Purple bow

  Purple mystery, just in time for Advent.

Before I get into

The car

A large purple bow appears

From nowhere.

We put it

On our neighbor’s lawn.

Now it is

Next to one of our

Front bushes.

My beloved and I

Have different theories

About where

It came from

And what we should do

With it.

Perhaps it is our

Purple bow.

Perhaps

It is meant

To be passed along.

We have not decided.

Such things

Take time

The lady in red changed her jacket

More observations out the back window. The ducks know her no matter what she wears.

The lady in red

Wears black

Today,

Moves more slowly.

We all

Move more slowly

As time

Goes on.

Her door opens

And shuts

More slowly.

Still

The ducks know

Her presence

No matter

What she wears.

The lady in red

Or black

Is a friend

To the ducks

Always

Always

Always

Two careers

We have a room we refer to as "the white room." This is where all my theology books live. :The "white room" is being cleared to make room for part of  a first floor master suite. So many books. So many vocations and hobbies.

Two careers

More than two hobbies

So many books

Line the shelves.

I box things up,

Give things away.

Many

I have not

Scanned

Studied

In years.

Many

So out of date

I do not remember them

At all.

Of course God

Is still God

Never

Out of date.

People

Are still

People

They will always

Be quirky

The way

People are.

God

Well

God is God.

Next Steps

More for Diane, watching from above

The roof

Is done,

House and garage.

The remains are cleared

From our yard.

Diane will watch

From above,

No longer care

About

Her giant pines,

Her overgrown

Mulberries.

Her nephew-in-law

Gave us permission

With delight

To clear what needs

To be cleared.

And now

And now

The next steps.

The aroma

I wish things were as simple as turkey soup. Unfortunately it doesn't seem that way.

I wait

For the day after

Thanksgiving

 No Black Friday this.

This is Turkey Soup day.

The aroma

Through the house.

The wait

For the Saturday skim,

One more reason

For the holiday

After the holiday

No Black Friday this

Turkey Soup day

The aroma

The aroma

Simply

The aroma.

140 bags

More for Diane.

And now

140 bags

Have been picked up

By Amvets.

The house gets

A new roof

In the morning sun.

There is something

About

This clarity.

We hear the voices

Of those who wield

The hammers,

Hope they finish

Before tomorrow:

Thanksgiving.

The children arrive tonight

To cook dinner

Tomorrow.

Thanksgiving

Has many faces.

Giant pines

 For Diane.

She died,

The next door neighbor

We barely knew.

No

We didn’t know her

At all.

The next door neighbor

Who stayed inside

Unless

(We think)

She went

To get groceries,

Locked herself

Front and back,

Never answered the door.

She died.

The giant pines remain.

She refused

To have them trimmed.

Her nephew told us

We could trim

Whatever we wanted.

We may leave them

In her memory.

Sheep pajamas, wolf slippers

Both were Christmas presents, different years. They go together, make me feel good especially when I wear them together. 

Sheep pajamas

Wolf slippers

Go together.

They remind me

I can’t have one

Without

The other.

Both were gifts

From my beloved.

He knows me.

Sheep and wolves

Grazing

Prowling

Baaing

Growling.

Sometimes they share

Terrain.

Sometimes they take turns.

Amazing.

Sometimes

There is no telling

Which is which.

They trade the fields.

They hide behind trees.

Wolf slippers

Sheep pajamas

Grazing

Prowling

Baaing

Growling.

Brave

An interesting word ...brave.

Only others

Are declared

Brave.

It is not something

We claim

For ourselves:

Like faithful

Like courageous

Like loving

Like righteous.

Brave is only

For others,

Knights

In shining armor,

Those who ride

Into battle,

Without a care about

What will happen

On the other side.

Brave.

Much may happen,

So much may happen

We know it

When we declare it

Of others

When they ride

Into battle.

Brave.

It is only

For others.

So many decisions

It's important to start small.

Now that we decide

To stay,

A whole other

Set of decisions

Appear before us.

What are

The particular

Bird feeders

We require?

Do we need

A heated bird bath,

A hummingbird feeder

So the hummingbirds return

Year after year?

Do we need

More pink plastic

Flamingoes

For the backyard?

So many decisions.

Disappeared

I wish we knew what happened. Moved? Died? We keep waiting to see the nephew to ask, It seems the dumpsters are loaded at night.

Our neighbor

Has disappeared.

We knew her

By her first name.

She never asked for ours.

We cleared her driveway,

Her sidewalk

Of snow

In the winter,

Except the winter

I was in the hospital.

Then she asked

If we had been

On vacation.

Two dumpsters

Have been loaded

Carted off.

She has disappeared.

