Trudging knee-high in leaves
discarded shelter now food for soil
The passing of time long arduous
and fleeting all at once
We wish for high winds
to carry all away
And when they do come
blow our hearts out of our chests
Maddening deafness except
the blind chatter of our minds
and the crunch swish crunch
of fallen foliage at our feet
Trek on still
with our eyes set forward
Lest we cackle like mad men
in the unforgiving forest of
despondency.
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
A bird call
a meditation song
words spoken to the sea
spinning in the high winter’s sky
where the pelicans fly
and the hawk and dove and osprey
singing their tune
which I cannot translate
yet reminding me to breathe and let be
Uttered forth among ocean waves
these affirmations floating to you
and cascading back to me.
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
I need to bathe in the music of the soul
That which is beautiful and free
without sadness
I don’t want to bathe in the bloated belly
of discontentment and sorrow
and hopelessness
There is a light out there
that shines brighter than any
chasm is dark
And it doesn’t blind
but leads and fulfills and carries
when the void does come
Bathe with me in this
Engulf in the sweet luminous sound
of all that is good in this world.
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
The hollow acorns spill like fat hail onto the clay
I wonder if the squirrels had their party
When night time comes and silent calmness still
we hear the gunshot pop of the mighty oak seeds
fall onto rooftops and roll to their woody graves
Aye the hibiscus still flitting about
although her petals dry and withered
Sweet smells of night-blooming jasmine
permeate the nostrils instead
as we waft by their perfumed doorway
Dawn’s cloudy turns to sunset’s muted glow
and all between is mix of haze and bright
cool and warm and wishing for snow
but only in dreams does the icy world flow
for here we have wind and sun and fallen acorn hull.
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
This morning I sat on my lanai
and there I watched a butterfly
it flitted from leaf to bulb to twig
then soared along the crest
of October wind
The bees
they were present too
preparing loquats born
below winter’s moon
And beyond the shrill hull
of locust call
a songbird chirped her
pleasant psalm
And all these things
before the hour of ten
Would if I could have
this morning again
To sit in solitude
with nature
at my shoulders
To notice perhaps
what do not others
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
To the brink of tears over this devilish concept time
yet it is as concrete as mathematical equations
(perhaps a parallel universe where time actually does stand still exists)
Live in the moment we say to our ADD brains
and sometimes we do
These days it does not compute
The clock is spinning and there is a lump in my throat,
heaviness in my heart
from all these sunrises and sunsets seemingly happening within seconds of each other
And I am not getting younger
and neither are you
I don’t like it like this
I need space and freedom and time
time to just sit with you
and watch the tops of the trees
time to breathe
to just be.
image courtesy of pretzellogic.org
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
The loquat buds are ready to greet their buzzing partners
and the crows have taken over the birdsong symphony
A sheath of grey pink cloud hovers over the bright white sunrise
Remnants from last night’s rush of spring rain fall from the branches like tears down a round cheek
A scattering of soaked leaves plastered to the ground
The lounge chair moved to view a sunset days ago
For a moment time holds still
No work to bind
no nagging unfolded
frustration at bay
A bud of hope in this heart
that I may again relish the sunset with you
and awake in your embrace
on the crest of a slow-moving sunrise.
I wrote this a month ago. But it seems silly to leave it in my drafts section. I hope you enjoy and take/feel something from it. How do you feel this spring?
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
I pump the pedals of my bicycle
along the paved trail
where once were train tracks
Sunshine gleaming through trees
and the wind at my neck
I have spent miles and miles here
But today I hear those locomotive engines
and the words from the train conductor
at the helm of his mighty craft:
“Sometimes it get lonely out here
so I seek the solace of my position.
For I am not really alone.
I see the backs of these shops and houses
I see the side that is hidden away from view.
I get a glimpse of the back door, the fruit trees
ready to bear their tropical seeds, mothers and daughters
hanging clothes on the line to dry in the sunshine.
I see men tending to gardens
and boys playing chase.
When they hear the horn in the distance
sometimes they crawl outta their sheds.
Some of them pay no mind.
Some of them wave and smile and go on about their business.
But some of them got no smile on their face.
They want to jump right on the train
and go far far away.
Those are the ones that show me their soul.
And all I can do is leave a billow of coal smoke
to remind them of hope.”
And that is what the train conductor say.
I pedal and pedal
along these old tracks
feeling the cool wind
and the heat of yesterday
Photo courtesy of me: JeniferBPhotography
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
Sunrise we have not met many times
before now
I was always wrapped in twilight’s blanket
But circumstances have risen
to incorporate your peaceful silent beauty
into my awakening
Making me love you
as much as sunset
Just as spring has become
my parallel lover
with autumn
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
One of the “perks” of my job as an assistant teacher is I get to go on chaperone all the field trips. Don’t get me wrong. I am grateful to help out with my newly adopted 35 children as well as my own son, as he is also in the class. The two years he was in public school there were very few field trips and you had to be chosen from a pool of volunteers to be able to go. I went only once.
