July 23, 2015 in Happenings, Nature's Backyard, Poetry, Thoughts
morning
the gray cloud cover hangs low
as it meanders and rolls by
like a sympathetic hand
to stroke and sooth the waiting earth
on the patio
a bird flutters and splashes
in the rippling fountain
life is good
November 17, 2014 in Nature's Backyard, Poetry, Reflections, Thoughts
Autumn in Eaten Canyon Photo by Patsy Faragher
This poem was inspired by a photograph taken by my sister,
Patsy Faragher
Eaton Canyon… still, peaceful canyon
Tucked between mountains to the north
And foothills to the south
Safe from the ever encroaching sprawl
Eaton Creek’s cold, clear water
Dropping fifty feet over rocky fall
Then streaming gently in quiet meander,
To flow into Rio Hondo, destined for the sea.
In the crisp autumn air we walk
Following well trodden path that for millennia
Knew the shuffling gait of grizzly
And light-footed step of moccasin and sandal
Veering off the trail now, we find a secret shady spot
Under a scruffy little California oak
That streams dappled sunlight through its canopy.
Beneath its branches, the leaf and rock strewn ground
Is aglow and sparkling… ocher, gold, silver, green…
A harvest basket of color
The tree knows about life
It has seen fire,
It has seen flood
It has thrived in nature’s bountiful seasons
And hunkered down to survive through the lean.
Listen to the silence. Focus on the silence.
To our assaulted ears it is overpowering
We may hear the soft rustling sounds of wildlife,
Creatures that hear us as we breath
Creatures keenly aware of our presence.
Listen even deeper…
Do you hear… in the breeze
The low dreamy murmur of female voices?
Tongva women speaking and laughing
As they gather acorn for meal
And wiregrass for weaving,
Dipping and filling water baskets in the stream
Oh, that we could linger here in this spot.
We must dip our basket into its essence
Take it along to nourish our souls,
Knowing we will soon be back to replenish
November 4, 2014 in Nature's Backyard, Poetry
a dry spell ends –
the drenched earth exhales
a sigh of satisfaction
After the rain. L. A., California, November,2014 – Photo by Patsy Faraghera sigh of satisfaction
parched lips that feared
this blessed day
would never come to pass
now give voice
to joyous song with
moistened words of thankfulness
the squatter weeds
will seize the chance to
pose as lush and verdant guests
’til summer heat returns
to wither and expose their
hidden cache of thorn and sticker
and the sun resolves
‘enough’s enough!’ and vows
again to re-impose his reign supreme
04/27/14
October 7, 2014 in Poetry, Scrolling Back, Thoughts, Uncategorized
Singing Our Mother Farewell
we raised up our voices and held grief at bay
singing our mother good-bye
siblings united on a sad mournful day
singing our mother good-bye
we sang as we sailed o’er an ocean of tears
singing our mother farewell
and the cries of the sobbing surf played in our ears
singing our mother farewell
we sang ’til the sun disappeared from the sky
singing our mother on home
and angels in heaven could hear our good-bye
as we sang our mother on home
Mary Louise Faragher
August 27, 2014 in Happenings, Poetry, Reflections
the poet
she reveals herself in increments
of verse upon a printed page.
brief snapshots – human moments
imprinted on the reader’s brain.
the vulnerability of the words
belies the boldness of the art.
her longings become our longings,
her loneliness ours to share.
each poem is a point of light
discernable to our eye even among
the million others gleaming
in the chill air of an urban night scape
August 14, 2014 in Coping, Poetry, Reflections, Thoughts
my mark
to make my mark… to be seen and heard
was my purpose, my desire
to blaze like a meteor across the sky
so young, so full of fire
but with the years I’ve shed this edgy
need to prove that I exist
watching, listening, I now hear and see
the myriad things that I have missed
‘hit your mark and tell the truth.’ –
so said the actor sage
it resonates less in the heat of youth
than in the cool of age
July 7, 2014 in Coping, Poetry, Reflections
July 1, 2014 in Nature's Backyard, Of the World, Poetry, Reflections
white peacock
a white feathered peacock
meanders down a garden lane
in solitary gait
he tiptoes on the edge of a world
where beauty is defined by one’s color
he walks alone
June 24, 2014 in Nature's Backyard, Poetry
cool air, come
through pass and canyon flow
to bring us sweet relief
this oppressive inland heat
clamps down on us like a lid
to impose its harsh will
whether still and stagnant
or filled with smoke and fury
it shows no mercy
we look westward to the coast
to blue pacific water
and with open arms beseech
O cool air, blow
sneak in through the night
under cover of cloud
and stay a while
June 3, 2014 in Poetry, Scrolling Back
Big Joe Turner – New Year’s Eve, 1983. Club Lingerie
With crutches supporting his giant frame –
The inevitable ravaging of age –
In a slow but steady swing,
Big Joe Turner took the stage.
A hipper-than-hip Hollywood club
Is a long, long way from K.C. town
Where Mr. Turner stoked that fire
Layin’ his solid boogie down.
On a stage where white kids commonly droned
In skin tight jeans and tennis shoes,
Big Joe, sportin’ high waist pants,
Leaned in to the mic to shout the blues.
Like a king on his throne, he took command.
His voice – a roar from the pit of the soul.
He moaned , he pleaded , he testified
As the whole joint shook, and rattled, and rolled.
With wicked wink he delivered the line ’bout a
A one-eyed cat in a seafood store
As the band dug in with a fat back groove,
And the crowd turned wild out on the floor.
With every note he gathered a strength
That rose beyond mere second wind.
The decades seemed to melt away.
The old man became young again.
Oh, we whirled with joy into a brand new year
On the leather of our dancin’ shoes
When Big Joe Turner took the stage,
Closed his eyes, and sang the blues.
