Just my impressions of a small city in the middle of Asia

Szechuan – Nanchong
Numbing spices permeates all flavors
Wafts out in breath
Over the bitter cold.
Down jackets, Uggs walk the streets
Hoods nodding up and down
Haggling over kumquats and Asian pears.
The Jialing River winds unobtrusively
Past buses, noodles shops, construction, mud
Bao zus, split pants, and KTV
A hot pot of country and modernity
Of patriotism and ‘leave us be out here’.

Always nice to spend a week at home.  This poem is reality with rosy glasses as I’m sure my family can attest to! But all the warm fuzzies and missing home went into this poem when I wrote it half a world a way from family.

Take me safely home
To that spot where I fit just right
Snug yet loose
Held in relaxed tension
Of loving worry
I don’t need to because you do
I can fall because here I’m held.

Take me safely home
To the place of Kincaid light
Where even the dark is friendly
Cozy in the fog and
Sounds of crashing rhythmic waves.
No pretense
No façade
Monet and all his splotches perfectly
Formed into a picture.

Take me safely home
Where imagination questions all
Builds dreams
Embellishes the longing
Filling to overflowing contentment
Where repeated conversations
Round out the past
Fill the present.

Take me home
Where all is safe
In heart and soul
In rest and loud familial laughter|
In peace and busy supper preparations
Even in arguing
Quick hugs
Knowing looks
over understood space.

Now I know that it’s Christmas and all, so this isn’t very cheery.  I was at a conference at the beginning of December, and it was held at a church.  There was another event at the church: a memorial service and a funeral of a 14 year old boy who had died a sudden death.  For some reason, I couldn’t get it out of my head, and these are some of the thoughts that I wrote down.

Upon the Death of a 14 year old son

This poem is here upon request of my friend Ruth. I hesitate as it’s a little obscure, and I feel a little ‘meh’ about it – like it needs slightly more work.  I was trying to play with the idea of opposites, but two sides of the same coin.  Anyway …

Welcome, please.
I can’t guarantee much here, but I will tell you
In Janus – style, you may not like me
All the while knowing
You will love me
though hate me
And never want to let go of me.

Through some gate of cold January,
You may find the summery July
Breathless in snow
Angry
Passionate
Listless in the hot fly-buzzing days.
Sensual
Petty
Begging in November – Slip-your-hand-in-my-coat’ kind of way
And you will (perhaps half desperately
Half gratefully)

I can’t even be sorry
For some how, though it is my burden,
It is also my delight
But the truth, yes
– it is my claim.
I have found
– though I have searched to the moon and back –
that I have no other.

Another one just for fun – I like trying to mess (and mesh) with different stories (as you can tell) 🙂

One flew over the cuckoo’s nest
One went wee, wee, all the way home
A wiggle and a walk
A fiddle and a cat
Jumped over the moon

When it rains, it pours
What if it snows?
Does the old man still snore?
A giggle and a talk
Mary had a little lamb
And the owl’s in the boat
With the baker, the butcher, the candlestick maker.

Up the stairs and down the stairs
Wee Willy Winkie
Is looking for Miss Muffet
Who’s chasing after Georgie Porgie
Not kissing her or anyone yet,
But helping Bo Peep find her lambs.

That’s what I like
And the rest
(Little Boy Blue, Little Jack Horner,
And Johnny Appleseed)
Are all wondering not what their country can do for them
But what they can do.

Still, Mother Goose is watching carefully
And we all wonder if the crooked little woman cares enough
To give some scraps to Old Mother Hubbard.
And she might.
And she will
And Willie Winky, Jack Horner, the baker, the owl,
And everyone else
Breathes a collective sigh of relief
And the cat goes back to playing his fiddle
While the rest dance,
Dance
Dance

I wrote this in 2007 but thought it would be fun to share.

If he wasn’t and he wasn’t
Then, where is he?
I can’t sit in a tower
Until I hear, ‘let down your hair!”
I’ve left quite a few times.
Did I miss the sound of the hoofbeats go by?

And if he wasn’t and he wasn’t
Then were my eyes closed?
When did my foot not fit the slipper?
Or perhaps
the carriage turned back into a pumpkin too soon.
The bride back into the rag girl too soon
Or it left me at the wrong door.

If he wasn’t and he wasn’t
Then did I bite into the apple not poisoned?
I thought I fell into a death-sleep
Waiting for the life-kiss
But maybe I didn’t open the right door
For the right witch.

If he wasn’t and he wasn’t
Then was I just not that girl?
But I just didn’t want to use the loom
My finger is not pricked
Life has kept going.
Is he waiting for that chance to prove all he is
By busting through the vines
And finding my poor pale face ready for him?

If he wasn’t and he wasn’t,
I’m sorry, I just can’t marry a beast!

I guess I couldn’t help it…

Safely giving gratitude in warmth-scented turkey stupor
Thanks generically overflowing

Hard to believe somewhere around the world –
The paralyzed grateful for a step
The starving grateful for a crumb
The homeless grateful for warmth
The hurting grateful for forgetfulness
The persecuted grateful for safety
The lonely grateful for a smile

And I –
–   Wonder if I even understand

Abundance…overflowing.

Provider, Refuge, Father, Life –
I can only say
a bewildered and humble
‘thank you’.

Inspired – a little over a year ago…

Hello Friend Ship
Thank you for the night
Of safe rest
In understanding arms.

Good-bye Friend Ship
We meet again
In passing piece
Pressing peace
Soon to return
Never to return
Though no returns
No regrets
Thank you for the night
Safe harbor in comfortable conversation
Fearful
Freeing
Just the look in passing
In looking
In passing
Ever-passing.

Once again, the test of doubt
Comes to me
Will I be faithless in this moment?

I feel at times I owe a happiness to all the troubled
Pained and broken.
For my life is one of hope.

And even now the “less” attaches itself to me.
Even now I feel the shadow
Pressing sadness
Fearful tears
Guilty heart
Shamed for the sham of who I am.

Will I pass this test?
O Presence, Great and Good
I cannot feel You.

I feel
a betrayal of promise
Not in You, but by me.

Who am I to feel this way?
It is just a moment
I pray I pass.  I pray I stand this test.
For Your sake.

Another Baltimore one – appropriate for the recent weather here:

Pounding rain
Drops from the Harbor into the air
a veiled curtain to all the sounds and thoughts

the puddles
Swirl into oil and grease and trash and blood
the mist reaches cool fingers
into collars of jackets

Umbrellas parade
Down Pratt St
shivering bodies holding wet cardboard
ask for change, better lives

Slick crackly sounds
rush by my window
Joining the slow drips on the leaves

This is the rhythm of Baltimore’s rain.