Said the Wind to the Moon
wind to moon –
your silver shows
until it blows the ladies skirts up
in the air
or ripples the pond
into lapping green waves.
moon to wind –
you’re free to move
wherever you choose
while I rise east, set west
then shine silver,
you said that right.
wind, moon both
I blow past the clouds
and reach out to you –
I brighten your path –
I know you do.
When Fall Winds First Swept Voluptuous Winds
after another poem by c. wolfe
When fall winds first swept voluptuous
so hot, so delicious.
when fall winds –
put on a yellow scarf.
when fall –
crisp taste of apples
of apple pie on my tongue.
summer’s green memories
turning yellow and red.
Green River: Two Stones Converse
(first printed in the quarterly Time of Singing, summer 2016)
So warm, as if we could wade ashore, dance,
or stand in front of each other, pulse
or collide without pain.
My world wetly visible to you now –
green river, umber islands
a crack, a crack, a crack.
A flowing jagged line,
and one gaunt star
near my world’s shoulder
Above, at the top of my world,
you’ll open a door soon
at my head, a friendly
My friend, I’m reaching –
Where I’m From / Here I Am. Lord
I’m from the 60’s
which became the 70’s
I’m from a tree that’s standin’ by the water,
We shall not be moved.
I’m from changing my neighborhood
by being a neighbor;
we can greet each other, talk about
if the weather’s bad or good,
Talk about the kids – they
have it rough, some have it tough,
lots of burdens to carry today.
I’m from speaking truth to power,
at my job, a Quaker Peace Center,
they call for willing persons
to travel to Wounded Knee,
bring money for food and medicine
for Sioux in their own besieged village,
protesting how Uncle Sam beggared them.
I will go, Lord, if you lead me,
I will hold your people in my heart.
I’m from uncertainty
I’m from misunderstanding
the Ten Commandments when
Make love not war makes so much more
sense to my college friends and me,
can’t you see?
I’m from I heard you calling in the night.
from a shy, bookish girl,
to a New York city college kid,
tutoring kids at a Manhattan church.
I’m from somewhere in between
White folks at Barnard
Black folks of Harlem…
the only time in my life when I’m free to die
No one pressing on me
‘cept the Lord of sea and sky –
And I love his rain.
Don’t know why.
Beauty all around me, rising from the dirt
about to put my hand in the hand of
many a handsome stranger across a crowded room,
sing him my tunes, hear his songs too;
later down the road we’ll be singing,
we shall overcome.
Here I am, Lord, if you need me,
my spiritual path opens
I dream me as wolf-woman
walking with the wolves, reassuring my sisters,
all my sisters,
that they too are worthy of a voice –
anywhere. Only the Shining One
Who never leaves me affirms
my prophetic soul, headed for glory,
I no longer accept perdition.
Marc Chagall, the Blue Horse and Me
and I dance.
Behind us, Bluey plays
his yellow violin.
Mon chere artist paints les fleurs,
tres magnifique! And I dance.
Above us, Bluey makes his violin
sing, sing. And I dance.
Marc concentrates. Bluey plays
a blue melody / yellow violin
Romantique. Triste. I dance.