Poetry Sunday June 6 03 USH

Sunday, July 6,2003 was Poetry Sunday. Several poems were written and recited. Here they are:

MEMORY IN MAINE

When the bright broad bell brings Joanna's father home,

there is no wind like the two of them
in that wild way he trusts his sudden toss
will bring Joanna to him again

As if this madness in their meeting somehow matched
their loss at leaving love
behind.
In the gathered grass the wind and I danced beneath
the sight of skirt and skin and arm.
Way up Joanna! Up until the blonde and blue of you and
sky become the one

right wish my little heart can find,

To be Joanna, To be this Joy and fall with love
No harm, No harm!

Laurie J. MacAlpine

INTO THE FLOW

Some scientists say the heart is not a pump
and the blood knows how to move itself,
only regulated by the heart.
If so, then maybe I also know when to move.
Maybe I feel summer's impulses
signaling squirrels mating,
cardinals singing,
daisies blooming,
maples leafing,
grass greening,
streams rushing.
Into this flow I go,
knowing my way in the larger confluence,
moving with them
as though floating
on a big inner tube platelet
in the life stream river,
buoyed by inner knowing
gurgling and babbling messages.
Telling of the irises, butterflies and deer
as well as the chute, the vortex, the pool.
And my heart regulates my going on,
downstream, to the sea.

Marye Gail Harrison

4/18/96

********************************************

WOMEN'S BEST FRIEND

She lies down
close enough
to rest her furry chin
on my bare foot.
I believe she does this
with intent.
To be sure of me,
that I am here –
a safe place.
And when she looks up
black eyes
dig a hole in me
to pour herself into
so I will not forget.
How easy she is
with this display,
this sharing of herself.
How unencumbered by the past –
"Off the chair."
"Drop it!"
"Bad dog!"
For her
it is just this moment
right now next to me,
with the sun
rubbing her belly
as she turns
to receive it.

Elizabeth Thomas
(2/1/03)

ON AGING

At 3,
you saved me
from the drooling mouth of the dog next door.
We later became friends (the dog and I)
but the moment you leapt the fence
and raced across the yard
to pull me into your protective space,
is always with me.

At 8,
we built the treehouse
and I stood on the ledge
all the way up
and you said, "Jump. I'll catch you. Trust me."
I barely thought twice
before throwing my body into the air,
into your arms.

At 13,
you let me cry
then dried my tears
because the kids next door said my chest was too small
and my nose too big.
You didn't tell me not to care.
You just held me until I didn't care so much.

And when I told you at 20
how much I was in love,
you said you'd love me always.
And at 30
when I told you it was over.
You were still there to hold me.

Now, I'm 45
and it's you with the drooling mouth,
you who needs protection.
I want to wipe your tears,
but you push me away.
Don't tell me not to care
it hurts too much this time.
We both know that.
Let me hold you close.

"Daddy,
jump."

C Elizabeth Thomas

Let us know of any comments, errors and corrections - thanks (revised 2/21/05)