Archive for the ‘Love’ Category

Not Now Little Birdie

Imagine hearing the most shrill, obnoxious “peep” you can think of at 5 in the morning.

Then repeat it every 10 minutes.

“Dear, the fire alarm needs a new battery,” Wifie says.

I plod out of bed and rummage blindly in the battery drawer.

I sigh. “We’re out of 9 volt batteries. I guess I’ll have to go to the store to get some.” Who can sleep with that continuing interruption?

It takes a half hour drive altogether to buy new batteries from “Walmies World,” our not so local 24 hour super convenience store. Eventually the batteries are swapped to silence the monster chickie. I may as well stay up. I’m awake now…

Why do I have to be the man?

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The sound–like sleet upon a roof

draws me outside to see

a great flock of European Starlings

filling the surrounding fall trees.

surrounding me.




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We still dance everyday.

Not the dance of ballrooms, discos, or weddings;

but of two stars orbiting each other.


Each affected

by the others well of gravity,

of solar storms, magnetic fields, and hot plasma.


Our orbits are stable but elliptic,

one pursuing the other,

one being pursued;

but which one, and when?


We red shift and blue shift

appearing cool or warm,

depending upon point of view.


Friends, family, and acquaintances

are mere planets.


We shall continue to dance every day.

And time?

What is that to us?

We are immortal.

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If they weren’t so different,

you’d not be attracted.
If they weren’t a challenge,

you’d not be interested.
If they weren’t so incomprehensible,

you’d not be intrigued.
If they weren’t amenable,

you couldn’t stay.

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See the distant and dim stars

in the bowl of the sky.

They cast a cold stellar breeze across my face.

They are no match

for the sun burning bright within my breast

and its aurora borealis

because of you.

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Are the dead meant to fade away?

Are our forebears meant to be forgotten,
when the ones who loved them pass away?

Spirit houses are not made to last.
They are new at the time of death
and old and decrepit after a short time,
a few years.

This so the spirits of those who linger
near the world of the living
have time to transition.

In some of the reservation cemeteries,
there are the newest graves at the front,
with their gaudy plastic flowers and mementos
and bright and shiny polished granite
fading to graves halfway back.

On these, no plastic blooms.
They are the somber, weathered, dusty tombstones;
some in the lichen covered, obsolete limestone,
of those who could afford them.

And the simple wooden crosses
rotting and askew,
of those who could not.

And further back still,
the depressions in the grass
of those old, old ones,
silent and unattended,
unmarked and forgotten.

The lost ones

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Red Lake,
that is your name;

Ikwe of my daydreams.

My anticipation preceded our meeting.
I expected a sunny smile
and a warm embrace.


you have turned your
cloudy countenance towards me,
and chilled me in your wintery embrace.

I should never take you for granted.

Will you thaw
before I leave?
Or will I have to tread softly
along your icy byways
for the rest of my visit?


Ĭk·wā´: woman

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This poem was inspired by the poetry of Ethel Mortenson Davis entitled,  The Sacred Space. I’ve always wanted to write love poetry, but have tried to stay away from being “gooey”.  Have I succeeded? I’m also interested in knowing what your favorite love poems are. Please let me know.

I Will Be Your Sacred Place

I will never desire to hurt you,
nor touch you in anger.

I will be your shield from the destroyers.

I will walk in virtue beside you,
and be your sacred place.

I will see you,
hearken unto you,
and know you.

You will always walk in beauty before me.

I will care for you,
mourn with you in your sorrow;
and soothe you when you are troubled.

I will challenge you,
and intrigue you.

I will be your familiar,
and we will be comfortable together.

I will make you laugh,
and wish to be with me always,

but I will live longer than you,
so you do not have to be the one who grieves,
as the other passes.

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