Breathe

Nostrils flare in anticipation
as earthy caramel smells sift
past heady cavities, past
gates which open up to lift
eyeballs and ear tips tingly,
chilly red and awake. Brain
swoons soft by the glow
of fresh air flow, rushing in and down,
as chest and rib cage expand out,
extrude on an excursion to full balloon.
Neck, spine and cartilage joints gather
to allow room. Liquid xylophone bones
bloom as body soaks in tipsy
nourishing oxygen lessons,
rush of ancient, instinctive motions
learned, zillions of times churned,
practiced measures, yet new and vital
with each sumptuous breath.

Now exhale slow, soft thoughts as
your spine elongates toward the sky.

Breathe. Repeat.

Through the Alexander Technique, I’ve learned, again, how to breathe, to really breathe, without tension, without clenched neck, stressed chest or anxious eyes. Letting my body breathe as it has learned for millions of years, is like being reborn with each breath.

Touch My Soul

Spring Light

My eyes drift to the garden,
Lifted by soft citrine light
Toward the Witch Hazel’s
Glow, lonely and bright.
Fed by waning day’s lazy rays,
Among burnt brown and grays
This courageous bush
Harassed by Frost
Beacons by it’s spry gleam
Giving patient solace to
Weary winter dream.

Another Year

This poem was written by my grandfather on my father’s side, the Welsh side. He was a coal miner in Wales until the age of 21, when he asked his beloved to marry him, then shipped off to the land of opportunity. The year was 1921.

He forged an impressive career in the US, working his way up the ranks of a fairly large shipping business in Philadelphia. He eventually became chief engineer. He was a wizard at building things. He often made toys for me and my sister. During the last decade of his life, he was king of the retirement community’s workshop; he had to instruct others in the use of the lathe, a complex and delicate wood cutting instrument. I still have numerous finely lathed lamps around my house.

He often wrote beautiful, poem like notes to us. This poem was probably written in the early 1980’s. He was a gentle, upstanding American citizen. He died in 1985.

Another year has reached an end.
‘Tis Christmas time in gray December
With thoughts of giving, as we spend,
of bad times past we rare remember.

Throughout the world a spell is cast
And thoughts of love and peace takes hold.
As we hear again as in the the past
The greatest story ever told.

True, greed and hate will still abound.
In hardened hearts who have no creed.
They specialize the year around
Using God to state their greed.

But thanks to Him, a son was born,
And Father, son and Holy Ghost,
Though many laugh and many scorn
The spirit of God is worth the most.

The atom bomb, the power of man
To most of us, has caused much fear.
These threats of hate, since they began
Have plagued us all the year.

But bombs and threats have gone to pot.
The day of days is here again.
When the power of man is soon forgot
And the King of Kings, once more will reign.

The yearly log will close with cheer,
Another chapter in life’s great tome.
a merry Christmas and a Happy New Year
I hope you have one in your home.

Absolute Purr-fect Truth

I open a can
of cat food,
the “swick” of which
opens the scene
and the purring
begins. I am the maestro.
My orchestra is ready.
A “prrrrrooowww”
comes in stereo duet from
a Siamese and a Gray Tabby.

Big green and blue
eyes blink kissingly
up at me; I can almost hear
the tingle of a triangle at
each loving lash. Fur
rubby-dubby love sings
to my naked calf.
I almost trip over
their insistence and
and personal attention.
Such detail and rhythm!
Such poise and finesse!
These musicians know
how to pull my strings
with a tune of sweet contentment.
Around them, there is no time,
only feline smiles and the
music of purr-fect truth.

The photo is of my buddies, who are also each other’s buddies, Punker(17 y.o Tabby) and Merlin(4 y.o. Siamese).