Month: April 2018

Ineluctable Sight

The view out my window
is my own. I own
the view out my window.

I look out with my eyes.
My eyes are continually
on the lookout.

I’m also often seen by others
whom I cannot see —
but I can only see what I see.

Fortunately, inner views
remain liminal, unlimited —
360+ around the circle.

Who knows what I might
— or might not — sight
if I lived on a square.

. . . . . . .

spb

Her Days Move

New

daylight calls,
rouses her.

She

puts on clothes,
eats her toast.

She

spills water,
wipes counters.

She

sips coffee,
skims the news.

She

hears birdsong,
feels a breeze.

She

works alone,
emails friends.

She

opens files,
writes new words.

She

fills spaces,
compiles time.

She

adds meaning,
subtracts guilt.

She

refracts light,
from within.

She

seeks and finds
women born.

Her

moments pass:
this is that.

Topos

As we travel on,
we enter a curve:

one of those steep
learning curves

that rise up along
old back roads —

steep, pebble-packed
inclines, ungraded —

that surprise us —
demand our skills

insist we make more
instant choices:

speed up, slow down,
brake — or simply

swerve.

. . . . . . . .

spb | 26

 

Her Days Move

New

daylight calls,
rouses her.

She

puts on clothes,
eats her toast.

She

spills water,
wipes counters.

She

sips coffee,
skims the news.

She

hears birdsong,
feels a breeze.

She

works alone,
emails friends.

She

opens files,
writes new words.

She

fills spaces,
compiles time.

She

adds meaning,
subtracts guilt.

She

refracts light,
breaks darkness.

She

seeks and finds:
women born.

Her

moments pass:
this is that.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

spb | 25 apr

Hansananda

I waddled ungainly as a swan once
over dirt roads in Montana

able to mimic the honking sound
but unable to lift off in grace.

I had befriended swans back east
beside my grandfather’s river

where I was I able to reach out to
touch beauty’s golden beaks.

In the first grade, I crafted a swan
and her cygnets out of clay —

my grandmother displayed these
on her dark-wood desk.

Once I saw dozens of swans rising
out of Three Mile Island

flying in unforgettable formations
carrying away radiation.

Swans often fly at 10,000 feet high
tangled up in jet engines.

Once a dead swan washed up on
our Thanksgiving Day shore.

Neighbors carried it off home —
cooked it for their feast.

Some have no sense of decency
— or swan-like decorum.

Still, swans symbolize purity
in a variety of cultures.

So, we fly on — trumpeting —
calling for recognition.

. . . .
spb

Susan Means Lily

Middle name Powers comes from
her maternal Vermont grandmother:

abilities to act or do something effectively
often specific: her powers of concentration.

having great influence or control over others:
powers of good and/or evil.

sixth of nine orders of heavenly angels:
Powers and Authorities

energy or motivating forces:
under her own powers.

Last name Bourne descends from
her paternal English heritage:

small stream or brook, that flows
only seasonally or intermittently.

also bourn: a goal, limit, boundary, destination:
searching for the bourn(e) that gives life meaning.

And then there’s this lovely connection,
Lily discovered for the first time today:

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place,
The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

— Lord Tennyson, 1889

. . . . .

Susan Powers Bourne