November Haiku Triptych
by Beth Weaver-Kreider
Sometimes in the gray
box of November a door
lets in a small light
Sometimes the small light
of November makes a space
for another breath
Sometimes a quick breath
in November makes me feel
like I just might make it through
Gratitude List:
1. Lancaster’s ExtraGive
2. The team from church who created the Trans Day of Remembrance Vigil last night
3. Friday
4. Healing stories
5. Making things
May we walk in Beauty!
Piggy Riot
by Beth Weaver-Kreider
Quiet Piggy
Sit down Piggy
I do not permit
a Piggy to speak
Piggies should be seen
and not heard
Shake it Piggy
Bake me a cake Piggy
Awaken Piggy
Make a break
for it Piggy
Stand up Piggy
Speak out Piggy
Sing Piggy
Riot Piggy
Today instead of a gratitude list, I want to mark Trans Day of Remembrance, begun in 1999 by trans activist Gwendolyn Ann Smith to commemorate the murder the previous year of Black trans performer Rita Hester.
Today’s poem is based on a daily meditation I have been doing with my rosary. I think of each decade as representing one of the elements–Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit–and I map those elements onto the pentacle points of my body: left hand is Earth, left foot is Air, and so on. During the past few weeks, I have been visualizing flowers at those points, as I visualize myself opening to what the day will bring to me.
Meditation
by Beth Weaver-Kreider
My left hand holds a stone bowl of rich dark loam
and a green shoot that breaks from a seed, emerges,
grows, blossoms, fruits, drops seed, and dies
only to emerge again, a surging and an ebbing.
A witch hazel tree grows from my left foot,
strings of yellow blossom teased by breezes,
fruits rattling in the the wind, dragon mouths snapping open
My right foot is on fire with a flamboyant in bloom,
the tree’s red petals blazing and alive with bees,
the hum of bees like waves of crackling flame
flowering into a raging bonfire of blossom.
A blue lotus floats in the pond of my right palm,
its single stem anchored deep within me,
enchanting blue nymph, serene in her bowl
A field of purple cosmos bursts from my brow,
opening my third eye, the home of spirit,
petals opening to the sun, gathering the light.
Gratitude List:
1. Flowers
2. Meditations
3. Bouncing back
4. The fierce delight of Middle Schoolers playing gaga ball
5. Doing Crossword puzzles with my seniors
May we walk in Beauty!
Oh, goodness. I am exhausted tonight. Here’s a placeholder poem. One of my rules is that the poems don’t have to be polished. I go into the month knowing, especially in November, that I will have some evenings when I struggle to function, and can only publish a little bit of fluff.
How the Day Closes In
by Beth Weaver-Kreider
my brain is fogged in
caught in the mists
not even the foghorn
not even the lighthouse
not even the grim shadows
can guide me tonight
my ship is enharbored
for the foreseeable future
Gratitude List:
1. Cats who want to be next to me
2. Thanksgiving Break is coming up
3. A brisk after-dinner walk
4. Salmon patties
5. The satisfaction of a good stretch
May we walk in Beauty!
Yes, I know I wrote a “Spell to Tumble the Tower of Patriarchy” just a couple days ago. So?
by Beth Weaver-Kreider
Heal the girl inside you.
Remake the stories, and
reel them back and back
into time, where the girl,
enthralled by Beauty,
(not in thrall to power)
enters the mouth of the earth,
where she chooses her pathway,
following the red flower
of her own truth, her own
permission, her own purpose
into the heart of her own realm.
Give her agency.
Give her choice.
Honor her and listen to her voice.
Look into the shadows
through her curious eyes.
Feel her power rise within you.
This time, when the gods come ravaging,
rise with her in the door to the cavern,
summon the tribe of fierce mothers
of fearsome and raging cave bears,
morning sun glinting on your ravening teeth.
Be the raven who guards
the boundary between,
become the hunter of the predators,
take vengeance into your jaws.
Look for the terror to rise in their eyes.
Growl. Give chase. Howl.
An older magic than theirs lives here.
A wilder wisdom feeds this older story.
They may not pass into your secret places.
They may not enter your guarded door.
Their reign of terror will shatter,
shards scattering, raining down upon them.
Gratitude List:
1. Laughter
2. How my succulents are growing even in the dark season
3. The sun through clouds
4. Colored pencils
5. A little full-spectrum light to tide me through the season
May we walk in Beauty!
Finding the Way Through the Poem
by Beth Weaver-Kreider
All these keys at my fingertips.
Which will open the door of the poem?
Which combination will turn this moment
from a frenzied search through random rooms
to a purposeful path through the maze?
Most days, I just begin opening them,
door after door. Try this one, then this.
Sometimes, I find a rhythm, a pattern to follow,
a repetition, a thread of idea.
Or, like now, I feel myself reaching
the dead-end of the hallway,
time is running out,
the patterns are tangling,
and I have missed the essential clue.
I’m not looking for a way out.
I’m looking for the way through.
Gratitude List:
1. My students. They’re witty, charming, thoughtful, wise, intelligent, brave, resilient. . . I have so much to learn from them.
2. Livestreams from African water holes.
3. I’m trying to keep my glucose levels under control. Today I realized that one savored bite of a Stroopy is actually almost as good as snarfing down a whole one.
4. Feeling more confident in my body.
5. Painting with watercolors.
May we walk in Beauty!
Disorderly
by Beth Weaver-Kreider
I will not be in
timidated by the pat
riarchal posers
I will not be des
pairing over the lies dis
persed by wannabe
dictators and syc
ophants groveling in ab
ject obsequious
ness I will be dis
orderly and ungovern
able as the moon
Gratitude List:
1. The sleeping giant is awakening (and she is seeking justice)
2. The moon the moon the moon the moon
3. Four-part harmony
4. Crocheting with a friend
5. Weekends!
May we walk in Beauty!
Remind Me
by Beth Weaver-Kreider
If ever again
I should be in danger
of losing my wild
I will need you
to remind me of this night,
how the wind came roaring
down the hollow,
how leaves scattered
and skuthered
like blizzard-driven snow,
how the great loving eye
of the moon gazed
through ragged sheets
of clouds which raced
across the sky.
Your ancestors surround the well
of love unconditional, sending you forth
with the blessing on the unforgotten ones.
Step into the silver light
of the first snow,
tingling with anticipation.
One day is the gentle fall of soft flakes
on dark soil, the next is the wild storm
you must struggle through to survive.
It’s a slog, a long-haul prospect,
a journey through the labyrinth
of caverns, until you reach the light.
There, at the end, you find your tribe,
telling the story by firelight. There will be
laughter, there will be dancing.
Focus your vision on blackthorn
and hagstone, on the faerie bramble
and the wild wild wind.
November 2, Poem-a-Day
All Souls’ Day
Ode to the Late Bloomers
by Beth Weaver-Kreider
Hello, you late bloomers
you November roses,
you gray-headed adventurers
you fresh faced elders.
Hello you long rememberers
with whimsical notions.
Good morning, hoary elders:
This new dawn is for you.
It’s your turn to shine
you golden-aged, wide-eyed,
always-beginners,
you never-stop-learners,
you never-stop-tryers .
This is your Third Act,
your October sparkle,
your Autumnal glory,
your riot of color.
Make it your best one,
filled with adventure,
youthful eyes twinkling,
follow the piper into the mountains.
Claim your desires.
Dream a new dream.
Mockingbird Chronicles 