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Twenty Poems from the Blue House, Wayne and Alice Lee, Whistle Lake Press, available $15 including postage and handling. This succinct collection of poems was written in collaboration during the authors' first year of marriage on rural Fidalgo Island in the Pacific Northwest. These quiet , meditative poems reflect their love of nature, words, and each other.
MORGAN ON THE BEACH
Morgan, 1999-2012
It's been one month now
that you are gone.
Lovely, noble, goofy, headstrong,
Wonder-dog of my life.
How you made each day, each moment
matter, as you greeted everything
as your favorite thing.
Walkies? My favorite thing.
Sniffing the latest pee-mail?
My favorite thing.
Cheese? My favorite thing.
Rest time with Alice?
Again, my favorite thing.
So exuberant to be on this Oregon beach.
You run and run and run
and make donuts (circles) in the sand.
Into the waves, you chase flocks of sandpipers,
and glacous-wing gulls.
You chase the crows who mock you.
Morgan's in his element.
You give me just what I need
to heal---a big dog cavorting at the ocean.
the joy of being alive, my favorite thing.
Hikers climb the steep outcrop.
Here I sit at our favorite beach,
windy, the sun shining on the water.
Yes, I'm happy to be alive.
This is for you, Morgan.
We bury your service dog emblem,
your green collar , your red bandanna,
then mark the spot with a circle of stones.
a cairn in the center.
Morgan, running, running,
you are always with me
in my heart.
W
that you are gone.
Lovely, noble, goofy, headstrong,
Wonder-dog of my life.
How you made each day, each moment
matter, as you greeted everything
as your favorite thing.
Walkies? My favorite thing.
Sniffing the latest pee-mail?
My favorite thing.
Cheese? My favorite thing.
Rest time with Alice?
Again, my favorite thing.
So exuberant to be on this Oregon beach.
You run and run and run
and make donuts (circles) in the sand.
Into the waves, you chase flocks of sandpipers,
and glacous-wing gulls.
You chase the crows who mock you.
Morgan's in his element.
You give me just what I need
to heal---a big dog cavorting at the ocean.
the joy of being alive, my favorite thing.
Hikers climb the steep outcrop.
Here I sit at our favorite beach,
windy, the sun shining on the water.
Yes, I'm happy to be alive.
This is for you, Morgan.
We bury your service dog emblem,
your green collar , your red bandanna,
then mark the spot with a circle of stones.
a cairn in the center.
Morgan, running, running,
you are always with me
in my heart.
W
 |
Riding the Creek Road, Heartland
Riding the creek road Circular spoke motion This is where it all began. Alabaster creek music Birdsong Farmers'fields Ancient eyes of cows Sleeping cat on porch This road on bicycle Heartland Where it all began. |
|
The Middle of Life Little as I knew you I know you: Little as you knew me you know me, --That’s the light we stand under when we meet. ------Adrienne Rich |
Here's love...
In your forgotten village
of farmers, artists,
you hold the letter
in your right hand
wondering,
about the light that
surrounds it.
Here’s love;
here’s the remembered heat
of a remembered time.
Across oceans of forgetting
you try to keep
that light within you
burning bright
never flickering.
What do you know?
She wears all white.
He is in black.
It’s hot, midday, summer,
the middle of the road,
the middle of life.
Mirror, look,
this page of the letter.
see the angel, the dark demon
Observe one side of your face,
now the other.
Don’t ask me what you learned about love.
Don’t ask me what you learned about fear.
Ask me about the rooms,
the windows,
the many views of the sea.
of farmers, artists,
you hold the letter
in your right hand
wondering,
about the light that
surrounds it.
Here’s love;
here’s the remembered heat
of a remembered time.
Across oceans of forgetting
you try to keep
that light within you
burning bright
never flickering.
What do you know?
She wears all white.
He is in black.
It’s hot, midday, summer,
the middle of the road,
the middle of life.
Mirror, look,
this page of the letter.
see the angel, the dark demon
Observe one side of your face,
now the other.
Don’t ask me what you learned about love.
Don’t ask me what you learned about fear.
Ask me about the rooms,
the windows,
the many views of the sea.
|
Slender Joy
Sappho calls love “fiction weaving.” Socrates names love the wizard. She calls it the white space between every thought, the pen you write with, the song you sing, that unexpected kiss, the book you read from, the wind in your hair, as you ride your black bicycle down the road to your house, where roses bloom in November and the slender moon comes in through the window. |
 |
If I Let Myself
Calligraphy by Alice Lee 9x12
If I let myself
Grow quiet
I can almost imagine
My life at age ten
When fall leaves
Burned sweet leaf smoke
And there were no dark secrets.
from Twenty Poems from the Blue House, and Seattle Poetry on the Buses