Fast Day 326 September 7 2013 Autumn Birthdays

 

Christina's Autumn World

Autumn Birthdays

Sweet scarlet and golden tanager;
blush of the peach,
red of the apple;
lover of little birds.

You who make the daylight appear,
of golden dawn,
of red sunset,
beautiful day walker!

Water-flowing-around-canoe;
phragmite islands,
glist’ning paddles,
beautiful morn sailor!

Sweet breeze of the on-shore wind;
hair of cumulus,
breath of cirrus,
veil of our protection!


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Fast Day 317 July 6 2013 Birth Day Sticks

Birth Day Sticks

 

Wind and Trees

Standing in the streets of wind and forest,

awed by the tombs of the Persian Cyrus

and Artaxerxes, son of Amestris,

I throw sticks into the air

and watch them fall

as random wikiups,

naked of animal hides

or birch bark cloth:

the black divining sticks,

the ebon pilgrims of the cloud-walks;

fall to the earth as a fishing net

and I will be a fisherman.

 Martyrs' Bay

North of Kintyre, o’er the grey hills of Mull,

and above the waters of Martyr’s Bay,

below St. Columba’s monasteries,

I throw sticks into the air

and watch them fall

as Viking battle ships

covered with colorful shields

and spiked with swords:

to plunder rivers and treasuries;

they fall to earth as a sailing boat

and I will be a wanderer.

Our fate and fortunes are sticks into the air,

where we build our palisades and castles

in the clouds of our dynamos of wooded dream.

 Wikiup Under Melancholia

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notes

Life may seem random as sticks thrown into the air, but there may be a hidden pattern. We see futures in the patterns of the falling sticks.

I dreamed of Cyrus and his death and cypresses blown in the wind.

Someone mentioned Paul McCartney's birthday was July 5, so I began to think of Mull of Kintyre, which combined with St. Columba on the Island of Mull... which is not too far away, and which was invested by the Viking marauders.

My sticks fell down, and then recently they were thrown up again. Hey!
Like the residue of Mowing Madness landscapers!
John Deere industrial mowers and the clash of engines...

Fast Day 266 July 5 2012 {I Did Not Forget...}

 Summer Holidays and Birthdays and Special Places

I Did Not Forget...

I did not forget your birthday, for I chose
to miss the feast of Punctuality,
an experiment in time to see
if anything would change -
but nothing did:
the world’s unchanging rumble, bouncing
off the subway tiles within my ears…
tedious eternity…

Dances and songs are born,
dances and songs die away;
Beauty will not last forever -
come along and see the stars!
Hey! Come along and dance!

Come here, my mother! Come here, my mother!
We are walking here; we are running here;
my younger brother and sister,
my younger brother and sister,
are crying now:
they think that they have lost their way:
sing them your intoxicating song,
a jewel from your Cretan crown!

This is the Father! This is the Father!
He comes in his nonchalant, ambling way,
looking very much preoccupied
by job reports and economic
information:
he will disguise his smile from us
until the very last minute, when
he scatters us with laughter!

Dances and songs are born,
dances and songs die away;
Beauty will not last forever -
come along and see the stars!
Hey! Come along and dance!

Older Brother and Sister coming along,
lightly bearing their wounds from casinos
of Afghanistan and of Iraq,
they keep their own private counsels
of their pain;
yet they come for the holiday;
they will dance, and they will sing
and will become nightingales!

Great-great-grandparents all across the street,
waiting for the infinite light to change,
straining to see their progeny:
is that my great-great-grandson there?!
great-granddaughter?
Waving to us like a great sea;
discarding death like a used Dixie cup,
they come to our birthday dance!

Dances and songs are born,
dances and songs die away;
Beauty will not last forever -
come along and see the stars!
Hey! Come along and dance!

--

Fast Day 213 July 2 2011 {My New Pickup Truck}

My New Pickup Truck

My brother has a pickup truck,

and I will have one, too;

I will take my reel lawnmower

with a wooden handle

to the casa of my girl friend

to  cut her long, long grass;

afterwards we will both relax

and drink some black coffee;

she may smoke a  long charuto…

that girl is very much wi-fi.

I will take my new picape

and go to my parents’

to fix the roof of Friday’s storm

when fell their neighbor’s tree:

to tie the wood up in bundles

and set it out for trash;

maybe they could visit downtown

and I could drive them there;

then I will drink only iced tea

and radio my filial love.

My dog goes in the new pickup

sitting in the truck bed

with the Dee Zee silver tool chest

right next to the lawnmower;

I shall drive to my best friend’s house

to go fishing today:

there’s Corona in the cooler

and my feet in the sun:

and I may smoke a cigarro

that I have rolled myself.

--

notes:

Late posting since I was at my parents' where there is no internet, etc.
Written for a birthday in July.

casa:  house

picape:  pickup

charuto:  cigar

cigarro:  cigarette

Dee Zee:  brand of tool box

Fast Day 109 July 3 2009 {Birthday: Going 60}

Birthday: Going 60

When you're going sixty, I go shotgun.
Sixty is a parcel of years.
It's no time
for training wheels...
you drop those off
just like you drop
the sexy lies,
the videotapes,
of God
of country
of what is good and

what is bad.
I'll go shotgun if there ain't no potholes.
Going sixty once
Jack Wilson hit
a pothole big as a canyon:
when Stan look
he sees an empty hole;
when I look
I see king sun, queen moon -
so,
maybe going sixty ain't so bad -
if you see the potholes comin' !
I'll ride shotgun, but
I'm no hood ornament!
no streamline, quicksilver babe!
no indian chief,
no german runes!
naked as a motorcycle,
streaking as the wind,
going sixty ain't so bad
when you litter the road

with your past sins:
I drop 'em like dead cigarette butts
and watch 'em tumble in the
rear view mirror !
Going sixty ain't so bad
Did I say I'll ride shotgun?