All Things Wild and Wonderful

Today’s breeze is the breath of a warm sun,
Even the mountains wear mica sparked diamonds,
The mind escapes the confines of the cranium,
surmounts all barriers, tops the tall trees
in it’s freedom.

Everything is new since this morning’s first light;
this is no time for paper roses or wings of wax.
This is a time for flight of fancy to find the innocent
chicanery that keeps us ever young
in spirit.

This is the time to stretch
to touch the sky, to sift warm soil
between the fingers of an ungloved hand,
to smell the sweet perfume of pine
and balsam

and the salty air of the sea.
Neither clock nor calendar has any say
when heaven awakens day with morning’s smile
and all things are wild with the sound
of the sparrow’s song.

Let Me Dwell in Lesser Known Spaces

I praise those lesser known spaces
where the sun and the sea
and great expanses of sand
stand alone without tourists,

Those places where alone is never lonely,
where dreamers can dream of magical scenes
and hearts can be free.

Those little known spots
where a flower blooms from a rock,
a mossy seat beneath a favorite tree,
a moment’s blend of soul and pen.


Just Out of Reach of Heaven

When you think that you’ve lost everything
You can always lose a little more,
We’re pinned against a leaning fence
Looking for the gate to heaven’s door.

We’re in the sky but burning
and our feet are getting sore,
I see your sad eyes yearning
through the raging of the flame,
I hear a melancholy voice
Saying, “I used to know your name”

I can see you’re tired of talking,
Tired of trying to explain. I know
That I can’t reach you through the fog
of too much pain.

So I’m lost here in the lonely night,
The darkness holds my hand.
Fading stars are oozing blood,
I guess I’ll never understand.

I’m sinking in a whirlpool
Of too many wistful sighs,
I’m not sure if that’s mist
Or teardrops in your eyes.

Why does everything magnificent
Tote a suitcase full of pain?
If we repaired the roof
Would water still get in?
How come when there’s a parade
It always has to rain?

The sun would offer golden light,
The Son has healed the sin,
But we’re stuck here in a sleepless night
Just out of reach of heaven.

Pieces of Dream

moonlight lacing the pines
magnolia branch heavy with bloom
scenting the dew

ten million stars afloat on the pond
where an ancient stone wall
falls into moss

the whisper of a heart shaped leaf
skittering in soft breeze
like a page turned by a gentle hand

an owl call from high up in the limbs
the sound of an old song
tracing its way through the mind

let me linger here
in the bliss of such peace,
in the gratitude of being

A Moment of Madness

I stand in the wind listening
for a moment, then running
with it. Hopeless, this trying
to catch that

which sifts through the fingers,
not like sand, but like time
itself, irretrievable time.

No cloud morphing at the will
of imagination, the wind bends
but it is unbendable. It brings gifts
then takes them back again.

Never a misrepresentation,
more like mis-comprehension,
We whose feet must touch the ground
can never touch the wind

except in moments of madness
or sometimes
at twilight….

Making Breakfast for Mallory

This morning
I have made you pancakes,
served them with certified organic butter
and brown eggs from range fed hens,
that you might know
how  much the whole world
loves you.

Oh, sure,
I mixed the batter,
spooned it on the griddle
that I tested with a splatter
to be sure the heat was right.
I made them in the shape of smiley faces
because doing that for you makes me glad.

But there was lots more
love and labor
engaged before this batter
could bring pancakes to our table.
There were smiles, and sweat,
and sometimes tears when farmers’ crops
would fail. There was celebration in years of plenty
that left the larder full.

Of course, if you go back
to where it all began, there was a seed,
some sun and rain, This breakfast
did not start with human hands.
The whipped cream and all that buttery flavoring,
the creative shaping, that was just me
having fun.

Long ago,
the smile you wear,
that sparkle in your eye,
the tummy that says yummy
at the scent of cinnamon, all this food
we share, it was all part of a greater plan
created by God’s hands.


My Dragon Story

Thirteen years ago, after a really bad experience at an online poetry site, I started a board of ‘my own’.  I could fill volumes with the joys and the sorrows I’ve experienced during those thirteen years; someday I might but for now  I go through the many rooms of that site, reminiscing as I salvage a pitiful few special posts out of the hundreds of thousands of special posts that live there.  To be more precise here are today’s stats:

Community Statistics

Community Time: 07/07/17 06:16 PM (Use Community Time)

Founded: Sep 03 2004

2489 Avg visits per day
3047 Avg views per day
1,564,193 Total visits
13,011,566 Total views
607,701 Total posts

So what does that have to do with dragons?  That, too, is a long story, but I’ll try to cut it as short as possible.

