Another Chance

New moon verging on the great sea above me
stars in plenitude balancing the thin slice of sun given by the Lady
as it arches through this archipelago heart of mine
here, October, soon to be the samhain ritual. No haycocks to burn
in this life, but suddenly, the face of a daughter of the Goddess
in the firelight, a rose-red bouquet of embers. I watch her as she speaks.
Sometimes she is as the glass, and clear, water in the lake.
And sometimes she is as the mirror, bright, but oh what might lie behind
her silvered laughter? That she is the Woman at the Harvest
this year is perfect. My heart watches among the stars and embers
for the clues; the ones to this puzzle me,
and the ones to that puzzle You.

10/1996

Perhaps the first poem I wrote Kimberly, in the mid 1990s. I was just beginning to really use Goddess imagery in my poetry. Previous to that what few references there are to a deity are angry ones to that poor sad god from the old testament of the bible. The joy in this relationship between the Deity as I know had come to see her and the possibility of a new partner in my life has an undeniable power. I have never believed that only the lost love poems are worth writing.

On Lake Sunapee, Winter 2000

well the hills are dense with the grass of pines young and tall
& the snow here hangs along the roads and paths where it has been stacked high
I cruise slowly on the well kept roads, making my journey take longer
than it could. My heart is fractious within my frame. I approach the condo
north of Sunapee, the light beginning to fade this early spring evening.

You are there, in the woods where you were a child. In the small house
you lived in, through many days innocent and fun. I rejoice in your company
in this room looking out upon Lake Sunapee. The pines and the birches
are the best possible allies in this life. Your picture on the wall when you were
twelve still moves me to tears. What a charming woman you have always been.

I wish Paige were here, or we had a child, or life was more stable than it is.
But I persevere, take my trek to the gun factory, find solace in the sun
setting through the myriad trees. Soon I will be with you, Kimberly. Soon
I will be whole again, here in the northern kingdom, here in the Algonquin's refuge.
Soon, in Sunapee, I will heal this day's odd wounds and find you, my reason.

2/2000

JAZZ

Well, first off it was a colloquial term for
"intercourse." & like its cousin, Rock 'n Roll
Proper people didn't have it in the house.
But, as the Pythons would say,
"intercourse the house."
JAZZing was always about living.
Like dancing it was form that had been freed.
Yeah there are rules: a scale, a meter, the tender
Touch of craft in the blowing and the stroking—
But suddenly you know you have to throw the rules away.
You have to go where the story takes you. & like
Living, its got to be an improvisation—stepping
Through the room in a graceful move
You make as you go.
We both know this.

10/8/96