A deep tureen
concealed by forest foliage
and therefore mysterious.
crafted by beavers,
quiet but for birds and insects
singing her secret name
while raindrops drum her surface.
Dead wood and weeds clog her banks
where dragonflies are born
and grow in her slimy gumbo.
To those who live there
she is the ocean,
the bottomless crater that holds the world.
But as this wondrous old bowl
reflects the clouds and stars
she dreams she is the sky.
©Photo and poem by caf
Her breath rose and fell
spaces between in and out growing wider
Gasping for air, heartbeat shallow and fast
feeble voice barely heard
pink skin turning purple
finally, breath stopped, heart raced a few seconds, concluded its beating.
The doors of body closed.
There is no return.
May the rising sun sanctify and bless Your name
We sing praises to the Holy One
for the life of one we loved so long
Gasping for air, crying on an inhale
learning the in and out rhythm of breath
The fast heartbeat that slows with growth
purple skin turning pink
lungs growing a louder voice.
The gate of womb shut.
There is no return.
May the falling rain sanctify and bless Your name.
We sing praises to the Holy One
for the new life we have been blessed with.
May the Lord of doors and gates
Going out and coming in
acorn and oak
child and old woman
bless our hearts with unceasing wonder
as we witness the commonness of mystery and holiness.
May Your name be praised into all eternity.
© photo and poem by caf
The candle burns
a hollow in her heart
where Light settles, plants itself and grows
to brighten and warm her soul
body, mind
in the cold of these dark times.
The wick burrows deeply
into the fuel of its flame
the waxy substance, the ground
on which it burns
sinking deeper into the core of its life
She learns the thing
that feeds her,
the stuff she eats to live
and scatters to the air.
The flame her Being,
the flicker her Breath
the light her Vision
the darkness?…some would say death
some would say mystery,
the match, the secret sparking of her life
in the cold of these dark times.
©photo and poem by caf
Clouds
The weatherman forecast rain
but there is only this pink and yellow morning
and clouds glowing white on the bottoms.
A jaguar’s face becomes a wolf
with glowing eyes in the billows
as a rainy-day prediction turns golden.
Maybe later it will rain,
but right now she says
I think butterflies must have been born
on a day like this.
©photo and poem by caf
A Morning Blessing
In morning sunlight
in early winter
when hills are browning,
with mindful breath she breathes the wind
with sacred song she woos the waters
and begs the trees and the Spirit within
bless the beasts, she whispers
the possums, porcupines, woodchucks,
the birds and bugs and worms,
bears and bobcats
gorillas and fish,
and also, humans.
Bless the plants
who in winter store holy life
in their roots
and bring it forth as
new growth in the spring.
May all beings live their lives
free from turmoil
may the Earth be always blessed
Amen.
©photo and poem by caf
In The Forest
In the forest
she learned a language
a new vocabulary
not of words but of winds
of light, shadow texture,
a coverlet of silence
understood by newts and lichens
The moon knows this talk
and the clouds and sky
Where her spirit’s poetry
swells in worship of fern and toad,
a tumbling of wind words,
a rush of bird speak,
the language of sight and smell and touch.
A windy ocean in the trees
Spirits descending like fog,
The forest holds her grief and joy
And shadows by the front door
have no more power.
©photo and poem by caf
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
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
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 …
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
Inside-out Art and Writing 