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Tag Archives: Gift

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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Many Growing Seasons, Before

I Have come to a tree that has fallen and decayed

Nurturing the forest floor, leaving me with this gift,

This piece of hardened wood,

With traces of legends and resemblance.

 

I stare into this piece of healed branch,

That has lost its self-

A knot that shares its parent’s history

 

Before broken off— had grown many faces

Now left as a petrified knot generations ago;

Embossed with stories of a future prince,

From twig— many growing seasons before.

wood-knot

(Many times, I have spent turning, staring, reading this tree knot I kicked up, on one of my walks through the Open Gate Farm, do give it some attention. Oh, and the other side is just as imaginatively interesting. (Photo by: R.K. Garon))

 
20 Comments

Posted by on January 28, 2017 in Poetry

 

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My Gift To You

     I began giving gifts, on the proper occasion, in the last few years or perhaps even, further than that, of things I have owned and have held fondly. They were meaningful to me, enjoying the memories of where and why I had them.

     Their presence… through the years, eventually faded into the bookcase or on an empty shelf, or, on top of the piano; until once a year I dusted them.

     Now, memories have assimilated into experience and knowledge. So please accept these pieces of my life that has been shared many times, as I pass on this gift of acceptance to share with you.

 

fresh pines tied in red

marks the door that welcomes gifts

in a special light

Merry Christmas to all my writer and creative friends.

 
30 Comments

Posted by on December 15, 2016 in Haibun, Poetry

 

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The Meal

The meal, whether earned or grown,  

Prepared for yourself or by another,

Is one of the greatest gifts of all.

 

Intention that turns labor into delight,

 Into anticipation, preparation,

Hurry, and timing for moments to memory.

 

Set on clean plates, in wonderful presentation

Framed with silverware and folded napkins.

 

Once eaten, will disappear into joy and satisfaction,

As all the greatest gifts, do happen.

rev:3

 
15 Comments

Posted by on November 20, 2016 in Friendship, Love, Poetry, Zen

 

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White Mountain Forest

In the reflection of sunrise light,

Tipping blades of grass with tiny crystal prisms,

Clinging dewdrops

Glitter all the colors of life—

I catch my shadow in stride, until each is one.

Both! (My shadow and I) Each, both in transition

Until we find the secret peace of the forest—

I am an early morning guest

Waking, yawning, knowing

How I will be received;

With scent of pines and wild blueberry dreams—

I will see you soon, my old friend.

 

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Sea Shell ashtray

 

   Walking Rye Beach mid-morning, I got lucky. Swept against the rocks, by its fierce ocean parents, I kicked up in shallow sand, a whole, still intact, not easy to find on Rye’s rocky coast a half of a clam shell. Yup! I got lucky. Cause’ just up the street to Hampton Beach, they cost a pretty penny. I slipped it into my pocket.

    When I got home, I brushed, with my fingers, any sand that would remind it, other than where it came from… other than where it is.

I did the same with the pocket I carried it. Turning it inside out and shaking everything free, every tidal grain of beach sand. Knowing I wouldn’t get it all.

I placed it on a table, on my porch. I heard, without ears, spirits, east, west, south, and north… applauding me for a gift well received.

    Anyway, it sits on a small iron table next to my chair. And, once in a while, having my morning cigarette and coffee, or, my evening cigarette and tea, I often wonder where you went? Were you boiled, fried, or, slithered down someone’s or something’s throat? Or maybe, your shell was cast away with a porpoise’s kiss and lives as a child of Poseidon, dancing your life away to the contemporary bands of Atlantis.

    I think of you… leaving this shell for me and my cigarette, whether through sacrifice or a beloved life. I still keep this gift, left for me— to find.

 

Hard life floating smoke

Seashell sits empty in bliss

Happy cigarette.

Ash tray Sea Shell frame

 
 

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wear a hat

 

 

Vacant minds across the kitchen table

Leaning on their elbows of time,

Understanding they are at the end of their lives,

Never thinking that there was space

Beyond what they have lived;

Life, was a distance passed in glorious moments.

 

“I’ll walk the dog. Put on your pajamas

And heat the water for tea.

I’ll peel you an orange when I get back.

Is it cold outside?”

“Yes, wear a hat.”

[Rev. 6]

 
24 Comments

Posted by on August 30, 2015 in AARP, Beginnings, Love, Poetry, Zen

 

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