Singing Them Safe

clover
Today’s prompt is to write a story poem.

There once was a girl
who could sing such a web
of fractured light
that the ones who came
to devour her children
fell to the ground
blinded.

There once was a girl
who could sing such a veil
of soft gentle darkness
that the ones who came
to harm her beloveds
lost their way
and forgot their names.

There once was a girl
who could sing such a bridge
of delicate stories
that all those she loved
could cross to safety
and live free of fear.


Gratitude List:
1. “You will be found.” My favorite line from the school’s current show.
2. Deadnettle and dandelions: purple and yellow
3. Making connections, webs, bridges
4. Poem in Your Pocket Day in Wrightsville. Always a delight.
5. Weekend

May we walk in Beauty!

B-O-B, Queen of Plumbers

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The morning glory that blooms more than a week after the vine has been cut off.  And spiderwebs everywhere.)

Gratitude List

1. The morning mist in the hollow, covering everything like a veil.

2. Dozens of dew-bejeweled spiderwebs scattered across the lawn this morning, layer upon layer of gossamer strands, so thickly laid each makes a little cloth of web.
“Mom!  It looks like bits of ice all over the place!”
Like a personal message for me, from the heart of the Mystery: Don’t forget.  Everything is connected.  You are part of the web.  Part of the cloth.

3. The chipping sparrows twittering in their nest.  Fledglings, soon.  One of the benefits of poor Fredthecat’s encroaching arthritis is that I no longer fly into a panic whenever a nestful of little ones learns to fly.

4. Me and my trusty plumber’s snake Nyoka–we conquered the clog in the outside pipe that leads to the septic system, just like the guy showed us four years ago.

Shove, shove, shove, twist.  (Half an hour of twist and shove and grunt and growl.  Okay, and swear.  Just a teensy-tiny little bit.  Under my breath.)

“Hey Mom!  Do you want to be a member of my Animal Rescue Club?”

Twist, grunt, sweat.  

“Sure.”
The water begins to slowly recede–SHOVE, shoveshoveshove, TWIST!  G-glub.  Sigh, in comes the water again, and more to boot.

“Hey Mom!  Your code name in the club is Bee-Oh-Bee.”

Twisttiwisttwist, shove.
Sploot: Nyoka uncoils and splashes kitchen sink goop into my hair.  Um.  Yuck.

“Great!  Bob!  I am Bob!”

“Mo-o-om.  Not Bob.  Bee-Oh-Bee.”

“Oh.  Okay.  But I like Bob better.”

Twi-i-i-i-st.  Shove, shove.

“You can’t be in the club if you change things.”

(“Little dictator.“)
“Okay.  Bee-Oh-Bee.  That’s me!”

Fizzzzzz.  Bubbles on the surface.  Shove?  Twist?  G-g-glug.  Gurgle.  Whoosh.  

Peek.  Yup, the water is gone!

“I AM BOB (Bee-Oh-Bee), Queen of Plumbers!”

5. So, the Animal Rescue Club.  I am grateful for the Animal Rescue Club and its Darling Dictator.

Knocking on the bathroom door, where I am getting out of the shower, having washed the cloggulus from my Super Plumbing Job from my hair and fingernails: “Mom, you need to come see the clubhouse.  If your chair is too small, I can help you fix it with pillows and stuff.”

This is a great club.  They even help you with the seating arrangements.

I am toweling off.  “Can you please come in soon?  Fred is looking around for a lap to sit on.  Even though Fred used to kill animals, he can still be a member of the club because he doesn’t do it very much anymore.  And he kind of likes the red blanket in the clubhouse.”

So far, we have rescued a monarch from the driveway (he didn’t survive for very long, but we tried our best), a question mark butterfly from the spiderweb behind the house (it took a lot of gentle, careful work to get the sticky web off the wings, but we managed, and that one flew away), and a mouse from under the tractor tire (I do not remember this particular rescue operation, but the boys swear we did it).

May we walk in Beauty.  On the web.  Through the veil.  Removing Clogs and Obstacles.  Rescuing.

Green Shadows

Sometimes you start to write a poem, and an interesting structure emerges, and so so go on and formalize it and make your own structure.  What emerged here was a 2/8/8/3 syllable-count poem.  These really busy summer days when the farm is ramping up, but the feeling of the world is slow and lazy and dreamy, something about the structure of this appealed to my sense of being caught behind a veil, stuck in a conflict where something in me wants to live in a quiet instinctual place while the world is bustling about me.

The song
of the house finch is green, and the
way the sunlight dapples the wall
in shadow.

Green is
the soul of the field mouse, and the
way that the brook meanders through
the meadow.

The heart
of this morning is green, and the
morning breezes that eddy in
the hollow.

 

I realize that Mother’s Day and Father’s Day are crunchy for many people, for many reasons.  If this is the case for you, I wish you comfort and solace, a chance to look quietly at the attendant pain, and good strong breath to carry you through.    Much love.

Gratitude List:
1. For my father, for the way he so gracefully blends reason and wisdom and compassion.
2. For Jon Weaver-Kreider, and his gentle spirit.
3. For books and stories, myths and fables
4. For work, preparations, and planning (opening day on the farm is this week!)
5. For that green sun peaking over the hill.

May we walk in Beauty!