Of a Sudden

As we stood looking through

The glass

Of the sliding patio

Door

Into the night

Sky

There she was

A perfect roundness

Of white light

The Moon

Risen above the distant

Hill

And it seemed

She lay resting from her

Ascent

Against a smooth blanket

Of blackness

And as we stood

Gazing

Into her full-faced

Light

Of a sudden

Out of her stillness

We heard the hoot

A soft mournful

Hoot

From an owl

It had to have

Been

An owl

On a high branch

Of a Sycamore tree

An owl

How can this be

There are no owls

Here

And yet a

Hoot

Only an owl would

Deliver

 

It excited us

Delighted us

And although we looked

Up

Into the darkened

Sycamore

We could not find

The owl

Although again the

Hoot

Again     again

Then      silence

 

For the next two nights

Moon retained her

Fulness

For the next two nights

Owl hooted softly

From the Sycamore

Tree

 

On the third night

Moon had begun her

Waning

On the third night

No hoot from the

Owl

On a high branch

Of the Sycamore

Tree

It was gone

Flown away

Only a silent night

Remained

Image Credit

Halfway to May

It is the middle of April
Michael
Nearing the month of
May
The memory I hold
Has us on the beach
Sand under our bare
Feet
Watching the sun descend
Behind the Santa Monica
Mountains
Clothing all we see
In the glory of
Sundown

Now
Is the middle of April
Again
Fifty some years have
Passed
Michael is gone
My children    themselves
Are grandparents
My Beloved and I
In a place
Michael never visited
Never had been

Yet
When April is halfway to
May
Michael     my childhood
Friend      returns
With sand under our
Bare feet
As we stand watching the sun
Descend
Behind the Santa Monica
Mountains
Clothing all we see
In the glorious colors of
Sundown

Left Out (2015)

circa 1940

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Feeling left out

Follows me like a winding

Mountain road

Curves around     around

My childhood years

Into all the chapters

Of adulthood

That come after

It takes root

I feel sure

This discomfort of aloneness

The Thanksgiving Day my father

Leaves

 

Father’s place at Grandmother’s table

For Thanksgiving dinner to be served

At one o’clock sharp

Stays empty all through the meal

I have no memory of this Thanksgiving

Day

I am seven years old

Can only now

Imagine what the atmosphere

Feels like surrounding the

Family

Gathered for Thanksgiving dinner

This Thanksgiving Day

 

No one can know

No one can guess

My father is on a train

He is leaving my mother

Leaving me

The emptiness of feeling left out

Begins this Thanksgiving Day

With only Mother     no father

In my home

A need to have what others have

The same size piece of chocolate

Cake

Is born

 

Now

A school of many years

Is passed

I abandon judgment to these

Years

Opening wide two doors

One to my mind

One to my heart

Nothing that happened

Owns a consequence

Everything evaporated

Into the ethers

Gone     done

I am only the observer

And

I am free

               

CNN World Report (1994)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Editor’s note: As written in the previous post, Wendy has set war at the center of her poetry since the 1960s. As the Russian war on Ukraine enters its second week, we have chosen to upload a selection of (sadly relevant) War Poems that were originally published within her four anthologies. This poem, titled “CNN World Report”, was published in Wendy’s first book of poetry, Poets are the bravest, which was printed in 2001. As Wendy continues her daily meditation practice, she focuses on shrouding the innocent people of Ukraine with healing light, as she prayers for world peace, which has become one of the most valuable and valued aspects of her life’s work.

There they stand

Bunched together

The way little kids will

When they’re excited

In the middle of what

Was once a street

Where shell fire and shrapnel

Make geometric chunks

Out of the pavement now

And the apartment buildings

Behind them

Into relics

Like ones I remember

From allied bombs

In a part of Florence

Near the Ponte Vecchio

Summer of 1951

But here they are

Being interviewed

Children of Sarajevo

Just children being children

In front of a camera

Even when childhood

Is broken

And cannot mend

 

The calm voice of an interpreter

Rolls on

Above their high pitched

Clamor

They talk     gesture     poke each other

All at the same time

Reminding me

Of a flock of noisy birds

In a tree

Until one bird voice

Clear

Like the song of a blackbird

Rises over the others

Quiets them     silences them

As the camera picks out

A face

Whose eyes look back

Into the camera’s lens

While the interpreter turns Slavic

Into English

And I hear words

From this child of Sarajevo

Form a question

No one in the world

Will answer

 

We don’t hate anyone

She says

So why can’t they stop

This stupid war

 

Months pass

I think of them often

I bless them

And I wonder

Are they alive

*From Poets are the bravest, pub. date: 2001
Photo credit: https://bit.ly/3hPuZNI

Poem for our 65th Wedding Anniversary

For my husband, my hero ... 

