b-t-c on April 1st

Bluffo the clown has this day

but he’s more than an April fool

attacking the daughter of the judge actively presiding over the case

where he’s accused of criminal behavior

although attack has always been

both offense and defense for him

perhaps not understanding that others

have power to attack as well

if that judge is constrained by duty

to neutrality, not everyone else may be

                                       —poor Bluffo

b-t-c nose scarlet

Bluffo the clown, nose scarlet

bloated, threatening to burst

with the frustration of failure

to silence multiple sources

of accusation demanding accountability

incredulous that his outrageous

impropriety yields not stuttering

agreement as it has always done

but reasonable further leverage

against him, calling it justice

no clown is above the law

—poor Bluffo

Friday

Friday

service in Spanish and English

with translations for each culture

to follow as the other is spoken

warmth of caring, joining in each verse

of “Were You There” between familiar

quotations so often heard by rote

darkening of the church as we left

in silence, quieted to being able

to let in the power of experiencing

       Hillsboro United Methodist

birds in the osprey nest

two appeared one time

but we don’t see them again

we’re hoping they were visitors

enroute to somewhere else

for our perennial pair it would be

a bit cold and chill rainy yet

to start the ritual of months

of sitting on eggs and flying off

to gather food for insatiable

wide mouths and growing flight feathers and the terror of first leap

in hopes that awkward, untested wings will sustain the next generation

and set weary parents free

until the next spring

self-blame

men who love at times feel crushed

by ‘failure’ to protect beloveds

from terrifying health issues

they cannot control

problems breathing, chest pain

sudden loss of vision

blinding headaches

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with you”

is more a wish than condemnation

however unfeeling it may seem

denial is their unconscious dealing

with their own aching disquiet rather

than admit that the one they adore

needs their comfort and assurance

b-t-c in court

entangled in disputes with judges

bluffo-the-clown’s nose pinkens

into cherry, then scarlet, and now

purpling toward magenta

both walls of the narrowing trap

chuckle, one to watch his antics

with relief as he draws attention

from the real magawork

the other foolishly believing

he disqualifies himself

when no one really cares

            --poor bluffo

WiGs at Dundee Wine Library

laughter, camaraderie and creativity

joyous gathering of trusted friends

to reveal ourselves in story telling

and give and take advice from animals

in unfamiliar, cozy surroundings

imagination v ‘alternative facts’

imagination opens up possibilities

to be tested against verifiable

or at least agreed upon suppositions

‘alternative facts’ encloses each person

within self by closing down

our means of communication

since what say has no basis

that conveys the same meaning

to another individual

bev

whimsical artistry

whose foundation of close observation

is filtered through beauty and compassion

loving dedication

to those who give of themselves

eagerness to help

young souls to find their best selves

warmth, impishness, gentle laughter

in delight of life

            Bev Walker, we miss you

white-out assurance

white-out this morning

but merely from fog, not snow

chill from the dampness

yet i know from experience and faith

that what lurks next to me will dissipate

and the familiar objects and colors

will emerge as though regrown

what i can only barely imagine

is the terror in such conditions

of those who do not have

such self-assurance

thread

there is a whole, a vastness

that encompasses what we can know

only in part as it exists on a scale

beyond out comprehension

a pattern, a tessellation, a tapestry

that we—weak, small, limited, mortal

as we are—yet remain a part of

a segment of a thread

that contributes to the design

and the entirety

material things

Material Things

            Warm and soft, caressing my shoulders. Mom was wrapping the fluffy beach towel around my shaking, four-year-old frame. I’d again stayed playing in Lake Erie’s chill water until my skin was wrinkled, and then, knowing better, sat in the shade of the elm inventing adventures for the twig men I’d found among the rocks of Kelley Island’s sandless shore.

            “You should have come in long ago,” Mom scolded with a smile.

            “I know, Mom.” I did know. I’d even thought about it when my teeth started to chatter, but the stories those bits of wood were drawing from me were too fascinating to be interrupted by discomfort I barely felt until the trembling and shaking made me run to the cottage. I knew I’d be greeted by terrycloth baked in sunshine on the clothesline strung from the back porch to the corner of the outhouse.

            My shoulders snuggled in fluffed warmth, the rest of me could drip until all of me, too, was baked in sunlight, recovery, acceptance, security. The texture of that towel told me I was loved.   

foundation of value

self-worth, knowing i am loved

that is what i work to have all children

take within themselves to enable each

to respect self and those other uncertain beings struggling to find place in

the enormity of unsure relationships

and hints of danger

to have strength of foundation

to be able to respect us all and see

fellow humans with caring

and compassion

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’?