LOOSELY SPEAKING...

Here, Kitty Kitty…!

The cats have run away to hide,
They do not wish to go for a ride.
“Oh no, I won’t!” the wise cat sings–
“Rides generally arrive at unpleasant things
like trimming of claws and shots in the ass
and minor surgeries… Thanks, I’ll pass!”
The cats are crouching in unlikely places
with wide opal eyes and resentful faces.
Under the sofa they’d rather abide
than companionably get in the car for a ride.

_{co 5/98 CL Redding}

Dreaming

I saw a vision, riding high
up in the mansions of the sky…
I saw bright waters running wild;
And stars in the eyes of a magic child.
I witnessed dancing Elven folk
And heard the solemn raven croak
In ancient woods, still, dark and deep–
All of this, I saw in sleep..

I heard the yearning Elven song,
And soldiers as they tramp along
Bleak miles of black and broken stone;
And the voice of one who sings alone
To raise himself above despair
And one who sings a sadder air
To ease an infant’s soul in flight
I heard it, in the deep of night…

A garden’s perfume filled my dream
And scents of forests, shades of green
A-warming in the summer’s heat…
The smell of wonderful things to eat…
Baking bread and toasting cheese,
No better scents of life than these!
Deeply, deeply, breath I drew,
And in my sleep, I thought it true…

Grasses glow green on every side,
And horses run free, their nostrils wide;
Some folk watch and some folk guide,
And some live all their lives inside
Their own close worlds, the rest denied.
There are some who dream, and stand aside
And brace themselves against the tide–
From this dream, I woke and cried…

_{co 2005 CL Redding}

Breaking the Heat

The wind is blowing–
cool air comes down out of the mountains,
night comes over the sky
filled with clouds.

Summer heat flees on the wind,
last of the summer darkens
with the end of the day.

Curtains billow like sails
out into the air
and in again,
floating on the wind
on its changes.

I turn off the fans,
false winds,
open all the windows,
all the doors
and let in
the change.

c 2017 CL Redding

Autumn Storm

The earth does what it does
and always has–

Storm bellowing,
Flood rushing,
And the reeds bend;
Trees sway and sometimes
go roots up;
The waters wild
sweep the land
forgetting former banks
erasing dams
the diligent beaver built.

_____________________

The tempest swoops in
off the ocean
where it trained,
charging
like a heavyweight
out of his corner,
Knocks
the ancient weather vane
a-tizzy,
sets its ponies
running circles
in the wind;
Slaps
the last
of autumn’s fire
off the swaying trees–
They, and later
the weather vane as well
fly free on the wind,
the ponies
whipped up as wild
and rambunctious
as the lashing rains.

Squirrels
in tree-top nests disrupted
suddenly
learn to fly
and small birds hide
as best they can
and cats
of independent disposition
come inside

Where we, close-huddled
by the fireplace
hope that the wood
already in the house
will be enough,
have candle lanterns ready
and flashlights
close to hand,
with extra batteries…

The kids are energized,
taking it in turns,
crank on the new-fangled
old fashioned swamp-radio
that never needs a battery replaced,
praying for a sudden cold
and maybe feet of snow,
and make extravagant plans…

Even when the blast
exhausts itself to fitful gusts
and wanders off,
the rain drums on a flat percussive
shingle-drenching crevice-seeking
drumming over-head…

The water fills
the hollows of the land
and saturates the soil,
drives out small rodents
from their earth;

And even the dog is whining
that, in fact,
he’d rather not go out today
but must, he must oh dear,
and not alone…

And the water buckets down
and drums and drums
and finally lulls
the last of us to sleep,
that flashlight by the bed…

The dawn comes luminous
and calm as if
the weather
never had a single
brutal thought,
never blustered,
never raged,
never came in reeling
like a drunk,
never loosed the ponies
nor beat the land to
sodden helplessness…

The day comes on
gently, cheerfully,
the light a little harsher
through trees denuded
their columns etched and dark,
still gleaming with the wet…

Birds sing,
Squirrels scold,
Cats consider going out,
The dog can hardly wait!

The kids are disappointed
not really getting
what disaster is…

And someone must go out
and find the weathervane
then climb up the misty roof
and put it back
onto its naked pole.

_{c ~2004 CL Redding}
_{revised 2024}

A Shire Reverie

A gathering of stones,
of mortar and affection:
warmed by April sun,
a drift of fragrance–
cow’s breath and old hay,
ripe cheese, pale grasses,
the lightest scent of blossom
and the lingerance of snow,
and second breakfast hearth-smoke…

Distant crows wheeling, crying, cawing,
coarsely calling admiration
of the new-turned turf,
of turning season,
of turning, turning, turning
in the sky above the oaks…

The distant touch of talk,
and laughter muted–
It clings, this lacey sound,
to the walls and roofs
and ventures not too far afield…

The passing day, in hours
unaccounted,
hardly missed;
Hand-in-hand
the Sun and warmth decline
yet not too fast…

Dark brown, the depths
of barn and cellar,
grey the shadow side
of house and wall;
Night is blue,
bluer at the dark of moon
than any ocean
or deep mountain lake…

_{c 1980 CL Redding}

Pioneer Cafe, Montana Morning

Ladies of a Certain Age
girls no more
except in the heart:
What Life has given
you have taken
despite the dreams you had,
despite intentions and resistance;
Age acquiring resilience
for survival’s sake
when life is hard
or dull beyond endurance.

