j.lewis Verse-Virtual 2016 April

April 2016

I am a poet, musician, and nurse practitioner. My poetry and music reflect the difficulty and joy of human interactions, drawing inspiration from life experiences as well as imagination. When I am not writing, composing, or diagnosing, I love going out on my kayak, exploring and photographing the waterways near my home in California.

say when

the terseness of my male perspective
spills into my verse
and it never occurs to me
to start a poem with a chapter heading
as though what i need to say
might take a second page
or more

and too
i never plan a poem
or look ahead
as a gardener might
turning in fall a flower bed
to hold selected plantings
in the spring

my thoughts fly best unfettered
and i like the extemporaneous freedom
of a new piece
sparked by some turn of phrase
rising like a pheasant
from a quiet autumn field
a flurry of ideas and images
anxious to be away
quick
away

as suddenly over as begun
my uncharted flight
finds a quiet ending
and i listen
to the fading echo
of whatever mental noise
set me on wing
content to know
i can fly

morning

every day
more than forty years
i awoke sooner or later
dragged body and mind
complaining into action
repetitious action
moving through swathes
of sunshine and shadow
seeing them both
as shades of darkness

love was undefined, untouchable
because i was undefined, untouchable
guarding with a vicious tongue
my ugly ego

today, surrounded by echoes
of poems sung by another in my voice
sunrise, not slow and majestic
but sudden and electric
flooded my darkest corners
burned down doors
and there
in the middle of my soul
the ugly ego
i had so long sheltered
stood tall
naked
beautiful
unashamed

morning
as the song asserts
has broken

kokopelli

a soft, seductive flute-song
in the evening desert breeze
announces kokopelli to the pueblo
bowing and smiling at every woman and girl
who stares in anxious wonder at his humped back
is that a sack of treasures
or trinkets
or babies to place at their feet
young women melt into dark doorways
lest he shame them with this gift

the piper slyly ignores them for now
plenty of time to open his pack
after the fire-lit eating and drinking
when men are full and falling down stupid
when women have pulled back, worrying
what tricks he has carried here tonight

he will gently place a bundle
at one door and another, pausing
to bless each new mother with a melody
she will keep and learn to sing
to bring this child home, should he stray

kokopelli stands alone
fire-thrown shadow on the red sandstone cliff
fingering a newly hollowed bone
the deepest mellow notes calling aged men
to lay down their heavy loads
slip their parchment skins
the final molt of old lizards
and fade into the dying fire's smoke