Field Mouse on the Bird Bell!

I didn't get a photo ( found this one on Google Images) and our mouse was feasting on one of those nut/birdseed bells wired to the windowscreen --- but three stories up! Saw him there last night,gorging himself, and he was still there this morning, sleeping on the birdbell!

My New Chapbook

due out from Finishing Line Press on November 30.

Cover photo and design by my friend Deborah Humphreys

In the Hand of the Bander

( photo from Google Images)








In the Hand of the Bander

Not named for the coarse open fabric of flags,
but named after sifting seeds,
after blue dye from hairy blooms of the legume family
in India, Indigo Buntings flash,
hue of the portion of the visible spectrum from blue to violet
evoked in the human observer
by radiant energy,
by iridescence in flight.
Female Indigo Bunting
in the hand of the bander,
more subtle than your glorious mate,
deceptively brown,
outraged at your capture,
you biting the hand of the bander,
fierce as a falcon.

October in Emmitsburg

Poem: The Cat and the Fireworks

The Cat and the Fireworks


At the first volley of fireworks,
unseen except for flashes
of lightening like light,
the calico cat sprang to alert.
leapt to the windowsill,
retreated under the bed,
then emerged and sprang to the
top of the bureau.
A low growl rumbled from
her belly-
a sound I never heard her make before.
Deep, rolling growl
sound radiating through fur
as she watched from
her patrol post
for the duration of the fireworks.
She became the cat in someone’s bedroom
in London,
on the first night of the Blitz.
She became the cat distracted from catching rats in the church
in Dresden,
as the planes rained down fire and boulders.

She became the cat cowering in the doorway
in Baghdad,
When the Americans bombed Saddam
back to his bunker.

All the cats
in all the arrowstruck, cannonstruck
cities down the centuries,
interrupted, startled,
terrified, growling deep,
feral, innocent,
instincts bristling.

Some recent poems

Binoculars

Catering to the desire to see
further than is possible
when using the naked eye,
the desire to see the
Yellow- breasted Chat
who chuckles in the Cape May sun
from a distant treetop,
Binoculars present the opportunity.
Objective lens,
Ocular lens,
Porro Prism
Provide precision,
and even better,
Eye Relief.

Rubber eyepieces now crumble
from age, sweat,
skin oil,
bug spray.
Still the collimation offers
perfect stereoscopic vision.
The interpupillary distance
between the pupils of the eyes
is different for each person.
Thus the central hinge
permits differentiation.

The Yellow-breasted Chat
glows buttery gold
in the sunlight,
appearing eight times
closer to me
than he actually is.
I can almost see the lustful glint
in his beady black eyes.

My garden is flourishing

Waiting for Harry Potter

For six years or so I have been fascinated by the Harry Potter books and films.
I'm not sure why! I've read the books and watched the films more than once.
I've also been avidly reading the blogs of Travis Prinzi and Janet Batchelor,
enjoying their grownup perceptions about the characters, and even more, about the
craft of Rowling.

So, the Half-Blood Prince film is due out in less than a month. I'll wait to see it
until at least August, hoping the lines won't be so long then.

Lost Planner

Sometime between Sunday and today, I misplaced my Monthly Planner.
This is bad. I had to call the doctor's office to find out the time of the appointment I know I have today... and even had to look up the phone number on the Internet, since the Monthly Planner also contains all the addresses/phone numbers in use this current year. I've retraced my steps and scoured my room, to no avail.
I must have left it at the nursing home when I visited Mom. Will return there on Thursday, and hope it's there.

I love Elizabeth Bishop's poem "The Art of losing isn't hard to master..."
because she describes my experience too. Lately I've been thinking of writing a poem called "Incremental Losses." But that's not a good way to start writing a poem.
I need to start with images. Maybe this Monthly Planner will be a good image.

Cancer

Long time between postings.

In December, I was diagnosed with Stage IIb cervical cancer. From Jan.5 until Feb.26 I had daily radiation treatments, weekly internal radiation treatments, and weekly chemo. These treatments gave me terrible diarrhea, which caused terribe dehydration,
which caused, among other things, blurred vision. I ended up in our Infirmary from Feb.6 until April 8, recovering. It was truly a dark night experience.
I thought I would never read again, drive again, teach again. Not to mention that I thought I would die very soon.

