I read poetry

Reasons for writing. And more reasons.

I read poetry

To see what others have seen.

Hear what others have heard

Taste what others

Have tasted.

I write

For different reasons.

Some I know.

Some I don’t.

Sometimes I bounce

Off others’ words.

Sometimes I watch the birds

Or cats

Or the lady in red.

Sometimes I mine my soul,

Remember dreams.

They give me hints

Of what’s going on

In there.

Oh yes

I say

That’s what it is

For now.

For now,

That’s what it is.

Exploration

I realize even this needs to be broken down into smaller parts.

The next step

Is exploration

Of transportation:

The orange line

The pink line

The green line

And oh

All the colors.

I was thinking

Four steps ahead.

It is difficult

Not to move faster

Than I’d like.

The lady in red

Across the way

Is my reminder

To take it a step at a time

And also

To keep moving.

I watch her walk carefully

To her garage,

Emerge four minutes later

With two scoops of corn,

One in each hand.

She spreads each scoop

Oh so carefully,

Surveys the ducks

As they arrive.

She walks carefully                                                                 

Up the steps,

Carefully opens the back door,

Shuts it behind her.

Duck lady

I understand, Duck Lady.

The duck lady

Across the creek

Has checked her garage

Every morning.

If my imagination is right

She misses

Her ducks

The excuse of snow

To feed them corn.

I’m sure the supply

In her garage

Is ample,

Ready for the snow

Sure to come.

I know she is praying

For snow.

I understand,

Duck Lady.

When things are different

From the way

They usually are,
We hope and pray

They will return.

The corn is in the garage.

Basking

The Thanksgiving that was... and wasn't. I wouldn't have it any other way.

As I bask

In the glow of Thanksgiving,

The un-turkeyed Thanksgiving

The cranberry-less

Thanksgiving,

I see the cats

In a different light.

I see this morning

In a different light.

The woman in red

Is alive

Across the way

Ready to feed the ducks

When snow comes again.

As I bask

Despite the head cold,

As I bask in the glow

I am here

You are there

Turkeys and cranberries

Will most likely

Be on sale

This week.

The woman across the way

Awaits her ducks.

Red scarf

With the Pope retiring for the first time in 600 years, I watch the lady in blue and red across the way, feeding the ducks with corn and bread.  The two events connect in my mind.  The lady and the Pope cast bread to the crowd assembled.

The woman across the way

Wears a blue jacket

With a red scarf,

A dark blue hat.

It is icy cold this morning.

I am glad

For the spot of red.

Now she stands at the top

Of the steps,

Surveys the ducks

Like the Pope

From his balcony

In the Vatican.

My lady in blue

With red accompaniment

Rivals the Pope.

Look

She appeared again

With bread for the ducks.

That seals it.

I never saw the Pope

Cast bread

From his balcony

To the crowd assembled below

On a particularly frigid day.

Ducks at night

It is Lent and I am reminded there is more than one way to exhibit faith.  I have the lady in red to inspire me, even at night when the ducks have all gone home, wherever home is.

The ducks have all

Gone home,

Wherever that is.

It is dusk.

The lady across the way

Just turned on the basement

Light.

It caught my eye

Through the bushes.

Sometimes I see her lights on

When I wake up

In the middle of the night.

I have never quite seen

When the ducks arrive,

Wherever it is

They arrive from.

I imagine my neighbor across the way

Flicking her lights on and off

In duck Morse Code.

I know she lives

For the ducks.

Maybe it is something even simpler:

Telepathy perhaps.

She is one with the ducks.

Those ducks are there

Every morning when I wake up,

Better than clockwork even.

The snow falls light

Pre-church observations.  Post-church thoughts will come later.

The snow falls light…

Look…

Movement across the way:

Ducks waddle up the hill,

A squirrel

Furred and gray

Skirts the mob.

Then

Look…

He bounds toward me

An entire slice of frozen bread

In his mouth,

Leaps like a Labrador retriever

Through the snow,

Wrestles his prize

To the top of the fence.

Safe from the ducks.

I thought in the lady in red

Only spread corn.

Twilight

What do I write about after a day of Domestic Violence training?  Today we covered Oppression, HIV, and Under-served Populations.  Another day I may explore some of that.  For now, I look at a world turning to night before my very eyes.

The snow in the yard

Is twilight blue.

The backyard lights

Illumine the feeding ground

For ducks

Across the way.

Already my yard turns

To purple and dark,

The trees to black.

Soon they will blend

Into the night sky,

Be gone

Til morning.

This is the way

Of twilight.

It asks for things to disappear

Before they reappear.

With morning

The lady in red

Comes with the light

Spreads corn over the snow.

The ducks will arrive

From wherever they have slept,

Invisible in the night.

The return of the lady in red

The ducks are now waddling up the lawn across the creek in back.  The lady in red has once again laid out the corn.  She seems older this year.  Of course she is.  So am I.  Now I have a kitchen that matches her jacket.

I am back in my old place

At the dining room table.

The lady in red

Just fed the ducks.

She moves older

This year.

White hair

A little bent

She still manages

That bucket of corn.

Her jacket

Matches my kitchen.

I knew there was a reason

For red.

Here she comes again

With her black and white

Spotted dog

A shorthair

By the looks of it.

It feels good to be back

In the morning routine

Even if I am not

Hefting corn

For the ducks.

I am older

My hair whiter

This year.

My kitchen matches

Her jacket.