Power in the circle
around the cafe table
every morning, every day
except Sundays, maybe:
Ladies, old and aging
socializing despite,
because of Life;
finding, making,
sharing power
’round this table…
and resilience,
endurance,
and amusement–
even some days, joy!

The Pert Young Thing
with young good-looking Fella
full of certainty, resolve
and years-to-come
prances past in her low-cut denims
perky T and perm of wild curls…
She spares not a glance
towards Ladies
of a Certain Age.
Her dreams, her angers
her determination
not yet tested, not yet tried
nor slapped around by Life–
as long as Fella’s true
and things continue looking up.

The Ladies come and go;
pull in the extra chair
as needed.
The conversation
does not lag–
not often, anyway,
does the stream
of interaction fail,
fall into gaps
of silence–
pensive individuality
for just an instant,
before the shield
of gossip, cheery news
and practicalities
asserts itself again.

There is no evil spoken
at this early hour
over coffee, cream,
the solace of bacon
and well-buttered toast,
oatmeal with raisins…
No, in the morning
hope and cheer
and charity prevail…

The Ladies of a Certain Age
observe the Pert Young Thing
and know–
her chair is waiting.

_{c 2007 CL Redding}

LONG ISLAND SUMMERS

I’d go back
for just a moment,
perhaps as long
as one day and a night,
enough, I think,
to relish what I loved
about Long Island summers:

Scents of ragweed,
seared grasses,
almost-too-sweet roses
in the heavy summer air…

Glittering waters,
hot, hot sand
and tiny shells
hiding in the drying
seaweed margin of the tide…

Early mornings
sun like a glowing peach
soft-lit hazy cool
’til nearly 10…

And thunderstorms
some afternoons
that bruise the air
and break the back
of humid heat’s oppression…

Cicada-noisy nights,
lit here and there
by sudden silent sparks
of spectral yellow, green
and random
like imaginings or magic,
to be captured
briefly
in a jar…

It’s the fireflies I miss the most…

_{copyright July 2006 by CLRedding}

Surrender Is Not an Option

I was thinking about the writers of the US Constitution.

They didn’t have everything right, like not actually recognizing that women and people of color are actually whole human beings, and they were mostly all slave-holders. But they were the most educated men of their time. They were philosophically sophisticated, very broad-minded for their time. They were the intellectual cream of the crop–for their time.

Personal honor and integrity was basic to them, so much that they could not believe or even imagine that the Justices on the Supreme Court bench would ever be less than noble, and actively corrupt and corruptible. They did imagine, but didn’t actually seem to believe that a man like Trump could get through the system to have any chance to head the Executive Branch of the government: They wrote in a few checks to that occurance, like the ‘faithless elector’ possibility, without fully appreciating that in the actual event, no elector in the Electoral College would have the courage to exercise that right.

And so–Here we are.

The Constitution is under attack by the people in our society most entirely unlike the originators, even while they wield like a bludgeon the excised bits that seem to support their particular causes and desires.

The Supreme Court is as venal and corruptible as anyone with power to shape the nation has ever been.

The establishment of separation of Church and State is being simply ignored by the pseudo-Christians currently running amok in our government, and pretending that unquestionable Right is on their side as they force their delusional Truths into laws of child-indoctrination of the most egregious kind.

And even though none of this is happening in the shadows, none of it is hidden or disguised, the people of intelligence, integrity, and clarity are so courteous that they are doing precious little about it.

Judges can be impeached. Traitors and those who encourage them can be prosecuted. Bullies who thrive on the gentleness and politeness of their victims can be slapped down.

It is appalling that no one is making the moves to take away the stolen power from those who are actively working to end America’s great experiment in democracy.

The power we as individuals have, of course, is to vote.

Not voting is still a vote.

Voting for someone who can’t possibly win is not rebellion, it is surrender.

Comment

Tribalism is killing us.

It’s all very well to have your own tribe, to build it up and maintain it with your own beliefs and ideas about who you are and what is your relationship with your universe, your deities, the other people you share the world with. It is beautiful to celebrate your worldview with dances and art, rituals and traditions.

But it is not all right to attempt to safeguard those things by forcing everyone else to give up their cherished beliefs, their values and connections with their own dieties, and accept yours. Getting the world to agree with you does not make you any more right. It does not validate your beliefs and traditions.

It is fear of having your stuff taken and invalidated, attacked and destroyed by those who don’t value what you do, that makes you defensive and belligerent, that makes you take and invalidate someone else’s stuff, that makes you attack and destroy those who decline to join you in your particular world.

Civilization came about so that diverse peoples could live side by side, trade together, interact, live as neighbors, thrive as all folk wish to do, grow families as most folk want to do. Tolerance of difference, acceptance, or even appreciation: connections as human to human are the basis and goal of civilization.

The planet is too small for uncivilized peoples to share. We are too close together physically, too intensely needing resources that become dearer and dearer as our numbers overrun and overwhelm the world. If we do not accept that we are not and need not all be the same, we are gonna die. Homo sapiens will go extinct, our long, long chains of family, every one of which goes back to the beginning, will end. Not when the sun novas in a few billion more years, but sooner, much sooner.

Keep the beauties of your tribe. Let everyone else keep the beauties of theirs. The only absolute rule is this: you can have your worldview as you cherish it, only if you allow me to have mine as I cherish it. If you think your god tells you otherwise, maybe you need some new prophets.