Hurry

Mockingbirds, heal me

Ravens, heal me

Rain, heal me

Southeasterly breezes

bringing unfamiliar sounds,

Heal me

Sounds of kitchen

Sounds of neighbor

Sounds of every new day,

Heal me

Open windows,

Heal me

Red canyons,

Heal me

Silver trees,

Heal me

Faint green leafy mist,

Heal me

And hurry.

Warmth

Light

Bees,

Heal me.

God is outside

And why I must live

With the windows

Open.

Heal me

And hurry

Thank you

________________

©2014

beth anne boardman

Ocean

Today I went to a sad rocky beach and found sand!

All day I had been walking by pictures of people gone

from my life,

and listening to silences

and music,

and time seemed such a mystery!

I don’t want it to be sad.

I just wanted to sit and observe

that, wow:

here I am at this age

and in this place

with all this behind me

and who knows what in front of me....

And I didn’t want to go to the rocky beach,

because it used to be sandy and we swung there

and jumped into it....

But I went there anyway.

And there was sand!

And then I was confronted with

this vast fertility -- 

this ocean,

embarrassing with its richness of life and bounty and

breathtaking

in its ability to humble and snuff -- 

at the bash of a crystalline

translucent

aqua

foam-tipped

wave....

Then I realized

the ocean captured me,

threw its salty net around me

long ago!

I used to consider myself a proud mountain girl,

who had curiosity yet disdain for the ocean

and the people who came from the ocean....

But I knew somewhere in this disdain was a calling,

and now I’m here for twenty-five years and I love it.

The salty ocean is my salt blood

and my salt tears....

Next to her I feel small

and kin.

(And yes I say girl

at my age:

girl sounds like whirl and curl and unfurl –  

all things that waves do

and I like to do.)

There’s something about time and tides and life and

cycles and sand that seems gone and then comes back....  

The sea is time --

it is the great equalizer....

And beside it

nothing really matters

except loving it so.....

_________________

©2014

beth anne boardman

what said the new year

quick gusts curl

around the corners of the house

licking at its edges before

moving on to see what

else might be doing

this new year's morn.....

what intentions impending?

what ideas formulating?

what projects and creations simmering?

what kindred making?

white doves coo unmoved

as the wind whips by

and sleepy silence takes a turn about the grounds....

it's a dance that recommences --

a gust, a wave of wonder, a blessing, and some silence:

my recipe

and wish

for this very new year....

___________

© 2014

Beth Anne Boardman

a low winter sun

a hawk cries

under

this low winter sun—

(i wonder if hawks pray

for the return of the light....)

with a few strong wing-beats

and supreme aerodynamic design,

the great talons let go

and glide out over snowy expanses....

(the effortless mastery

the inborn skill

the unquestioning quest

under all conditions

slay me....)

while we cower or shiver or snuggle-in

and count the days to longer light,

to hope and warmth—

in the face of our constant

human doubt—

our frantic celebrations

and incantations,

the hawk searches for food

regular as the sunrise—

surveys the ground

rides the updrafts

expends its precious energy

when necessary....

all its movements efficient

and filled with a grace

so stunning

that we stand still

and thrill to its

shrill call

floating

from the heavens—

(a place we can never

put our bodies

on our own....)

the hawk’s daily sky-sail

implies ‘where’

not ‘if’—

this is faith:

outside of our suffering thoughts

all of nature functions in

flawless rotation....

every day

demonstrating

the perfect operation

of mystery....

________________

©2013

beth anne boardman

the not-so-empty

butterflies hummingbirds and spiders

helped raise my children....

today i thanked them:

risen from my empty bed,

gone out of my empty house,

into my empty garden—

  

i stopped

under summer-sunlit gold-streaming

leafy old beings, rife with patience

(the trees, not me!)

the otherworld beckoned:

a stained-glass-molten-golden swallowtail

ribboned into my vision....

stepping further under the trees—

a web-festoon drew

across my face....

(the spider,

golden too,

arced away to safety....)

a hummingbird, wings a-haloed,

paused over the open hillside

(not feeding, not chasing a mate, not hiding)....

i felt

the constancy

of their attention,

(and of all things winged and wafted)

and i thanked them for reminding me:

the otherworld nets around us,

throughout childhood....

or day or night,

or now....

•

i still see them

making secret tunnels under bushes....

(the children, not the spiders.)

(well, the children and the spiders.)

i hear their gleeful chirps

in the climbing-trees....

(the hummingbirds too!)

daring each other higher,

shouting as they leap from limb to grass....

(how the webs and the wings encircled

 my anxious moments....)

the pangs of their empty spots

(on couch and floor and very own beds)

sting me....

but—

the hummingbirds, butterflies, and spiders

still come around

like nothing has changed!

and maybe nothing has....

i live the age-old dance

of love and let go, and ‘a blessing on your journey!’

and walk from under the trees to meet the unknown

like mother after mother before me....

___________________

©2013

beth anne boardman

...through birds and rain

i hear god through birds and rain....

when a  million green leaves rustle

under a breeze
laden with tiny droplets....

and how does birdsong echo
in this loamy rich forest?

i opened the car door
outside a filled church
and in poured this majesty:

a stirring wind
a brush of warm water
a pure clear note arcing, falling, landing
     from some high, secret place....

how could i leave?

world without end....

_______________
©2013
beth anne boardman

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