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not above question
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren about the night sky
at 34000 feet the clouds a fleecy blanket
moon-enchanted to pearly gray-white
Mt. Jefferson a looming black triangle
penetrating the woof and weave
occasional eerie glows haunt the pattern
as cities’ fear to yield to night’s darkness
pierces what Nature had enjoyed for eons
human ingenuity using energy against
what has long sufficed for uncertain gain
unico resort
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren
rounded brown agouti
supper-handout-seeking raccoon
sneak-under-napkin, snack-snitching crow
torpid, reminder-of-dinosaurs iguana
many non-paying fellow guests
here south of cancun
moment seized
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren beside the Gulf of Mexico
bird of prey sharp brown-black
against incessant blue Mexican sky intent in flight, seeking life
in the varied green-blue waters below
dives suddenly from outspread wings
to compact missile hitting the water
and rising, dripping, with fish in talons, heavy, writhing prey brings
the bird nearly back into the gulf
but, shuddering off excess water
strong wings carry off trophy
moment of struggle spelling life
and death, repeated endlessly over eons
pelican over Tulum
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren
angular hieroglyph above Mayan ruins
juts forth its distended jaw
extending in sharp angles
then compacting again as though
it will dive on unsuspecting prey
but, deciding otherwise, stretches
out once more and flaps full wings
devouring a path in the sky
a Swedish Proverb
A proverb found by Pam Duvall, a gifted and generous friend
I'd like to share with you a Swedish proverb that I found inspirational.
"Fear less, hope more; eat less, chew more; whine less, breathe more; talk less, say more; hate less, love more; and all good things are yours."
A simple recipe for a better life. HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
aj’s haven
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren
a warm home
welcoming grown children
and extended family
to potluck and skilled baker’s pies
chatter, love and laughter
and our lady, newly happy
welcome barrier
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren
toughened bare feet so the cold
is recognized but does not, for a beat,
spread through my being when i step into light snow
i can dash to do what needs be and hurry back to shelter
without chill if i am quick
how i wish my anger knew such a buffer before erupting
skill within one’s realm
they make it look so easy
trucker handling triple trailers on a windy day
chef adding a pinch of this and a dash of that
seamstress taking the one tuck that perfects the silhouette
salmon homing from ocean to single stream that spawned him
eagle finding invisible spiral of air to climb without moving his wings
Include more text here to close out the blog, or just delete this box.
if only Leonid
meteor shower promise
memory of riding in the bed
of battered pickup out of the Maine
woods to a sloped field to gather
bundled against the cold to watch
Leonids slap dash across the night sky
if only Oregon would yield its
November mist and fog for the annual
streak show
comin’ and goin’
they set it up that way
computer systems got me - automatic renewal without notice
hours of chasing how to opt out - clear directions, only i can’t
do it that way because i have a subscription and need to downgrade
only there is no downgrading until the subscription runs out only
it is on automatic renewal without notification because
they want to keep the nearly $300
but i want to keep it, too
moon and particles
no wonder we sometimes prefer our illusions
pollution can be beautiful
as when it scatters
the rising moon’s rays
enhancing illusion on illusion
that our satellite is huge, orange
and shining
unwarranted conclusion
blue-white startling at midnight
unwarranted conclusion
full moon and frost on pine limbs
stubbled lawn glints blue-white
convincing me just after midnight
of the season’s unpredicted first snow
glitter that is gold
sudden, brilliant heralds
only mount hood ghost-like on my horizon this morning
chill, pallid fog has muted the blue of portland’s west hills and pale
more distant cascade range
until flakes of burnished gold and snippets of vivid pink spurtle
like pinprick explosions of color to vouch for the coming of day
interpreter
gentle soul brings to us the fruit of her watching
to honor Daphne Clifton, poet
daphne watches nature
captures chickadees and titmice
in their daily, eventful little lives
with gentle words of compassion
and understanding that even too busy
humans can comprehend
banister to wisdom
childhood memory, decades later
at the head of the flight of steep stairs
i climb up and on, my right foot dangling
fifteen feet over the narrow hallway below
i close my eyes, afraid, but determined
i’ve seen my uncles and my older sister do this
but i wouldn’t try when they could watch
my palms are slippery as i try to grip
the dark, polished wood
slowly i ease my near-prehensile toes
from around the uprights
and let my bum first begin to move
i lift my left foot from its final anchor
the slide begins in earnest, balled red-plaid dress
and white cotton panties against the lacquered railing
i clutch at but cannot grasp the smooth, wide rail
i swoosh faster and faster, gritting baby teeth
to keep from screaming
a gasp escapes my mouth as i descend
but grandma doesn’t hear me until
i’ve reached the round, decorative curl-end post
swished near sideways off it and clattered to the wooden floor
i’m not crying, exactly, but mama would have rushed to pick me up
and coo sweet assurances
but grandma, mother of three boys, stands arms akimbo
come over here, she says, and I’ll pick you up
I’d have come to you but I have a bone in my leg
i stagger up, blinking, to check that i’m okay
next time, don’t come down so fast, she says over her shoulder
as she returns to the kitchen
i feel so bad about that bone in her leg
i hold onto the banister as I look back up its height
so much to learn
still vivid
childhood memories
laughing lunch with elder daughter
phoned younger to giggle over memory
she chuckles, musing, “strange how
incidents of decades ago come flooding
back as though they just happened”
wayward words
hurt, but not sure it was meant that way
funny how a word or two
can run caustic over my being
it takes a breath and a moment
to reflect on past joys
to put the feelings of hurt and anger
back into my pocket
frugal, ingenious mama
we see so little of the intricate interconnectedness of Nature
wrangled gold, red, orange, even blue
from green, hard-working leaves
chemical plants that produce, as waste
what we vitally need to breathe
how frugal Mother Nature is
surplus from one of Her species
giving life to another
yet, as we inhale to gasp at her beauty
we ignore Her life-sustaining labor
long may She forgive us