quiet times of healing

quiet times of healing

seem to take away

from life

so much to be done

so many deadlines missed

so many ‘ought to’s

so many ‘need to’s

so much busy-ness

it is difficult to recognize

true priorities

and allow ourselves to hear

the still, small voice

mutual admiration

The old story of the boy

teased about his many freckles

grandma hugged him, saying

“Do you know what I like best? Freckles!”

Grinning widely, he answered

“Do you know what I like best?

Wrinkles.”

country dweller

“Weren’t you afraid?”

the city man asked

i squinted, trying to remember

”No, not afraid. Awed.

I smiled and whispered

to him, ‘You are beautiful,’

and the bobcat, not twenty

feet from me, preened. He

knew I was an admirer, not

an enemy.”

not the first or last time

i’ve seen a wild creature

eye-to-eye

showoff storm

showoff storm

watercolor sky

and seascape

changing in the hail

wind gusts causing gulls

to land like drunken sailors

and ruffling tail and wing

feathers as they huddle

on the beach

sudden torrents of rain

beating, roiling sand

beneath the surface

to muddy gold-brown

churning the water

into foam white and gray-green

purple-blue in the shadows

of black-purple-gray clouds

this day in weather

google remembers for me

snow, sleet and cold

this day years ago

i am satisfied with rain

chill and fog filling

the valley below like

a milky lake

slow response

over many years

i’ve learned – most times –

not to react in anger

but to respect

my body

and soul’s reaction

and wait until my head

truly tempers my emotions

only then can i speak or

write with kindness

compassion takes a bit longer

laugh’s on me

once - not all that long ago -

i was able, competent

but sadness and pain

have worn me down

to where all there is left

to do is laugh

“your call is important to us, please stay on the line”

call important to us

 automated systems

convey upon my person

status as a customer

with perks for going

deeper into debt

toward their profit

when i feel like an individual

i merely try to ask a question

beyond their algorithm

after hours on hold

even i get the message

of cog-hood value only

pureed feast

pureed feast

after a week of not being able

to swallow or eat

my Robyn grinned

at being handed a hospital menu

of puree choices

she ordered

smiled broadly as the tray

was set before her:

pureed fish, carrots, pears

tomato soup, pudding and biscuit

each swallow was deliberate

but tasted, oh, so good

                        mjNordgren  11/20/2021  Omaha
R’s comment on the pureed biscuit: “It tasted the way I imagine French toast would taste if it were a puddle.”

mj Newsletter -November

Reader Comments:

“Cool” - Canada

“Well done!” - South Carolina

The monthly mjNewsletter in Mailchimp is getting to be more and more fun to write and gather images for (though that part still bugs me). It is a joy to hear from readers. In December i hope to feature several new small presses i’ve become acquainted with as a way for independent publishers to help each other. mj

be‘witching’ insight

be’witching’ insight

 seeing a witch doll

sprawled halfway up

a telephone pole

as though she’d lost

her way in the fog

and crashed her broom

i realized then

my favorite characters

sprawl the spectrum

of good and bad

noble and sneaky

gentle and nasty

just as my favorite

people do

our open wound hope

the reality of anger and wish for revenge

on all who may have hurt me in the past

or may lash out against me in the future

the reality of fear that assumes betrayal

and finds security only in conspiracies

and in signs and symbols

that only some can understand

such reality has been true for centuries, but hidden

perhaps, now that it is out in plain sight,

perhaps now we can learn to comfort, assure and include

high above enriches

luncheon at the inn at spanish head

tenth story windows overlook

sweep on incoming waves

and irregular sand beach

for miles south

with lifts of evergreen hills

couples below walking

holding hands among driftwood

allowing white foam to caress

bare ankles and take them

to distances and lengths of time

that replenish perspective

and deepen commitment

mj toddler aware

(Kelley Island, Lake Erie, 1944)

camp songs and spirituals

sung in various keys

with doubtful harmonies

but deep feelings of sharing

around a campfire among the rocks

with vivid sparks leaping

to the black sky

and falling back, fading

to nothing

only memories

of belonging

                        mjNordgren  10/25/2021  n

gold moon song

gold moon song

autumn moon

full chested as

an operatic bass

rising above the horizon

orange gold, gargantuan

even stealing across a pond

to create a duet

a huge, haunting

song of the night

accompanied by strains

of purple cloud

little leather books

little leather books

three inches wide

three and three quarter

inches tall

dark olive-green covers

darker with age

and fading to brown

at the edges

and within, The Tempest

Stevenson’s  Will o’ the Mill

The Coming of Arthur by Tennyson

treasures given by a friend

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ah, what a morning

pastel pre-dawn

muted by mist

over fields of fog

hiding autumn arrays

emerging energized

by outlandish orange orb

                        mjNordgren  10/19/2021  n

let ‘other’ speak

i write each day for hours, pouring

my intimate insights and conversations

with patients and friends

and anguished strangers

into the dialogue of characters

hoping to help us learn

to empathize

with ‘other’

september sunrise

faint yellow
resting on smudged orange
and shy pink on hazy violet
atop somber blue quieting
promise of sky-blue-pink
settled on dawn-promise indigo
of far distant hills

at sea

i am so much less

than i dreamed of being

hoped i might be

but i have loved

and been loved
joy is enough

written at sea from Costa Rica to Fort Lauderdale, January 2019