Hope

the creek

Today I saw a cow licking her newborn calf
as a kestrel killed and ate a pigeon in the tree.

Walkway cracks sport new grass
though drenched with killing spray.

The big moon rose followed by the sun
though I doubted either would shine again.

There was laughter and wings on water
though hungry guns combed the other side of the lake.

There was tenderness in the trees as I sat on stones in the creek
though the rocks felt cold and secretive.

An aging butterfly landed on my arm
harbinger of yet another metamorphosis

Her wings were hard used and frayed
but she stretched them out broadly,
if not grandly.

We sat dreaming of pollen and sweetness
until she wobbled into flight
daring me to follow

But now I am a fish in icy waters, frozen
and will only regain my wings
when the chill departs
and warmth returns to the land.

©photo and poem by caf

 

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Oumaumau

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Oumaumau*
The rock – a wandering Taoist
follows the currents of space
without preset path
not caring where it travels
free of ambition
no home, no religion
enough courage to orbit no star
content to go where the stream takes it.
It borrows color from the sun
and trusts its direction from some unseen influence,
its only task to go where it is taken.
Watching Oumaumau
I see bravery
and a wish for my own heart’s path.

*Oumaumau is an asteroid recently discovered by a telescope in Hawaii as it skipped through our solar system – the first interstellar asteroid to be documented. What I find so fascinating about this asteroid is that it has no orbit – it just rides along through space unattached to anything. That caught my imagination, as most things in our universe are tied to something – but not Oumaumau. Its name means Wanderer.

©poem and photo by caf

In the Garden

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In the Garden

Butterfly –
from egg and caterpillar to cocoon of silk
to orange and black smear of summer
and quivering wings on Bee Balm – do you mark your age?
or do you think only of your assignment
to dance in the flowers
while we, the more evolved, fight our own metamorphosis
from cocoon of flesh to angel
arguing and resisting all the way home
to the garden.

©photo and poem by caf

Words and Photos

Words and Photos

Words and Photos
Ali and his camel

… 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

Curt

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Curt

I thought I heard your voice
but the whispers must have missed my ears
for now, only thick foggy silence sits on my shoulder
as I walk by a stream
through trees and Forget Me Nots.

Where are you? I miss you.

A bamboo flute calls through gray rain
heard only by turtles and herons
and me, as I wander through the mists
looking for a face lost long ago.
You must know, I have not forgotten.

© by carole fults

The Reluctant Cook

Burnt ToastThe 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

Comes The Night

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Darkness, you bring  rich deepness
tantalizing mystery
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