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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781466961302 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Trafford Publishing |
| Publication date: | 10/03/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 309 KB |
Read an Excerpt
Between
By Harold E. Lannom
Trafford Publishing
Copyright © 2012 Harold E. LannomAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4669-6129-6
Chapter One
Nature Between
I want to live in the between
Where there is movement
Where the unknown rules
Between
Earth and sky
Morning and evening
Sunshine and shadow
Between
Sleeping and waking
Up and down
Left and right
Between
Father and son
Man and woman
Birth and death
Between
Planting and harvest
Seen and unseen
Love and hate
I want to live in the between
Where the unexpected and unknown
Flow easily as a meandering river
Between the know-alls and know-nothings
Enchanted Garden
Hush! Don't tell.
There are fairies in your garden.
Little people are shy,
Yet I heard them in the trees
And I saw them dance
On the water as it falls.
Some find their way
Into your house
When you are all alone
To dance a merry jig
And sing a bawdy song.
You may not know
That they are there,
But when you sing and dance
Look around and see them
Dancing on the stairs.
They love to play tricks
And when you are not looking
Take a trinket or treasure
To enjoy at their leisure
At their home in the grotto.
You can not see them
Unless they choose
To take a mortal form,
Yet you will know they are there
When they tangle up your hair
The little ones have blest you
I can tell it by your laughter
And the sweetness of your song.
They are present in the love you share
With all who come along.
Mist
Above this elemental earth
a spirit
a mist
a cloud
pure air
flowing
over all
creating
color and
softness
gray stone
turned to
crystals
brown earth
turned to
emerald
mist spirit
penetrate
my flesh
with visions
music
smiles
Winter's Hold
Trees keep a lively rhythm outside my window,
as March tries to hurry the arrival of spring.
Winter does not surrender easily as
frost on roofs keep me aware.
Yet I watch for signs of what is to come,
the plum tree's pink coat,
the pussy willow buds,
the yellow green of alder leaves.
The movement of tree branches
and the water filled sky
do not give me any encouragement
Snowberries
Winter in her dark coat
of leafless sticks
woven together with fir,
pine, balsam and
clinging moss,
surprises the eye with
round buttons of
pure white
drops of snow,
even here
where there is
none.
Morning
It is freezing this morning
before dawn and
the moon is a snowball
against the black sky.
The nocturnals are returning
to dens and nests
to get warm again,
while we of the day
welcome this last moment
of quiet before the rattle
of pans and dishes
breaks the quiet
as we prepare
to break the fast.
This short treasured moment
fills me with peace and hope.
Ground-hog Day
One fleeting moment
wrapped in the
wool of winter
we stand
observing the
ritual of divination
where winter hangs
on the thread
of a shadow.
But look around
my fellow frozen,
can you not see
you also cast
a shadow.
The sun is still alive
and slowly
will return to
warm the earth.
The hog says
winter is not over
but the sun is returning.
The frozen buds
begin to swell with
golden nectar and
the scent of
early spring
to gladden the heart.
So now
within me
stirs a smile,
a laugh,
a desire to
come out and play.
Thanks for the rain.
The delivery system
Could use a little work.
Thunder was OK but,
The lightening
Over the top.
Next time in summer
When clouds pile up
Like the foam on my pint,
Just drop the wet stuff.
Leave out the theatrics.
While we're at it,
One hundred degrees
Is more than just hot.
When you used mud on
The sixth day, you didn't
Use any asbestos.
Out side of that,
The strawberries were good
And we really liked the peaches.
You could hold back a little
On the zucchini
But, thanks for the rain.
Autumn
Out of the humus of the dark earth
Rises a stench of decaying life
Untended poorly nourished
Under the sheltering firs
Now as days become shorter
And the sun hides behind clouds
The first rain arrives to release
A dormant mushroom
Continuing the cycle of life
Autumn lessons are dark and subtle
While spring sings in high pitch
Altos proclaim the glory of fall
The tempo slows and volume is low
For contrast there is thunder and lightning
And a small mushroom message
Water Mother
On my annual visit to the shore
Wrapped in my own smallness
I see the stalwart rocks
The crashing waves
Wind driven
Spray tipped
Life creating water
From your womb we came
Pushed on the land by your
Life giving surge
Though the struggle has been hard
Comfort and strength you still provide
Sloshing water from shore to shore
Reforming the land
Today you are dressed well with
White lace fringe on the
Hem of your dark garment
Adorned by cormorants
While gulls bow at your feet
Siuslaw
It is Sunday and sitting by the window
watching the river flowing out to sea
the day's entertainment appears
gulls gracefully landing on narrow pilings
graceful in flight gentle in landing
ducks diving their buffleheads
deep in search of food
while the kingfisher wags his head
looking for the unsuspecting fish.