Well there won’t be a rarity of trips this year. These private school people like to party plan lots of events which cost money and loads of volunteer hours field trip. I am now thinking how am I gonna survive the next one?
Our most recent trip was an overnight camping trip. I have not been camping since before pagers/beepers were the form of mobile electronic communication. Luckily we were staying in cabins so I did not need a tent. I own one sleeping bag that my mom bought for my son a few years back for a sleepover or something.
I felt like a pompous high-maintenance ass while preparing my food stuff as I packed my Stevia natural sweetener and my gluten-free cereal. But I threw in my most comfy clothes as I have learned from most other trips that when not at work I want to be as free from confining clothing as possible without looking like a homeless person.
The bulk of my own items were the food and bedding. I learned from the kids and parents who went on this trip the year prior that the beds were “horribly uncomfortable” “hellish” “full of bed bugs and rats” and “make you want to go to the nearest Wal-Mart and purchase a blow-up mattress”. So I brought my old comforter as a barrier and two sets of sheets.
I was the first carload to arrive at the campsite somehow, as I of course made a wrong turn on the way there. When we pulled up the two girls in my car exclaimed how the place looked like a creepy scene from a horror movie. I admit it was pretty rustic but I have slept in worse places.
October in Florida is hit or miss with the humidity and thank god the cabins each had a wall unit a/c. I claimed the bunk right next to it too cause I sure as hell wasn’t gonna suffer night sweats as well as an unwelcome rodent visitor.
The whining and complaining (from the girls, not the boys, who immediately grabbed water guns and started chasing each other around the site) within the first hour was starting to get to me. I told the girls this was high-class camping. We were lucky to have air con and running water. Speaking of-
The bath house wasn’t as bad as the girls made it out to be. I did not once see a rat or roach or tarantula. And the hot water from the rusty shower head flowed beautifully. Until anyone flushed a toilet.
When we took them to the nearby spring for a swim their smiles and laughter replaced the initial moaning and groaning.
Swimming in that crystal-clear, cold spring was by far my favorite part of the trip. We spent hours there both days. Some of the kids tried to catch a crab. Some gathered stones and branches for a fort for their “island” and some were swimming in a spring for the first time in their lives. It was in that water where I saw team-building, sheer happiness, and kids enjoying nature as their entertainment instead of electronics.
There were three things I loathed about this camping trip, however.
Canoeing. I love kayaking and have never had a problem maneuvering one. I’ve kayaked on lakes, tight mangrove trails, in the gulf next to sharks (OK one shark) and jellyfish. But please don’t ever ask me to canoe again. I could not get the whole maneuvering thing down with this bulky 3-seater. My 9 and 10-year-old canoeing partners tried their best to help. We kept slamming into trees, ducking under spider-infested brush, and doing 360’s to get out of tight spaces. I was embarrassed and pissed at myself. And hearing “Man, Miss Jenifer you are really bad at canoeing” from a fourth-grader does nothing for the old self-confidence.
Mosquitoes. I don’t know what kind of chemicals I have to pour onto my feet and ankles to keep these bastards from using me as their 24 hour buffet. I tried the all natural spray that doesn’t smell like it will give you cancer, the stuff with deet that probably does, and even standing so close to the campfire I think my skin was as hot as some of the marshmallows we were charring. Nothing worked. There is a black hole in the cosmos for mosquitoes. They are free to join the fire ants and roaches whenever they desire.
Feeling responsible for over two dozen children’s safety. By a campfire. In the dark woods. On the top bunks above a concrete slab floor. Jumping off rope swings and being carried off by a strong spring current. Thank god there were other teachers and chaperones. And a coach with a big, booming voice and muscles strong enough to grab said children out of the current. I don’t have the loud voice. My instructions are just suggestions to them. This drives me a little bonkers. I am trying to learn how to be more authoritative without having to blow my top. I am the silent worrier. I did not joke much or sleep on the trip. My mind was constantly worrying. And some of the kids are so relentless in their need for adventure it makes it grueling to have to be the adult.
But I did jump from the rope swing. I dove for shells with them. I tried to scare them in the woods while they played “hidden”. They let me in on their crush dramas. They showed me frogs they caught. They pointed out the stars to me when I hadn’t looked up at the sky once.
Except for the above mentioned dislikes, it was a pretty successful and enjoyable trip. And I learned I can still rough-it. My gluten-free cereal was mere child’s play compared to another chaperone’s electric skillet and organic sausages. And I have to admit my bed was comfy as hell. And no rats visited me in the night. I think they were afraid of the mosquitoes.
Filed under Observations
Busted Flip Flops 