STARFIRE: POETRY

Poetry/Prose

Willow
Lady's Slipper
Winter and Spring in New England
Lost Loves
Still-Life
Feather, or Fin?

Willow

It is the long Weeping Willows sweeping
toward the snow's crust, boughs bent with
ice that keeps them close to the ground, the
crackling the sound I remember most, wherever in
the past has this gone to, I don't know.
Sound to the wind, as memories do.

The wind would lift and gently drop those
icy boughs, limbs like arms with hands, and
fingers glazed to the tips with rain fallen, frozen, on
branch and twig, broken pieces now
skating on the ground, the icy, crusted ground.

That weepy, Weeping Willow, she reminds me
--I didn't know that I'd forgotten--
past unresurrected, breathes again, the weeping
fills the round.

4/1996

Lady's Slipper

Dark wood flower, quiet
shade and softness. I admire
your solitude, single flower
alone about tall and looming
trees.

Lady's Slipper, none possess you,
none can, for you are too delicate
to be possessed. I admire the
strength in that gentleness.

Never by the roadside,
never in the garden, but
only in nature's glades, the
Lady's Slipper flourishes.

No one hears the rain
weep with you, beautiful Lady's Slipper.

1997

Winter and Spring in New England

The Fingers of Winter and Spring
in New England
are clasped,
two hands grasping each other
like two lovers will.
When they meet, hug,
say hello,
and when they embrace, departing...
have said good-bye.
The fingers lift,
then fall, again.
Winter,
and Spring
in New England.

Winter/Spring 1986

Lost Loves

In the pain
of remembering lost loved ones,
whether by death,
or by circumstance,
remember too, it is by the wish of angels
these loved ones entered your life,
and by the love of angels, that they left.

When you protest that you are not done
loving them, remember the love
the angels have for them, and for you.
And go on loving them. The angels
always deliver.

June 11, 1997

Still-Life

Stillness, lifeless,
Held held high, skyward,
shoulders back, though slight, fearless. Heartful.

I can see the beauty, it shines from her eyes, lifted
upward. Angels cup the roses on her cheeks,
the ruby of her soul.
She is windward now, with the flight
of the angels. I see her lifting upward,
free.

Through the agony of death, her heart breathes now,
no longer torn, or crushed. She lifts upward,
skyward. Her reflection shimmers across bodies
of water, dancing in the sun. Childlike, she is
free again, spirited and light.
Her song rings out over wind-swept meadows,
wind-waves curling down the grass like
stampedes of children, the children she always
loved so, and longed to be with; she never was one of them.

Feather, or Fin?

I was lying on the surface of deep water, felt my arms pull me along through the body of water, glide so easily through. Not really there, but there. Sky over head. Lift my arms up, feel the silk of water drawn through, around these arms; weightless, body gave over to motion. It hit me then. The feeling again. Skyward, as I lift my arms, then draw them downward, I became Bird again. I could feel the love again, that feeling only that I'd found in Bird, in Flight. Was it Feather? Or, was it Fin?

I remembered then a love story, one that is so sweet, it has to be told. If you remember this tale, you might have seen the story video, The Mind's Eye, --Computer Dreams. A beautiful five-minute animation of love.

Perhaps, too, you will remember which came first...it didn't matter. Bird, and circles of birds. Flight, --the kind you dream of,--it filled the body of Bird. A complete, and textured scene, the sky was filled all with birds. Below was Pond. Pond was looking really beautiful, too. Here then were the two opposites. Bird, in-flight-to-motion, the element of air, Sword energy, and masculine polarity. There below, lay water, lily-pads for scattered reflections, emotions, the Cups. Ahhh, Feminine One.

Don't you know, that bird dropped down low, right to the water's face, and saw into the depths of emotion... and found....love. And looking back up at Bird, was beauty, the Fish. Feminine, watery fish. She had textures too, for gills. They moved as she swished the water with her tail, danced the body rhythm of water and color, her eyes wide and curious. Schools of fish were her partners; Pond played the music that she danced to. She, too, had found love. Love looked right back at her, from masculine air, Sword energy. Bird was Fish's love. Bird beckoned to Fish. "Come. Be with me." Fish swished, "Nay, I am Fish. Come with Me into the depths that I swim. "

Bird looked around him. He looked at Love. Bird got the most curious look on his face. What's Bird up to? Nothing, indeed nothing in the face of Love was impossible. Bird lifted his beak. He drew back his wings, full to span. His chest arched outward and his lift became lighter, airborne and lofty. Bird soared high. Bird soared skyward, up toward the clouds. His face showed determination. He circled half the round, a Moon's sweep. Letting in to the body, he began his descent downward, toward Pond. Watery, emotional Pond. Bird pointed his sword-like energy toward Feminine. Flight gave way to Feminine. In a moment of climactic peak, Bird lost his altitude, pierced the surface of calm; submersion became him now. Feminine enveloped Bird, swallowed him into herself. Bird collapsed into the stillness of his body, carried now by Pond.

Fish was quick unto the collapsed and lifeless Bird. Bird had given over to Feminine. Bird had joined Love. Fish swished around Bird. Stirring. Bird opened his eyes. Total submersion, succumbing to Love, and Feminine, Bird stirred anew, enveloped in Love. Fish, the herald to the port, --emotion, watery emotion. Sword gave way to the collective and found Love.

1996

At the height of its brilliance,
the death of a leaf inspired me.

Starfire

Poetry/Prose

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