Ur-Nina

Who can approach you, the blue-eyed dancer
Beloved by Uruk Nanna
Unseeing but all-perseptive
When your light feet weave the lace of lust and beauty
Across the polished stone of the king’s hall
When your voice rises above the din
Of the ignorant crowd
Mesmerizing them with the tales
Of Gods’ death and desire
When your fingers glide over the strings
Of your painful lyre
Burning the music into our hearts
Dance, the golden daughter of the Moon
Pomegranate juice like blood on your lips

Okanogan

Heat and pink gravel roads
Striped terraces of verdant green
Dreaming away lazy sun-drenched hours;
And patient old Punjabi women
At the counter of their make-shift fruit stalls
Sweat - a dark triangle between their breasts-
Eyes trailing the distant unfamiliar ridges.
Vines, overburdened, lean on the shiny steel strings;
Grapes in tart heavy clusters
Peek timidly from the whispering shade;
Erratic gusts
Bring in the smell
Of a myriad roses
Of lavender
Sage
And ripe, juicy peaches
In the dust
On the side of the wine country

Centinels

I wonder about the green lengthy dreams
Of the firs on the Cascadian slopes
What seest thou, from thy vantage point,
What knowst thou?
Centennial sentinel
Grim guardian of the forest’s teeming life
Watching unhurriedly
The eternal tides of sunrises and sundowns…
Pondering
The minute business
Of a squirrel
In your dark heavy branches
The noisome song of a flock of juncos, lion-headed, impatient;
The trusting innocence of a fawn
In the soft shadow, on his mother’s tail.
The timid flicker scratches your thick rusty skin
“Get rid of that pest, will you?” and “Yes, yes! And a little lower!”
The bear claws you, the brown Master, another guardian:
Respect and borders.
In spring sap in your veins, exhilaration of drunkenness
In summer, the stretching of limbs, golden slumber
And seeds ripening in heavy pointed pinecones;
In the fall - the wind, the rain and the wake for the departing birds
The children have grown, release them
Spider web faintly on the lips
The forgotten kisses
In winter, the rheumatic creaking of limbs
Jumbled letters of animal tracks in the snow
And long white coniferous thoughts
What knowst thou?

Lake Mono

The pale azure of the water and the milky blue of the skies
on the open palm of the mountains, frowning blue,
unfolding into the fading lilac of the unattainable horizon,
amidst tall sharp blades of yellowish grass
and the whitest of sands drowning footsteps and memory,
surrounded by the pines with bright slender trunks
humming their praises to the wind.
The snow lions on the bottom, gigantic, omniscient,
are clawing at the roots of the earth, fast asleep,
their dreams slow and unhindered:
they dream of the blue rains and tides
myriads of lives and white mermaids
that brush their manes with their delicate silvery fingers;
their sleepy thoughts are rising to the surface
like white clouds of salt and stone,
suspended between the water and the sky,
mirroring the white wings of the seagulls
and the endless stirring of mosquito larvae
at the edge of the lake…
Eyes are watching the sunset
waiting
for the end of the day
or a beginning of a new world

The seagull

The seagull that carries the skies on her wings
Is cutting the space over bridges;
She sings:
Her call both wild and hauntingly bold
Is stringing the wind and the waters below
The dark heavy salmon that streaks through the waves,
The slender pine trees enveloped in haze,
The daunting abysses and snowcapped peaks,
The fisherman’s boat that groans and creaks,
The narrows and straits, sleepy islands and bays,
And seems that the time itself is under sway:
No memory, sorrow, but water and flight
And tremulous lips and the triumph of night.

Snow in Seattle - the worst of plagues

It is snowing in Seattle - and, oh, the world is crashing down! The ill combination of hilly terrain, black ice, high gusty winds and dropping temperatures with subsequent dry icy pellets of snow wreaked havoc on Seattle streets, causing accidents and, unfortunately, at least one death. A man who left his stalled vehicle was run over by another motorist, who could barely see through the snowfall and even less control his car... Fortunately, Seattle schools closed 2 hours early, with kids safely transported home before the roads turned into icy mush. Today it is freezing cold, many homes have lost power, but the sun is shining, and kids are out (a wonder!) to play...

Morning Fog

I pressed my face onto the bosom of sloping hills,
my trailing sleeves
caressing deep enchanted valleys
and lulling willful silver streams.
I hung the curtains over morning vistas
of drying grass and darkly dreaming trees;
My friend, the farmer, slowly dragging a graying cloud
Along the newly-ploughed field,
Pays me his tribute, early riser,
Like me, he is the one who sees
the insignificant:
a squirrel
a stalk of wheat
and falling leaf.

I hush the noises of your busy highways
I hide the skid marks on their sides.
I envelope the rags of ruptured tires
And wrestle with your windshield wipes.
Half-beast, half-goddess,
uninvited,
unwelcome, hungry, and unloved
I cling to you like an abandoned mother
and like a mother
I will trust
your last embrace
and parting whisper
your final breath and final glance.

September 19, 2010