Big Picture

The day started,

It was foggy. But -

You could still hear -

The birds -

Curved, airborne flitting,  - but

Energy waited.

Ode to Chauvet

Cave of immense superstition and beauty -

We praise your ingenuity and applied inspiration,

We come from our hybrid cars and electric houses,

To view your courageous will to touch gods hem -

Drawn in the form of hunting and leaping animals,

Giving their predatory concentration and innocence -

As you, to us - in consecrated memory.

Hall of Mirrors

I walked into the hall of mirrors,

There were glassy illusions,

And great, swirling curves,

That changed time and space,

All around was calliope noise,

And shrieks of voluminous laughter,

It was like being in a normal life,

But with a shaking floor.

San Luis Rey; Saint Louis IX, King of France

San Luis Rey;

Saint Louis IX; King of France

He was the king of the great country, France,

Cared finely for his subject’s welfare.

The San Louis Rey, royal saint perchance,

One of few kings given holy fanfare.

The crown of spiky thorns from Jesus’ head,

Acquired by this young, lay Franciscan -

Then, built holy Sainte Chapelle, it was said,

To house this icon of crucifixtion.

Under his rule, Gothic Cathedrals grew,

The Sorbonne built, lit French foundations.

He left early in the brine-misty dew,

The Eighth Crusade - his last meditation.

1798, Mission San Luis Rey de Francia,

The Eighteenth of California’s missions,

Stands in San Diego marking Espagne;

Bourbon ties; of Spain and France’s traditions.

So goes the tribute, laid out in land’s name,

Over two hundred years, twice is the same.

To Stephen: (Hawkings)

What great waters are you parting today -

We wait like children to hear your footsteps…

Gleeful in our excitement;  adrift – we ask

Your silent blessings on our conditional time warp.

(Radiation swirling on the edge of those black holes)

Gods little devices fooling our encultrated minds

Like a monk; someone gives you food and care.

Into your bowl we commend our newly particularized spirits.

We joyfully epistalize your motor words.

And await the next post Einstian grasp/gasp.

River Notes

I heard the noise before I saw the evidence,

They had built a bypass on the road, 35.

Over the land by the old bridge,

The people swooped on their way

To get pizza on the east side,

A broom, a set of tires.

My heart sank,

I saw the new construction was in the way

Of where I played as a child,

In the way of birds, turtles and foxes,

Too near the rapids where I now saw

Those familiar sun shining waters –

Sparkling alone and matter-of-fact,

Here; this shallow, wash river,

Passing deeply between islands,

Running thin and clear over river stones

Too long since I had felt their incomplete,

Crunchy, roughness beneath my thankful feet.

Now, I wanted to just not touch it -

For fear of causing more damage,

I just wanted to hold it in my eyes

Quietly.

It had already passed from its own history.

Eugene Field Elementary, Grade Five...

Eugene Field Elementary, Grade Five

Muncie, Indiana, September: Memoir

Mrs. Mausy, Mrs. Schroyer, Mrs Author,

Mrs. Duncan, Mrs. French, Mrs. Heaton.

These were the names of my first 6 teachers.

Before that, Mom, who taught me to read.

Dr. McCoy, established a library at our

laboratory school for research with his

Doctoral grant.

The highest scorers on last year’s aptitude tests,

Worked for him for candy bars -

12 to 24 a week, lots of cavities those years.

On Friday, the candy was carefully distributed.

Curious, seekers of sugar – with a countenance of longing,

(Some faces were the same ones I taught) -

I was always besieged on the hour-long bus ride home.

Reese cups were the favorite and 24 was a lot -

It required some juggling to keep a few of them.

Always reading juvenile renditions of classics,

The Flamingo Feather, The Gold Bug,

Daniel Boone, Captain’s Courageous –

In the old chorus room on the second floor,

We taught the slow kids in grades one and two,

How to read,

Creaky, wooden floors and seating,

It was frustrating teaching reading at ten years of age,

Not having any idea what I was doing,

(Slight suspicion of being observed through the dark glass) -

Always told we did a good job.

As high up as you could go, by the joined roof -

A small window opened like a book to the sky.

Antigone

Antigone.

When love,

Becomes a criminal.