the black sun

so many starry nights

in this usually fog-kissed land!

sitting between

fire and prayer,

i watch the unveiling....

tonight

a beginner crescent moon

lilts

in the sky-arc –

the stars

bowing out

of her way

as she passes....

swirls of bats

dart

softly trilling,  

through clouds of glowing bugs –

their bites save me....

on nights like this one,

all the sky bodies seem

to dance for the earth....

(except for venus

beaming her silvergold

defiance!

she stands

resolute and steady –

notwithstanding

her time to outglow

the moon and stars

and setting sun

numbers only tens

of minutes....)

i am transfixed

by the starshow

and venus

and the moon....

(time and miracles merge

when sometimes

you stop

and

talk

to

stars....)

atmospheric water

uplights

into pastels so deep and clear,

you could fall right up into them –

and out into space –

if you weren’t careful....

this

is the miracle

of the black sun:

the time of glowing

after all hope of warmth is lost....

of promise-filled evenings

when fountains of sparks appear

after one has accepted

the death of light....

i am living proof

of the survival of dreams....

i carry the evidence

of life’s brutality....

i know myself alone

with the mystery....

and led on by

its harbored light....

(and in my

secret heart

i forever

dance with stars....)

_________________

©2012

beth anne boardman

shameless love

you are my reason
my light

for you i have
faced dragons

climbed mountains
barefoot

cried rivers

because of you
i chopped wood by the hour

carried weight sure to break me

filled sandbags and dammed floods
to keep you warm
and safe

the bloom on your cheeks
makes me glow

the turn of your curls
enslaves me

for you i have gone to
all the places that frightened me

endured agonies of separation

for you i learned
to live with a broken heart

through the glow
you ignited in me

through wanting to show you life
in every dark corner

i found this tenderness
inside myself

and for the first time
know self-forgiveness

through everything
i endeavored

because of you

i found
me

i see my beauty in you
hear my gratitude in your humor
feel my heart in your arms

you are my light

and i am forever
and forever

shamelessly

yours
___________
©2012
beth anne boardman


dedicated to kdh and keh


in memoriam gtb and rpb

a storm of unexpected grace

i lay embraced by water and fire….

and wonder where you are,
in this wide wide universe….

to the west of me,
surf rolls and crashes….

to the east, fire crackles and sparks….

here at the joining of land and sea,
storm and wind and wave rollick….

and i feel you
out there….

every now and then
my sturdy shelter rocks
with the buffeting wind….

rain suddenly speckles windows and deck….

i watch as all the elements dance --
a dangerous alchemy….

alarming and compelling,
at once….

holy, alive….

you have been inside me….
and i have worn you like a thread….

how i marry the world!
in its enlivening, humbling all --

oh, i am still, though –

still a student of patience….

but look -- though winter yet rules the earth,
the monarchs join in the eucalyptus trees….

at piedras blancas, elephant seals bellow
their powerful desire….

beneath the redwoods,
vibrant lichens cover living stones,

and across the arms of coastal oaks,
great festoons of grey-green lace
abandon themselves to the breeze....

look!

how effortlessly
we partner one another….

in this world or the next –

(perhaps there is no difference
to our quantum selves….)

along the brilliant turquoise coast,
look!

it’s february,
and flowers riot in the hills….

like a storm
of unexpected grace….

______________
©2012
beth anne boardman


(*thank you* to biologist andrea freeman
for identifying lace lichen as the partner of
coastal live oaks in california.... <3 )

blossoming (the oracle of the well)

this morning
i awoke to hummingbirds
buzzing insistently
outside my window….

no flowers in my garden –
yet here they are….

i noticed sun,
soft air, blue sky….

since i have lost so much this last year—
more than i can say to you –
i decided on this lovely day,
to go see the woman at the well….

i found her sitting,
her head on her knee, curled up in the lee
of a sunlit stucco wall
at her temple on the cliff….

she looked up at me and spoke
after a very long time:

i’m afraid
i have very little to offer you
at the moment….

she said….

i would like to say something uplifting….

i would like to be articulate
and use sparkling verbs….

i would like to astound you with
insight, wisdom, stunning imagery –
something!

at the moment, though,
words have left me….

they were the last things to go –

the year took everything….

it will all return, on the great
wheel of life….

but for now, my dear,
my wells are empty….

she patted the ground next to her, then—
stirred her skirts out of the way,
and said:

come, you are welcome to sit here
with me –

and experience
the oracle of yourself….

so, i sat down with her….
peacefully, in the sun….

as the quiet took hold of us,
i felt like a lizard, maybe,
or some other life-form that needs this
warm radiance to feel alive….

my thoughts drifted back --
over this year of death,
heartbreak,
illness….

vulture medicine in play, i thought….

perhaps i must sit here until
i pick my own bones clean….

sitting next to the woman by the well,
i nodded off –

and the visions began….

a cougar at my shoulder….
warm and tawny –
she smelled like warm pelt….

i was woozy and unsure –
she gave the nape of my neck a tiny nudge,

then loped away….
power coiled in her muscles like springs….

befuddled, i tried to stir….
but lulled by the hum of the bees in the lavender,
i nodded off again….

then, through a crack in the night,
i saw a triangle of turquoise sky,
and a huge black raven, in
silhouette –

she sat in silence,
regal and affectionate….

no words,
no directions,
no messages….

suddenly, a fresh wind
stirred against my cheek --

my eyes opened to the
sweet golden light
of late afternoon….

i got up,
feeling dewy, and shaky,
like a newborn foal or fawn….

like i was fresh from a cocoon
and not ready for public viewing….

i walked over to the
edge of the cliff, and stood --

having no idea whether
i was going up or down….
but enjoying the view,
and the beautiful wind….

so now, as the days go by,
i sweep around the empty wells,
and dust off the pails and dippers, just in case….

i may have
no hopes for the future,
but i have an acceptance
of the now –

...before i left her that day,
i went back
to the woman at the well
to say goodbye –

she looked up
with her clear blue eyes
and said one last thing:

you've given all you had to your blossoming....

this emptiness is sacred….

it’s quiet….

and the beings are visiting….

all is well….