The Peaceful Pub was never advertised.  It was like Topsy, it just ‘growed’. There was a magic to the place, or maybe just a benevolent hand from heaven on our shoulders. There were many who came and didn’t care for the family atmosphere and we bid them adieu and good wishes without regret.

The ones who stayed, oh my,  they are a part of my heart. A quick nod to those who have gone ahead to set up Poets Corner in Heaven.  Maire (it’s Maire, not Marie,) was the first of our family to depart for that far off shore. How we loved that talented poet lady.  Her memorial pages are here: Simply Maire
Then there was Jim Hartsell (Wintersong), a dear and talented poet, writer and abused children’s advocate via his work in Washington State Social Services.
And there was Willowdown. His pages are here:

So what does that have to do with dragons?  Everything.  Willowdown adopted each and every one of his fellow pubsters, and we adopted him. He was an Englishman who lived in Thailand. He spent his time writing, and painting murals for the mutilated children of war who lived at  The Redemptorist Vocational School in Pattaya.

One year he sent Trinimade (of course from Trinidad…we were an international site)
and me, twin dragons.  He named them before he sent them. Trini’s was named Eragon
and mine was Little Nag.

Today while I was tearfully saying goodbye to the posts in the Prose forum I came across the story of Little Nag’s arrival.  There are more than a hundred Little Nag stories at The Pub,
but I will share this one:

Little Nag Moves In  by smzang  (posted 08/09/10 09:41 PM)

Little Nag has moved in lock, stock and barrel.  The first day was easy.  He was hungry and sleepy.  I fed him and after what seems like hundreds of pierogies and a couple of cups of rice custard were devoured, he climbed up on my shoulder and nestled against my neck, blanketed by my hair which smelled of coconut from the previous night’s shampooing.  Apparently he was allergic to the coconut.  He sneezed twice and then went to sleep, his right front foot still keeping time to the music I was listening to.  At first the tickling was a terrible distraction,  but soon that and the music lulled me off to sleep and the two of us spent the rest of the day in the recliner.

Today was a whole ‘nother story.  Little Nag must be related to stone dragons.  Before I had even awakened, he’d eaten half the rocks out of my aquarium.  He is such a tiny creature, I don’t know where he put them, nor the three large bowls of oatmeal that he ate with apples and cinnamon and fresh cream.  When it was gone, he burped and went back to sleep.

While he slept, snoring gently as the babe he is,  I went online again to find out what baby dragons do all day.  It said they like to play in water, so I made him a cottony bed in a jewelry box and put him in my purse (he didn’t even turn over, just kept on snoring)  and off I went to the store to buy a gallon of purified natural spring water.  I fashioned him a pool and even put a plastic lotus blossom in it.  Then I made him a pair of miniature swim trunks. Partly to show off and partly to please him, I put the embroidery attachment on my Singer sewing machine and appliqued a likeness of  Little Nag himself on them.

When he awoke,  he ate the lotus blossom,  took one look at the swim trunks and said,  “Are you nuts?  First rule of this house is:  You don’t meddle in the affairs of dragons,  for you look crunchy and would taste good with ketchup.”

I dashed back to the Internet to see if sassy dragons was a topic that’s been covered by Wikipedia.  It was not,  but I did read that dragons are very intelligent.   “Aha,” I thought,  “I will reason with him.”

“Nag, ”  I said in my firmest voice,  “You are the baby,  I am the mommy.  If you sass me again,  I will buy a dragon pen,  and keep you in a cage until you learn to behave.”

A huge tear dropped from his eye.  He began to melt away right in front of me.  I caught him by his hind foot just before he would have turned totally to mist.  I held him cupped in my hand, petting him and talking soothingly to him.  Slowly he became visible again. He leapt from my hand onto my shoulder and found his special spot under my hair.

In a tiny dragon voice he said,  “I’m sowwy.”

and I said, “I’m sorry too.  I would never put you in a cage but you must promise never to put ketchup on me and crunch me for a snack.”

“Okay,” he said with a dragon giggle, “but what’s for lunch?”

The Nag and Eragon stories  continued for several years and as I return to the ‘demolation derby’ that is happening at The Pub, I will salvage as many of them as I can.

I thought that Willowdown’s response to this little snippet was particularly noteworthy:

“he likes fish – you must have noticed the fish bones!
ps. forget the swimtrunks
did you never hear of The Boxer Rebellion?”

And Trini’s too:

“I absolutely love this Sarah… even as I write Eragon is next to me blowing tiny wisps of smoke from his nostrils. He’s made friends with my little ceramic frog called Sapito, but I have not introduced him as yet to Marble and Tawny… that I shall have to write about.


I thank you for taking part in my farewell to The Peaceful Pub.