So at this date, my vision has cleared. I can read again and drive again. I will teach again in the Fall semester. God alone knows when I will die, or if this cancer will be the death of me. It has certainly had an effect on my priorities.

Yesterday I began to write again.

The Cover

Pick It Up and Read

I have a new book - a chapbook, published by Finishing Line Press.

"Saliva" is in it . Will post some others from it, too.

My poet/artist friend Deborah Humphreys did the photo collage on the cover.

Under the Umbrella

I have two poems in the Fall 2008 issue of Umbrella Journal:

"Six" and "The Hue of My Shoe"


Check them out at http://www.umbrellajournal.com

I love Cape May, New Jersey

Because of my school schedule, I count Summer as May 25 until August 25...

So, even though it is 90 degrees and sunny here in the wilds of Maryland, the students are moving in, and I am preparing for classes.

While I have the time, I want to post some photos of one of my favorite places in the world:

Cape May. It delights me as a birder, a gardener, and a poet.

I've learned

that wasn't a Swallowtail caterpillar; it was a Monarch!

I wish I could identify the five or six varieties of butterflies who frequent the garden these days...

Caterpillars and Butterflies

Yesterday I saw a Monarch Butterfly browsing through the Buddleia. This morning, I saw a Swallowtail Butterfly Caterpillar grazing on the Swamp Milkweed. First time I've ever seen this kind of caterpillar - I was so delighted!

The photo is taken from the blog http://gardenshare.blogspot.com/. The blog's title is "My Back Yard ( and other places)" - Thank you, Carla!

Japanese Beetles aren't too bad this year, but all the same...

Japanese Beetles


In this light, my spirit was through all things and into all creatures, and I recognized God in grass and plants.
-Jacob Boehme


Varieties of green on the trees outside the window:
on the sun-side, iridescent, lime green
on the shade side, dark green.
at the top, just a few leaves responding to the
attentions of the light wind
with a coy tilt of their hands.

Look out three dimensions into
a tunnel of trees,
a grassy floor,
mottled lime and lizard green
in the sun’s fickle focus.

Japanese Beetles charge.
Sex crazed from the pungent scent,
they crash into me , away from the dahlias,
on their way to the lure
and sure death by suffocation.

Crusted on a peach pink peace rose,
like two dozen shiny green-brown jewels,
vampires of the summer,
cannibals of the flower flesh.

Into the bag they go,
unable or unwilling to fly back out,
fester among themselves
like a stampeding crowd
in the fire filled nightclub.

I see God in the trees, in the vulnerable roses.
I see God in the Japanese Beetles
whom I lure and trap,
but who keep coming at me
in unwelcome droves.

some recent poems

Saliva

Even the birds have tongues.
I've seen hummingbird's, fine as a hair,
slip out to catch the nectar from the fuchsia,
have seen fledgling woodpecker's tentatively taste
sweetness
from the birdbell at my window.
Tongues sliding on saliva.

Healing water from our mouths,
healing water all were born with ,
salvia salvation, living water,
humble, intimate, vibrant, vital.

Tomcat licking his wounds after a fight,
my mother licking her finger, rubbing the dirt off my nose...
Saliva, shining my lips and teeth,
cleaning my glasses, sucking my cut finger,
Christ's saliva on the blind man's eyes.

More humble than tears,
how did you come to be flung out
of the mouth of scorn?






(published in the March 15,2008 issue of Commonweal)







Pulling up the Vines

Five entwined:
Wild grape ,aristocratic leaves and tiny purple berries,
English ivy, dignified and sturdy,
Creeping clematis, profuse and pungent white flowers,
Honeysuckle, seductive, heavy, waxy yellow flowers,
and Poison Ivy, those shiny red then green glossies.
Gloved , armed with clippers, I tear them from the smothered juniper.
Snarling, I charge them as I wrench them:
Get off the azaleas!
Bouncy and fragrant with galloping photosynthesis,
they pull away in long loops.
Aggressive, rejected,
they wilt slowly,
piled in a mountain by the trash can.