spell giving way

more yellow in this morning’s sky

pre-dawn indigo had a tinge of green

sunrise corals washed-out, muted

by hovering mist hinting with chill

that the freakish spell of unseasonable

warmth will again give way to March

to pinch too-early rhododendrons buds

feeling vulnerable

i feel vulnerable, but i don’t know why

living alone up here on the hill

no one really in scream-hearing range

i’ve kept the front door locked

so i am the one who lets visitors in

i think i’ll lock the back door now, too

concerted effort

acrobatic vocal cords

trained to range octaves

but inevitably Jimmie and Storm screeching into the mike at their top

yet between the extremes lived

incredible moments of harmony

and resonance, especially with

the Oregon Symphony

unanswered phone

i have the right to protect

myself from further attack

decades of trying to care for one

who uses her special needs

to enjoy turning the screw

and quickly gets over the pain

but not my pain

she seems not to grasp that i

was the one hurt, not she

she’s sweet again and unwilling

to believe i will not answer

life above and below

haiku

giddy with whitecaps

wind-driven frenzied surface

hints of life below

still churning

still churning within

at the thought of his sneaky

non-confrontational, taking ways

never satisfied, never responsible

no wonder i have not talked

about him in many years

his problem outlook on life

i cannot allow to destroy

my peace and joy

being human

if we felt our forebearers anguish

if we knew humanity’s uncertainty

is as our own anxiety and fear

would we feel so alone?

would we have conjured ‘enemy’?

‘Eleanor’

 awed by ‘Eleanor’

ebb and flow of emotion

writing and acting

re-write

editing is so personal

seeing what is wrong

versus what is other

than i would have written it

which does not respect

the author’s choices or style

ah, the relief and joy

when author and editor

work toward the same goal

fellow feeling

it has taken a decade and more

to begin to reclaim myself

after the years of daily care

for one i loved

if the only thing i’ve begun

to understand is the burdened

ones giving-of-self comes

at enormous cost to their health

lord, please keep me ever aware

and willing to quietly help

self-worth

blabbering tell-all

first to know, thereby worthwhile

last confided in

local weather

partly sunny—somewhere

but it’s the party cloudy

that has shown up around here

for quite a while

only the kindness and laughter

of family and friends

has kept our sunshine

peeking from between gray clouds

chilling

another night of silent snow

to laden pine branches with beauty

another morning of soul-reaching chill

to remind us of the plight of wild

creatures who cannot always

protect their offspring

and of the parents of war

who cannot always

protect their children

from leaders willing to sacrifice them

in the name of policy or conviction

expand

 snow gently falling in sapphire night

our world chilled to slowing

time for inhalation, catching of breath

a quiet explosion of wonder

that commands our attention

away from busy-ness to reality

of what-we-call time

as a local phenomenon

personal, now stretched out

to accommodate our need to be in awe

of what is so much more than

tasks or profit or accomplishment

but time to be present in vastness

time expanded to behold the universe

entitled because

“entitled because our forefathers

came, conquered and constructed

on righteous principles

our principles which we will not allow

other beliefs to diminish”

listen to what is—and isn’t

hearing the sighs of friends

in deepening anguish at the loss

of function and companions

humbles me in contemplation

of my own demise

but what reels within my being

for the lifetimes to come

is listening to the silence

of children engulfed in the horror

fear and degradation

of hate

in memory of Virginia Heald

In memory of Virginia Heald

Haiku

gentle soul smiles welcome

bending to help without a word

but encouragement

                                    mjNordgren  2/16/2024 N

little ones of war

a set to rosebud lips

that speaks of never smiling

an impenetrable darkness

to once sparkling eyes

that says “I am too old

to any longer cry”

though the teeth are baby

and hair still wispy

but experience weighs

heavier than decades

missing the mark

consequences of sin will be visited

upon the third and fourth generation

not in vengeance but in assumptions

of what is of value for sin

is less about right and wrong

than it is in missing the mark

about what allows growth

toward fullest humanity

john s. thornton

gentle poet

who captures the anguish

of uvalde and ukrainian children

and their devasted familiesmplate.