daughter, mother

over  lunch at filbert’s farm kitchen

laughter and pleas for ancestor stories

catching up on the kids’ activities

comparing perspectives on family

gatherings and the tales emerging

from them, more laughter

and moments of tender grief

daughter, mother share the joy

and pain of loving deeply

whispered thanks

another gray day but clear

so i can see across the valley

to portland’s west hills

and hints among the clouds beyond

of cascade mountain snow peaks

i whisper thanks to my earl

for his generosity and caring

in building our home

on this stubborn foothill

in fulfillment of my wanting

to watch each morning’s sunrise

fascinating new novel

heavy in my arthritic hands

the 600 pages of Pharaoh Across Time

finds itself cradled to be read

because i care about the characters

and need to follow their adventures

                                author:  Anne Stackpole-Cuellar

it isn’t courage

“You don’t have the courage to have an affair!” left me open-mouthed and staring

It isn’t courage that is required to betray

“Let Putin do whatever the hell he wants!” leaves the world gasping and shaking their heads

It isn’t revenge that gifts peace

healing greater than wounding

“Healing has greater power

 than wounding and inflicting pain”

implies that love has greater power

than fear, and i wonder at that

given that fear is so abundant

and primitive a newborn reacts

in fear to falling yet accepts warmth

and nourishment as part of self

so overcoming fear with love

is a learned response

but overcome, it does

for those with courage  

and it takes love to even attempt

to try to heal

a stitch in time

but we did not thread the needle

demanding truth, but giggled

at ‘alternative’ reality of self-serving

narrative and then chuckled at unkindness, whiny complaint, victimization and laughed aloud

at prejudice and hate, secretly, then openly cheered promises of revenge

“When is a monster not a monster?”

answer, evidently,

‘when he frees

the worst within us’

gray haze

gray haze between the hills

spread out and lingering

as though reluctant to rise

until touched by dawn’s warmth

prophet and loss

 sound-proof room needed

no inter-office e-chatter

to decide how much less expensive

it is when a patient has dementia

to deny medical treatment

for anything else

sound off

Rather than the power of words

which appeal to the mind

is it not the power of sound

and tone of voice of ranting

that stir the emotions

that give legitimacy to tyrants?

If we watched rallies

with volume muted and simply

studied facial expressions

would we be so persuaded?

business decision

business decision based on numbers

how many people

due to our flawed design

will be in accidents?

how many will be maimed?

killed?

how many will sue for damages?

for suffering? for loss of family?

how much will it cost to change

design and production apparatus?

which is cheaper?

we’ll go with that

and eat the lawsuits then

i got rhythm

walking creates rhythm taken in

by mind as well as body

creating a repeated beat in poetry

composed while on a stroll

ah, the tricks poets learn

or fall into to further the art

that nourishes their soul

just before sunrise

haiku

frost-tipped dew whitens

marks grass, twig and leaf edges

clouds dull heavy gray

laughter without humiliation

laughter with family and friends

telling embarrassing interludes

we wouldn’t want just everyone to hear

but can share with those who will see

the humor without thinking less of us

that somehow eases the pain

of knowing again we are not perfect                                           

odorless killer

yellow flame

where always it had been blue

furnace running

with soot at its front

but the house not warmed

moist condensation

on the inside surface of windows

all noticed as we stand dizzy,

confused and short of breath

signs of carbon monoxide

varied dawns

my panorama view across the valley

to the west hills affords me dawns

so varied, dull gray and vivid gold

and each gives me pause to be grateful

late January sunrise

the colors of dawn were even more vivid than i captured

pentacle indeed

the little theatre in the woods

played neil simon’s emoting boy

remembering his 1937 extended

family stretched to breaking and then

stretching to include yet more

to an applauding, delighted audience

not much gained

tom sawyer as conceived by twain

with assumptions and superstitions

of so long ago that still ring true

that we no longer say aloud our belief

in racial superiority does not alter

our conviction or our actions

choice games

so many young people i’ve loved

so many little ones i’ve included

in games to lead, in loving laughter,

them to figure out for themselves

the hows and whys that yield

them independence of thought

and self-confidence of action

i watch them grown now into young adults worthy of respect in their own and others’ eyes

how much did my games help?

very little, probably, but i like to think

they helped in choosing direction

a mother’s pride

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fear not dreams

 dreams so vivid

i all but believe i am awake

but somewhere deep, i know

these people have died

and i fear not being with them