Waning moon
Stars, small suns to other worlds,
the smell of morning.
No matter the evil,
the ugly,
or the political,
the Mystery is still here.
Can we remember this?
©photo and poem by caf
The Mystery
Tag: moon
Morning News
A whale named Moon, spine broken by a big ship,
unable to dive for food.
emaciated, swims 3,000 miles
to die of starvation in the winter feeding grounds.
The moon rises over the stark winter marked trees
breeze gentle by my ear
as stars witness the rising sun.
An old woman begs the soldiers to leave her family alone
We just want to live our lives, care for each other.
So the soldiers laugh
shoot her husband, rape her and her daughters
steal their food, burn their house.
Grasses in the field, dried wild flowers
wave and clack in midday air.
Sparrows squabble over seed lying on the ground.
A fox crosses the road toward beckoning hill.
An elephant is shot, stripped of her tusks
her corpse left to rot in hot sunlight
while her calf looks on trumpeting in fear and grief, not understanding.
What can I do but witness your suffering?
I don’t know what to do with this.
Some days my prayer books are no help.
©caf
Comes the Dark
Darkness, you bring rich deepness
and tantalizing mystery
both blessing and fear
stealing blankets of warmth
from our comfortable resting place.
You show us stars, planets, galaxies not visible
when you withdraw.
You clothe our world in a blanket of cold,
a womb sheltering the 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 hats,
hiding in our marrow
like 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
Passing the Light
Lazy moon in her bed of night sky
makes no light of her own
but only reflects the sun
and trusts the earth to keep her orbit steady.
She lights our darkest world
and her burnished body covers the pines in lacy glow and shadow.
Yes, this spoiled child creates miracles of beauty while doing nothing
but sharing the light she has been given.
©photo and poem by caf
Lazy Moon
Passing the Light
Lazy moon in her bed of night sky
makes no light of her own
but only reflects the sun
and trusts the earth to keep her orbit steady.
She lights our darkest world
and her burnished body covers the pines in lacy glow and shadow.
Yes, this spoiled child creates miracles of beauty while doing nothing
but sharing the light she has been given.
©photo and poem by caf
Last Night’s Dream
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 –
Illuminated Emptiness!
© poem and photo by carole fults
Words and Photos
Words and Photos
… words …
In an old trunk
amid papers saved and rotting
a letter from you never seen before.
Where, I wonder, did this come from?
The words shine like moon rise
Still – I let it go.
…and photos…
small faces
unmoving lips give the script a voice
“Here is Ali by the Great Rock Here is Ali by the Great Rock!”
cried the lost boy under a full desert moon.
Wooden camels scraped across the stage
How I loved you!
Still – I let it go.
© photo and poem by caf
The White Mare and the Ocean
The White Mare
A white mare snorted for me in the yard one night
signaling it was time
to leave my desk and pens and tea and come outside
where poetry lives.
I followed her beckoning and rode her to the sea
where I dismounted to watch
as she galloped through the sandy tides.
The waves grew large as the moon rose up
and cloaked us in soft light,
Shadows of clouds lie atop reflective moon beams.
I watched safe from the jetty
as the mare splashed and pranced in the water,
her mane mirrored in the crest of curling waves,
her breath becoming the sound of breakers in the rocks.
Her neigh rose and fell with the wind
and the calls of the gulls in the squall.
A five year old girl appeared and jumped on the mare’s back
clutching her withers and laughing,
daring the sea to swallow them.
The mare paused, gave me a long look and trotted
back to where I clung to the safety of rock and land.
She must have known I longed for the freedom of the storm
for she regarded me with her wild eyes and untamed soul
and snickered,
“Come with us. Everyone needs to leave everything
at least once.”
© Poem and Photo by Carole A. Fults
Coyote Wind
Coyote Wind
Did you hear the wind last night
howling up the creek
whistling in the snowy, twig shaped shadows
of January’s full moon?
Did you see the moon
last blustering night
brazenly brightening the deep sky
dark of clouds?
One time, when the gale quieted
and all sound was frozen silent
I slipped outside in time to see
a Screech Owl fly stage front shrieking
“Wild, wild everything is wild!
Everything is wild!”
The wind rose again as I huddled under a tree
It pushed me through a tunnel
into the reckless freedom of space and adventure,
shattering the stale sameness
that orbits everyday life.
It sang a new way into being and then,
returned me to my bed, freshened,
where the barking spirit of Coyote
stalked my sleep
and dreams dripped into an awakened life.
©Carole Fults photo and poem
Angel of the Labyrinth
I walked the labyrinth with your hand in my pocket
and your voice on my shoulder.
Your shoes walked with me
and we saw that there are barriers in life
and you can jump them sometimes if you want,
but if you do you find yourself someplace
you were supposed to be earlier or later
but not now.
The smoothest way in or out is to follow the path
without leaping the stones, though you know you can,
until you reach the center
where the way of return is not what you think
and is unrecognizable, although it mirrors the way in.
If you don’t follow the path you could be lost in the maze.
I heard your voice say
“It takes a lot of patience, but
what else are we here to do, except follow the path to its end
where it begins again, notice what’s in our way
one foot, then the other
breathing, opening, paying attention.”
I say “I’m so happy to have you on this path with me, so glad you return when I call you, and wistful when you go.”
Tell me a truth”, I say to you
“Tell me what you’ve learned over there after you finished the labyrinth.”
“Things just are” you reply. “Just look and enjoy, there is nothing else to know.”
CAF
©Carole Fults photo and poem