Sunflowers
It’s 25 degrees outside
cold as January is, biting winds
so today she planted Sunflower seeds.
Helianthus with the brown faces
and bright yellow rays
will soon atone for absent sun.
Lonely fields empty, frozen
garden life suspended
so today she planted Sunflower seeds.
Mostly a defiant act
their growth to be offered as proof
that winter and death do not control her heart.
© poem and photo 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
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
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
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 shore lies in stillness
a palette for the work of water.
Rocks live free from concern.
Pounding surf or soft caress
of gentle waves –
all the same to rock and shore.
What appears destruction
is only rearrangement –
shocking to brittle minds.
Rock will crumble to sand,
sand will dissolve in water,
and the ocean is all there is.
© poem and photo by caf
Autumn Field
We are autumn fruit
lying in a field
gazing at sky through lacy grasses.
Rain or sun – no matter.
Do I know you?
hidden as you are between bone and skin?
When we are done
this field will be our home
and summer fruits our children.
© photo and poem by carole fults
NOTE: This poem was first published in the Aurorean, New England’s Premier Independent Poetry Journal.Please check out their website at http://encirclepub.com/aurorean/
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
Inside-out Art and Writing 