A Believer's Journal

Denali
pinnacle of the continent
prince among mountains
imposing massif
intimidating summit
bowing to no one
honoring no one
except the One
who laid your foundations
when time began
the One bearing no other name than
“I am”

Denali
long before us
long after us
heedless of politics
careless of human whim
you remain you
you need no name
we might give you
bearing only the name
that is already yours
Dee-naa-lee
“Tall One”

Denali
what you are
is what you are
irrespective of moniker
your dignity
irrevocably bestowed
may we too
wear a dignity unbesmirched
by narrow-minded defamation
each bearing the name shared
with every son of Adam and daughter of Eve
“Child of God”

There is nothing like a morning breeze
Arustling through these ice-coated trees,
The briny air a wintry tease
On Salamander Road.

For thirty years I’ve lived this lane,
My nearest neighbor a sandhill crane,
But she went away with September rain
On Salamander Road.

Loud squawks of gulls disturb the quiet,
They swoop and twirl in exuberant riot.
If I were a bird I’d have to try it
On Salamander Road.

Pale sun sits low in the clouded sky,
Across its face two ospreys fly,
Their whistles echo, a haunting cry
On Salamander Road.

A tufted titmouse alights on the limb
Of a scruffy tamarack, perhaps on a whim,
But bringing delight as I gaze on him
On Salamander Road.

A pileated woodpecker, that prince of birds,
Circles a cedar in a dance of thirds,
Its plumes a sight that beggars words
On Salamander Road.

Our Maine state bird, a black-capped chickadee,
Twitters its song and hops about merrily,
Its antics cheering, but only temporarily
On Salamander Road.

There is nothing like a morning walk,
A January check on all my flock,
Escaping all the poppycock
On Salamander Road.

Her name means Radiant One
Bright and brilliant and exuberant
Blazing orb at the center
Of her own universe
Our bodies and hearts bound
                        in her orbit.

Her name could mean Eccentric One
Odd and abstruse and outlandish
Baffling behaviors defying explanation
Compulsive routines taxing toleration
Our bodies and hearts bewildered
                       by her id.

Her name should mean Indefatigable One
Tireless and tenacious and temerarious
Jumping in with all four feet
Sprinting, bounding, leaping, flying
Our bodies and hearts drained
                       by her zeal.

Her name means Radiant One
Bodacious and beautiful and beguiling
Commanding our complete attention
Even is spite of ourselves
Our bodies and hearts utterly ensnared
                       by her charms.

Her name is Eilidh

Ungainly and unperturbed
Amidst croppings of fuchsia heather
Solitarily standing on spindly salmon legs
Sprouting from a squat white breast
Improbable orange beak
Highlighted against the cobalt sea
Unblinking claret eye
Nearly invisible against its coal black head
Preternaturally perched atop an elongated neck

The isle is yours as well as mine
Each of us blessed and a blessing
An I mo chridhe, I mo ghraidh

Somnambulant rocket ships
Poured down my throat
Stick like pins
Before bursting into unquenchable flame.

Somnambulant butterflies
Twitter on Elon Musk’s nose
Restoring order to this
Fractious folly.

Somnambulant terrapins
Strictly following orders
Fastidiously dying
One by one by one.

Somnambulant oboists
Iridescent against the crimson sky
Bursting boundaries
Like bouncing billiard balls.

Somnambulant mysterium
Creeping along the edges
Flooding the universe
With ineffable grace.

Somnambulant rocket ships
Twitter on Elon Musk’s nose
Fastidiously dying
Like bouncing billiard balls.

Somnambulant butterflies
Strictly following orders
Bursting boundaries
With ineffable grace.

Somnambulant terrapins
Iridescent against the crimson sky
Flooding the universe
Before bursting into unquenchable flame.

Somnambulant oboists
Creeping along the edges
Stick like pins
Fractious folly.

Somnambulant mysterium
Poured down my throat
Restoring order to this
One by one by one.

still
implausibly, exquisitely
still

en pointe
a vivified Michelangelo
poised, erect
ineffably elegant and
still

en pointe
a golden vision
descending the stair
gliding, floating
utterly entrancing
ever advancing but
still

en pointe
alongside her prince
commanding the stage
as time and space stand
still

still
wondrously, breathtakingly
still

Month most maligned
Caught between seasons
Neither winter nor spring
Lacking the best of either
Displaying the worst of both

Or perhaps that is its glory
Being not one thing or the other
But itself, juncture of memory and promise
Consecrating cherished experience
Anticipating unfolding beauties

Being seventy is like March
Caught between seasons
Neither young nor old
Expecting to do what body refuses
Resisting the repose from which mind recoils

Or perhaps that is its glory
Being not one thing or the other
But itself, juncture of memory and promise
Consecrating cherished experience
Anticipating unfolding beauties