__________________
©2012
beth anne boardman

at the end of the known

in the last years
so much leaving….

on the incoming clouds
a time of silence….

there are no words
for some kinds of change….

moments facing into
the whistling wind….

equipoint
between coming and going….

after the floods
words ebb

behind them
a negotiated peace….

life at the edge of living
seated at the end of the known….

poised between
earth and air

there is no teacher
there are no guides

no hope or blame
only listening….

no outer voice
but the quiet one….

everyone’s secret;
few seek

how i’ve loved
the noise of love….

how i’ve run
the well worn road --

only when i spoke my dreams
to the great listener

and watched them drift
into the evening sky

did i see
the truth was never love --

behind the love
is silence….

___________
©2012
beth anne boardman

song of the white dove

the white dove came again….

i love how she sits far back
in the black, tangled branches
of that wild oak tree –

she glows through the falling darkness,
a phantom of herself….

she used to frighten me,
appearing unannounced
at nightfall….

you’re not from around here, are you?
i thought at her,
that first night….

i’ve tried to make up all kinds of stories
about why she visits when she does….

a harbinger of death?
of change?

but every day changes and dies --
as do we….

her song differs
from those of the mourning doves
that have surrounded me
since birth –

(my father taught me their song)

softer than theirs,
it floats featherlike, unmournful….

it curls

wispy
tender
wraithlike
(holy….)

we have watched each other
for years now….

through black ash
and endless smoky grey –

we are dual-captured
by blue-white
myriad starfields --

(our secret)

and still,
her song stops me midstep
midbreath
midquestion --

like an incognito
gasp of surprise….

then i recall an elder’s words
and realize:

she sings
not as a warning of death,
but as an

encouragement
to keep dying....
_____________
©2012
beth anne boardman


(recalling the wisdom of chungliang al huang,
who appears in finding joe, a film by patrick takaya solomon.)

the storykeepers

i am the mouthpiece of my ancestors,
the advocate of the yet unborn….

once i thought
i was packed away in dusty boxes
with yellowed labels….

•

after a life
of intense activity –

a certain stillness
haunts….

•

a young funny/crazy woman
and her children used to live here….

she told them stories
late into the nights --

and i used to listen….

•

old family tales gather
in the emptiness
of between times…..

among sad memories,
some pearls glow….

magnolia trees
hunting leases
gun oil
boiled coffee and flapjacks
sunny flat rocks
distant pines
tea dances
recitals
drums
feathers
cornbread
rocky canyons
arrowheads on sunday mornings
candied pecans
and a bowie knife in the door….

•

stories of the grandfathers
and the grandmothers:

hope grows
in dark places survived….

•

our unfolding never stops –

everything offers us its life!

wisdom lives
in fire and stone and night….

•

this is no time for the living dead!

someone needs to
keep the stories,
and tell them to children
over candlelight….

someone needs to speak the memories,
weave the magic of history
at the side of the crackling fire….

•

you are the mouthpiece of your ancestors,
you are the advocate for those yet unborn….

________________
©2012
beth anne boardman

the unknown bell

on my way through
the wilderness,

i heard a bell in the distance….

i could not tell
whether it was the single
ringing chime from a church –

or a temple-bell
through the trees –

silence followed….

birds fluted
and busied themselves
hopping from branch to branch
carrying urgent twigs….

insects chattered
among rustling grasses….

leaves brushed by one another
in their softly swaying dance….

continuing, questioning --
feeling touched, nonetheless,
by the great unknown….

again the bell sounded
at the edge of my hearing….

bringing my step
up short….

causing me to pause
like a doe in a clearing

all senses on high alert….

a swirl of wind,
a falling leaf….
a brilliant sky….

how is it
that i feel
the ringing of that bell
here inside my heart?

______________
©2012
beth anne boardman

this time, i listen

when raven calls

my heart thrills
as if to a lover’s –

his throaty voice
floats across the silence,

seems a private note
between us….

•

memory transports me
to the lip of
an echoing red stone canyon
in the sheer predawn….

or the edge of a hopi mesa
preceremony….

then
raven’s voice seemed to
summon the dancers --
cue the singers
with their rattles and bells….

what glorious magic
has unfolded for me over the years,
when i took raven’s cue
to pause and listen….

•

last year
raven called me
to an assignation
with solitude….

i ran from him --

oh i was in such a hurry to live….

this time
i listen….

this time, raven,
your call reminds me

how intimately i know
the curves of your black feathers
the firmness of your claws….

•

i remember the
power of solitude –

i step into it
as naturally as i step into
my garments, of a morning…..

its velvet swirl
encircles me

oh, i know these steps
this compelling, dangerous dance….

•

ah, but i remember
raven’s sacred tricks!

i feel him laughing when i sink
into the illusion of aloneness….

when actually,
the graces of the universe
dance around me….

atoms riot within me….

oh i,
who feel so proficient
in this solitary walk,

am the center of a circle
of generous beings
clamoring for my notice

night and day….

from the cells living within me
to the spiders in my garden,

to the breadth of the spirit world
that holds me…..

•

raven calls:

throw off your cloak of aloneness!

know your pockets are filled
with the unimaginable riches
of the universe….

your very touch teems
with beings…..

your every ragged breath embraced….

•

oh love

this time
i respond

with upwelling joy….


_______________
©2012
beth anne boardman