
through the distance of time
to find an intricate Celtic knot
then believe/understand that it was all
part of the plan
that sculpted the landscape of now
tugged us into the beings we’ll be
wove us into shapes
that will someday make us able
to give what’s needed
without worrying why

poetry

Ode to Saying No

Posted on 6 July 2020

Ode to Saying No

such a small thing
two letters
barely more than I or U

the zigzag lightning of the N
nailing down a boundary
carving some blank space
a soul could dream in

the O
a holy roundness of awe
and indrawn breath
a bullseye of spaciousness
a hula hoop escape tunnel
one could slip right through

together they rope off
a bit of possibility
a place to be only that which
one actively wishes
a forcefield of intentional energy
sizzling with power

poetry

Ode to 2 AM

Posted on 5 July 2020

Ode to 2 AM

to the computer battery, giving up the ghost
the screen going blank
whirring fan going silent

to the dry pen barrel
nothing left to give

to my heavy lids
and slumped torso
fighting off inevitable sleep

to the freezer icemaker
rattling me awake

to the steady ticks
of the analog clock
marking the dark seconds
until light breaks

to the silent sleeping souls
whose cacophony makes
the swirling days splendid
and whose blessed nighttime stillness
allows thoughts to form
and expand like clouds
blowing up over the plains
adrift heavy with the promise of rain
that might soak and satisfy
the columbines
bowed by the house’s heat

to the locked doors
keeping the bears at bay

to the chocolate and wine
whispering in the cupboard
and the warm bed
countering their call

to the fuzzy blanket
tucking me in
in my half-asleep state
agreeable for examining
the dreamy subconscious

to the paper obediently absorbing
graphite, ink, ideas, my self

to those who will
put up with me tomorrow
and those who cluck their tongues
at my questionable habits
my inability to do
what’s right and reasonable

to the quiet stars straining
to put all this and more
into expanded perspective

to the sofa’s creak
when I finally tear myself away

to all these
I insincerely promise
I will do better tomorrow
(goodnight)

poetry

eclipse on a night with no moon

Posted on 4 July 2020

eclipse on a night with no moon

we scaled the peak to watch her rise
but found a bank of clouds
draped over the eastern foothills

chilled and sleepy
we descended home
sure we would see her on the way
but the sky stayed a blank pink
then blue then grey
marked by a star a moth a bat

we lit our sparklers instead
scrawled our hopes across
night’s blank page
signed ephemeral pledges in smoke
still she didn’t wink at us

after the boys surrendered to sleep
I set a timer to check on her
but the clouds had swung round to the south
and the only evidence that she was up
was the thin silver tracery
around each small cloud

maybe some nights
she doesn’t want to be seen
just wants to hide in her own corner of sky
and be nothing to nobody
just reflect on her time warmed by Sol’s rays
dream her own quiet icicle-mint dreams
not worry about those worrying about her
just slip away in the dark
no matter who might be wistfully watching