Last Night’s Dream
Moon shines on her dreams
lighting up the open closet
dust bunnies, memories stored
in bags of old clothing.
Waking, she hauls everything out
giving space for the burnished air
to wash the vacant corners
with a breath of freshening air –
© poem and photo by carole fults
Sea gulls strut in rolling breakers
brilliant on sandy shore
uninformed of noisy war.
Here death occurs when it should, as it should.
She watches waving beach grasses
while arranging her response
to the anguished caught in wild fires and raging floods.
She says a prayer but can’t think on it for long.
The gulls are flying off
beach grass waves at clouds
crabs burrow in for the night,
Sunset flares as day travels on.
© photo and poem by caf
The Reluctant Cook
She cooks everything on high
no patience for process –
warming, browning, crisping.
must all happen at once
else time’s a-wastin’.
Toast cooked as intensely
as an egg is fried,
unfortunate vegetables whacked into bits
drowned in boiling olive oil.
She doesn’t mind the charred toast
soggy veggies or burnt garlic.
She just goes for it
and cooks everything on high
all the while savoring
the scent of a percolating poem
and moments sewn into life
by unexpected muses.
© photo and poem by carole fults
Darkness, you bring rich deepness
blessing and fear
stealing blankets of warmth
from our comfortable resting place.
You show us stars, planets and galaxies not visible
when you withdraw.
You clothe our world in a blanket of cold,
a womb sheltering seeds of dramatic sunrise.
You are our Mother as much as Earth.
When light appears over the curvature
bathing our faces with tender regard
you take only partial leave,
lingering in shadows and making a home
under our own hats,
hiding in our marrow
a kernel of corn in a field
awaiting the sun
to stir its birth.
You bring us dreams –
relief from ordinary life,
an existence outside of sometimes banal days.
I would not give you up
nor ask you to stop returning,
for you help me see the substance
gleaming daylight often hides
behind her skirts.
Truth hidden by the bright light of the sun.
©Photo and poem by caf
At 89 she still wears high heels
with skinny straps and rhinestones,
she clicks right along in them
while holding onto my arm for balance.
I’m gonna wear high heels and big earrings
until I die, she declares.
Noticing the oncoming traffic she asks
if I’ll help her write her obituary.
I know she sees her future and it hurts me,
but I agree, knowing that even when
the final road is crossed
things will not be finished between us,
for love doesn’t understand
red lights, stop signs, or death.
©photo and poem by carole fults
a star appeared.
glowing evidence of love
from eons ago,
though nothing indicated
I was worthy.
a hope appeared.
dazzlement of mercy
dispelling the dark night sky
though nothing indicated
I deserved such generosity.
I spoke my dreams
hoping you would hear
and when you did
my hope became faith
©poem and photo by carole fults
Honeysuckle in the Evening
The sweet scent of
and a gaggle of newborn geese
plodding back to their home in the pond.
Deep throated croaks.
others singing in my ears,
some blessing my nose
with sweet smells,
or tormenting my skin,
a dense thicket of mosquitoes.
A barking goose,
a carpet of red pine needles.
Forget me nots
things pulled too soon
or not soon enough.
I ask what makes the oak leaves red in the fall?
I see you standing on a hill
I call to you, “Put out the lights so I can see the stars”.
The sun out shown a little star until the clouds
eclipsed the sun,
and when the earth eclipsed the moon, the sun again
ascended until new moon darkness
when the little star again shown brightly.
I felt the sun stroking the earth
as he set behind the mountains
and the moon rose over the trees,
her touch the cooler and softer.
lover of day (sun)
mistress of night (moon)
exploring (finding) you on the hill.
© Poem and photo by caf