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Category Archives: Pine Cone Diaries

Turn The Light Back On

Sundown was sinking from a ridge on Holderness road

Inviting me, or so I thought, to turn off –my one light on.

(The one I had turned on, when darkness was creeping along).

 

I could see as I stared out from my large window—

 the only one in my cave— a dimming invitation

for a quick evenings celebration; honoring a season’s resignation.

 

 

I wanted to meet her –to greet her,

Before the winter moon rose to extinguish  

her completed season’s accomplishments.

 

I left the house in a goose down vest,

donning my formal Pendleton— wide brim’s best.

Without a thought, I walked many steps

 

going about my way.

Until I opened my eyes

on an illuminated path of autumn amber pine needles

 

glowing from the rising moon and sunlight’s sunset.

They met and greeted me with giggles and mutual song.

I caught their transition between darkness and dawn.

 

They kissed each other… as the moon

asked me— to go inside

and turn the light, back on.

 

Photo by RKG…  Holdernes Rd. Center Sandwich NH

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Lulu and Larry [The Legend of ‘Little Pond’]

On a pond in Center Sandwich, New Hampshire

—there was ripplin’ dimples on the shore

—toe dunkin’, foot slippin’ in mucky mud sinkin’.

—Tad poles at their feet were being ignored

As Lulu and Larry stepped further from shore.

 

 

“Watch out for old ‘Sticky tongue’!

That bullfrog is as big as a horse!

And he knows you’re in his ponnnnnnnduh.”

Shouted, older brother Horace

From the window of the family car.

 

Lulu heard a snap and a hard slap

on the water by her side.

Looking for Larry, finding only a big ripple

circling, melting at her knees in a chilling rise.

There he was! gone!* without a bubble or a scream

in ‘Sticky Tongue’s pond on a hot summer’s eve.

 

PS: Horace rolled up his window as running Lulu joined him –they locked all the car doors and hit the floor. As for Larry?  His parents are still lookin’ fer’.

 Yup! Cross my heart and hope to die .I don’t swim there, but I fish there; catching on a hot summer day, a wiggly reflection on the surface of the water, of sticky tongue’s lair.

 

**********

 This is for those of you who sit at the end of a movie and listen to the music reading the credits:

Note:

I received this glittering notebook as a gift from a wonderful writer friend Kelli T.–teaching as Adjunct faculty (English of course) at Plymouth State University NH—now living the glamorous life 😊 in Minneapolis. A great writer whom I have accepted gracious encouragement from.

The notebook has been kicking around for a while, buried among many journals. Some leather-bound, cloth bound, some on paper bags and some on any colored napkins.

PoPo, my 10 yr. old grandson who has such an imaginary virtual reality and somehow still maintains human sensitivity, along with his older brother Gav, were staying with me for the day. Which I enjoy often.

Trying to figure out how to get their creative attention, my attention was drawn to this glittering notebook. I reached over, sparkling as ever, opened it and wrote the first draft.

 I made them French toast and as they were eating it (plenty of butter and syrup), I read them this draft. When I finished they chuckled, continuing to eat, PoPo asked me to lock the door.

 

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A Lady In The Mirror

      It was a great race between Reflection and Essence; running through the mountains and across the lakes of New Hampshire. They crossed the border through Pittsburg into Canada, where only shadows could follow.

       Chasing each other or being chased they finished their race in the old City of Quebec; drifting into a boarding house up one flight of stairs— across from the Château Frontenac. And, there on a rooming house mirror— they caught up.

 

She is the reflection— that is, in essence, what becomes ~A Lady in the mirror~

Reflection’s true Essence? Perhaps what we are like, before we are born.

 

Photo by RKG: Quebec City, Quebec Canada late 1970’s

Written; 10/30/2017

 
 

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Another Royal French Canadian Boîte à savon performance

The Bended Black Steel Arbor And The Morning Glory’s Vows [The Legend Of The Black Knight, from the Pine Cone Diaries]

    “Oh, bended steel arbor, planted firmly in the ground… father of the black knight. You have stood staunch through frost and snow until, in soft ground, I am able to rise upon you —and grow. With spring rain into summer sunshine you courted me becoming my first and only love; supporting me to stretch, to trust my wanderings, betting on me to win, lose, or draw.

    I will crawl up your season’s steel arbor. I will rise above your bended arch. I will cover you with the cloak of my groping summer hearts.

    With vines entwined, we will drink the sun— and hide to spoon beneath the moon; until I rise, unable to stand, so drunk from this climb, you will let me gently fall; bending to blossom our true desires. They will be bright sky blue, reflecting the sea; with a sprinkling darkness of the sky before the rain. And, every morning from their center’s light, they will release —the captured vanilla moon.

    They will stand staunch with the colors you expect in a parade. They will be a delightful explosion of blue and vanilla moon surprises. One maybe two— maybe some— sometimes maybe none, depending on the bees and the hummingbirds and how we are groomed. I will promise the birth of our black knight, in our season’s last bloom; expelling the sun for our love to take flight, fleeing from winter’s moon”.

 Bended black steel arbor planted firmly in the ground, pleasantly listening to a dream, streaming by, of an upcoming meeting and the exchange; now, of his vows. He begins to rehearse again, as he has in all three seasons. When suddenly— she peers from the earth— arrives with blinking, sun sparkled green eyes.

Well! Without hesitation, the bended black steel arbor, planted firmly in the ground, breaks out in his sincere well-rehearsed vows.

“Oh, love of love in my gloom and despair,

My patience is resilient as thou art fair.

 

Cast my season’s dis-pleasures in late summer air.

You arrive before fall, in regal fashion flair;

Paling all colors, that frost will peak and fade.

I have stood tall waiting and staunch.

Stretch and climb onto me. No time to yawn!

Awaken into your destined place. Embrace me,

Climb onto me, for the delivery

 Of our love’s, sweet morning glories.

 

Oh, love of love in my gloom and despair,

My patience is resilient as thou art fair.”

photos: Arbor: ZQ   MGz: by Zeezee Ceecee

 

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Summer Morning’s Prayer Rain

 

I walk mindful

after an early summer’s rain—

trees drip shaking gently dry

warming my broad New Hampshire path

I am accompanied with a mid-August

morning breeze blowing softly through my hair—

feeling accepted—

 taught— within its secret wreath

 

 

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Dump Days— Wednesday and Saturday New Hampton, NH 03256

People, who have a lot of things
use them, and have a lot of things still left over.

People, who, have a few things,
use them, and have no left over’s.

People, who have no things, who seek many things,
end up using only a few things, and, have nothing left over.

All, who have things,
become one thing.

My things, became empty from use,
They were dug from the earth, and made in a factory
through creation, imagination and mistakes.
Useless now, worn, exchanged, or sat on a flea market table where even gypsies refused to take
are now ready to be disposed of—
on this pleasant day, at the New Hampton dump,
at 12:15 P M. on a bright and sunny Saturday.

 
21 Comments

Posted by on July 23, 2017 in New Hampshire, Pine Cone Diaries, prose, Zen

 

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Princess Highgrass

Her long royal green stem, twenty feet high

or so it seemed, to the lawn below,

emerged from a patch

                                                            –of uncut grass.

With grace, top-heavy, carrying seeds for birth

she bends in all directions to the wind without discretion.

sometimes leaning too close to the ground!

                                                            —The ancient breeze

has to straighten her up for the wedding in fall

to disperse her seeds. As long as the wind and the mower

respect her vows of matrimony

                                                           —and miss

The patch

That keeps her Mother’s Kingdom

Season after seasons

                                                            —green.

 

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