We do not know

The story

I like the short ones...best

Reading Emily Dickinson I realize how much I appreciate her short three-liners. They speak to me. Hope is the thing with feathers.

I get lost
When a poem
Is too long.
I take it
In bits and pieces
Or not at all.
This is the reason
For rhyme
Form
Stanza.
This is the reason
Even for one word
At a time.
I get lost
I prefer
to be found

Goodbye, DST

Changes of time throw me off. Every fall I think I should do more with that extra hour.

The end of daylight savings time

Threw me off

This year

More than its beginning.

Usually

I appreciate

The extra hour

Of sleep.

This year

I wake up early,

Try to figure out

What to do

With the extra hour.

Oh, drat,

An extra hour.

I should sleep in.

I should

Be productive.

I should make breakfast

For my beloved.

I should write

A sonnet

Even though

I’ve never written

A sonnet

Before.

Yes

I should write

That sonnet

Or barring that

At least

A limerick.

Sift

Three binders down, with sticky dots on the possible ones to be saved. Twelve more binders to go. Then there's the blog, which could easily fill numbers of binders itself, with almost one a day for a few years now. Yes...a little overwhelming. One bite at a time.

.

Sifted through

More zippered binders.

Some are even

Worth saving.

So many forgotten

So many now remembered.

Some are even

Worth saving.

If only we had known

Ah, the if onlys. I grew up with a card-carrying member of the NRA. My brother, sister, and I were all taught how a gun works. My siblings learned to target shoot on the property in the north woods. I took a gun safety class taught by my father, mostly with boys who wanted their hunting licenses. My sister, because she knew where the safety was, took a gun away from a college classmate. 

Where does it begin?

Often we go backwards

Forwards

Sideways.

If only

We allowed guns

Everywhere.

If only

We didn’t allow guns

Anywhere.

If only

Camouflage

And black were not

Allowed

As proper attire.

If only mentally ill people

Were not allowed

On the streets.

If only

Dishonorably discharged vets

Were allowed

Mental health care.

If only

If only

If only

Backwards

Forwards

Sideways

If only

We had known.

Zippered binder number one

Thanks, Steve, for reminding me of how one eats an elephant, one bite at a time.

Today is the day

I take on

The first of fifteen

Zippered binders,

One reflection

At a time.

I purchased

Little

Colored sticky dots

To begin

The process.

Zippered binder number one

Is ready

Next to the chair

To be unzipped

After my coffee.

I guess the process begins

With coffee.

Calendar

Waiting for the mystery to be solved before Thursday.

I hate it

When my calendar contains

Something undecipherable

And I clearly knew

What it meant

Once.

I know I knew what it meant.

Now it is only two letters

Which follow

My initials

Really?

I may never

Arrive somewhere

Or I will wait

In my office

For someone

To meet me.

Which will it be?

Blue sky

Curious-er and curious-er. If we only dig a hole deep enough.

Do Chinese children

Dig holes

To find blue sky

On the other side

Of the world?

Or

Is it only us

Who have been convinced

There’s more

Always more

Blue sky

To be found

On the other side

Of the world,

If we only dig a hole

Deep enough

We will come out

The other side

Into the sun?

Feeding the burros

Childhood memories. When the north woods property was sold, the burros were sold, the buildings were sold. In my memory Joe still lives down the road, and bear meat tastes sweet.

We fed the burros

Melon rinds

Corn cobs.

Joe Frings

Lived down the road,

Fed the burros

Hay and oats,

Cleaned the stalls,

Spit tobacco.

His front teeth

Were brown.

Joe told us

He shot a bear

Once.

Nothing like bear meat

It’s sweet

He said.

Mostly

As far as we knew

He fed the burros.

Emily

Sometimes it takes two, at least two. Hope is the thing with feathers.

Emily

Was a rabbit.

She hid in her room,

Looked out

At the world.

She wrote

And wrote

And wrote

Until her closet

Was filled

With scraps of paper.

Her sister

Released her words

The Belle of Amherst

Hope

Is the thing with feathers.

We never

Would have known

Without the rabbit

Without the sister

Without that thing

With feathers.

White tuxedo

Fascinating to see a white limo parked outside the church on a Sunday to celebrate a birthday.

I rarely see

A white tuxedo

Without

A red cummerbund

Red bowtie.

Once I saw two

In a month:

My high school reunion

The classmate who told me

He was in the mental health system

As a client.

The second

Was in a pew

At church

He had rented a limo

For 24 hours,

Rented a tuxedo

To go with it.

This was probably

His last birthday

As near as he

Could figure.

I have not seen

White tuxedoes

Red cummerbunds

The same way

Since.