Who would think

A man could be

So utterly kind

So loving is

He

And wonder of wonders

He married

Me

 

Sixty-five years

Ago

On a very hot

Day

My tearful father

Gave me away

Why the tears

Daddy

You had to have

Known

As soon as I’d seen

Him

I knew I’d come home

And then they arrived

One  two  three  four

Three little boys

One little girl

Oh how we loved

Them

Did our best

To guide them

Watched them become

Grown

Then tried not to

Cry

In front of them

When away they had

Flown

So

It’s you and me

Kid

And ain’t it been

Fun

We love remembering

All we have done

And you

You have made me

The most fortunate of

Wives

With all the Loving

Moments

Creating our

Life

That began

Sixty-seven years

Ago

When we walked into

Each other’s

Lives

A day camp for children

Guided there by Spirit

I am certain

 

Then two years hence

We married

On that very hot day

An afternoon wedding

We soon drove away

Ate hamburgers and

French fries

Our very first meal

As husband and wife

Loud thunderstorms

Kept us company

All through the

Night     remember

Other storms blew in

Blew out

And never was there

A doubt

God’s gift to us

Beloved

When we were

Young

In summer’s sway

Was this

We saw our life

Together

Down the years

And so

We did not look

Away

 

 —June 17, 20201

September Really?

I notice with startling

Observation

From a quick glance

Out my window

Night slowly coming in

Sky from the west

Lavender fading into darkened

Gray

This cannot be     can it?

Bright sun

Remained high in the sky

Just a minute ago     wasn’t it?

As I scooted home

My True Love

Close behind me

Both scooters very visible

Even with companionable conversation

With friends

After our meals

 

September a gentle

Month

Day and night

Live as equals

Until the Autumn Equinox

Slow as a snail     at first

Allows a darkening sky

To overcome the light

Of day

 

I am wary now

Will keep watch

Make note of when

The days fold into

Night

And know the time

Is almost here

To welcome in

October     really?

Fishing

He runs down the sand dune

Slipping sliding down

Flings his fishing line over his head

A school of dolphin near the shore

Dive in and out of the water

I can’t believe it

Father wants to catch

One

 

He runs down the beach

Races with the dolphins

They play with him

Tease him

Never losing pace

His feet

Pound the shoreline

Keeping up

Until

Far down the beach

He loses breath

Falls back

And they swim

Away

 

—1981

(under)Painting by Brian McQueen

If Only I Could

Do you not see   truly see
Faces of children
Caught in the middle of war
As they witness     as they experience
Cruelty exploding around them
Their eyes wide with fear
Faces expressing bewilderment
Frozen in terror

Do you not feel   truly feel
A silent war like an infection
Coursing through the blood stream
Of our country
For me    guns are the virus
Gunshots into a crowded concert
At innocents in a store
A school yard   a movie theater
To claim a religion   an ideological
Ideal
It is war   wherever guns are used
To kill   to maim   to terrify
I abhor them
Would outlaw guns
Completely
If only I could

Where Have You Been?

Poetry Angel calls to me

Where have you been

I call back

I have been here where I am

I am here

Where have you been

She answers with what

I already know

She says

I have been by you

Inside you

Waiting for you

 

These are my excuses     Angel Friend

 

Words have flown around my mind

Like fallen leaves in autumn

Blown by the wind

To scatter hither     to scatter yon

Escaping from me

 

An operating table     a hospital bed

Food I do not like

Medicine I must take

A rehab center that’s      okay

My husband     my Love

Visits me     eats his dinners with me

My bed sits by two windows

I watch him ride by on his scooter

Going home

We wave to each other

I yearn to go with him

I want to go home

Get up     get out of bed

Walk     keep walking     walk

Physical therapists nudge me     nudge me     nudge me

They command    

     Walk     walk

 

You ask Angel Friend

Where have I been

I know what you ask

Where are my words

Where is a poem

A poem

 

Well     now you know

From My Window …

… I see     I feel

Morning sun

Touching the life of the

Sycamore’s new leaves

A hyacinth not yet in

Bloom

From my window

I see other windows

On a hill across

The Riparian Way

Like tiny lighthouses

They shine beacons of light

To me

As night closes day

 

From my window

I hear sirens on El Camino Real

Their sound grows fainter

As they move farther away

Then one abruptly stops

Called here

To the community

Where I live

 

From my window

I send a prayer

  

Too often

Someone I know

Someone I don’t know

Passes away

Death is no stranger here

But life is far more familiar

I feel the void

When faces go missing

I never get used to it

Life lives with death

Two parts of the whole

 

Every fall

From my window

I watch the sycamore’s leaves

Dry out

Their color green changing into

Old gold

Falling to the ground

In graceful slow motion

Then welcoming her new leaves

Every spring

 

The sun rises

Over the distant hill

Goes down over the distant

Ocean

Moon rises

Over the distant hill

Sets in her own time

Over the distant ocean

It is an orderly Universe

I closely observe

Closely observe

 

From my window