My eyes are drawn upward
to the dunes on the other side
rising straight from the water's edge
in smooth flowing lines
big rolling hills of sand
ocean delivered
transported by the winds of summer
occasional outcropping of rock
and in the distance a few trees survive
Monday and the actors have not returned
to encore their Sunday performance
was it just for me they danced upon the water
and pirouetted on the pilings
maybe they don't perform on Mondays
reserving their best for Sunday or
perhaps they have moved on to
another venue their manager has arranged.
Fred
Out the front door down the steps
to get the morning paper
greeted by cawcawcawcaw
(good morning)
I respond, "Good morning to you too Fred,"
(our name for him)
Hopping down another branch
from up on the very top
where Fred likes to sit,
I ask, "How was your night?"
kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
(The kids kept me up pushing and shoving.
I had to go sit in anther tree.")
Hopping down another branch or two
"Fred I am sorry, and today could you
not sit on the branch over my car"
cawcacaca (ha, ha, ha)
Coming closer he lands lightly on the ground.
I ask, "What is it like to be a crow?"
Caw (what)
Jumps up to a low branch
then up one or two more.
Caw (what)
I guess Fred is not a philosophical crow.
From up in the higher branches comes the
kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
(I've been trying to tell you,
I am not a crow, I am a raven)
caw caw ca ca kkkkkkkkkkkkkk
(ha ha ha, and you can quoth me on that.)
A Sisters' Morning
The dark cloud heavy with water
drops itself slowly over the mountaintop
lowering into the valleys
spilling its contents on peaks
and clear blue water of
lakes and rivers below.
A rainbow begins to form
then fades before its work is done
leaving imagination to fill in colors.
The rising sun
lands on the pasture
turning it to gold.
I have found the end of the rainbow.
I look again and it is gone,
a field of green remains.
Sunrise Facing West
I get up in the dark and find my way to the kitchen.
When the coffee is finished and
the paper retrieved from the porch,
cup in hand, I climb the stairs to my room, where
I will read,
pray, and
meditate.
I reach out to bless the day, then close my eyes.
When I open them again, I am startled by the light.
The sun has risen above the horizon
and the light from the risen sun
has broken through in brilliant gold.
Is it I only who hears the
Trumpet blast and
The cymbal crash accompanied
By the whole company of brass.
I am not alone for
The welcoming trees reach higher
And sway with the music
Dancing in the warm breeze.
Brighter and brighter
The landscape appears
As the gold intensifies and the music swells.
I am present at the opening day of creation.
Late Summer
I guess you could call this late summer
It isn't fall for weeks yet
The flowers that have survived
Are of a darker hue
The pinks, soft yellows, light blues,
Have gone now replaced by
Golden yellow, burnt orange,
Flaming red, and deep purple
The sweet peas replaced by trumpet vines
Pale poppies by splendid sunflowers
Delicate delphiniums by flaming asters.
The days are shorter and the nights colder
Yet the days are hot when the sun
Burns through the early morning fog
This is a between season
Often overlooked as we
Remember summer days or
Anticipate the more spectacular autumn
The betweens of life are hard to see
Overshadowed by spectacular events
Chapter Two
Spirit
On the Day I Was Born
On the day I was born
God was on vacation
Possibly Prince Edward Island
Enjoying a church supper
That magnificent tradition
Of lobster and mussels
With lots of butter
And strawberry shortcake
For heaveners vacation there
A guardian angel ushered me into this life
Unfortunately he drinks at times
But he loves music and people
He must have had a few that night
He took me to the wrong house
They were not expecting an arrival
Someday he and I will
Vacation on the island
And eat lobster and mussels
With lots of butter
And strawberry shortcake
Presence
mysterious mystical
reality beyond flesh
being unbound
by time or place
entering soul like
into experience
changing lives
for those
who know,
leave us not alone
Faces
With the first rays of sunlight
my heart cries out to thee,
creator of the moon and stars,
let me see thee in all I meet.
At the nadir of the sun's course
let not my thirst for mercies
distract from the chance to see
thy face in all I meet.
When day is done, my work complete,
may I not in my tiredness fail
to thank thee for all the faces
that gave me a vision of thee.
Affirmations
An ordinary day
The sun was late
The air was cool
September is here
A neighbor says,
"I missed you at the market"
A rise in the corner of my mouth
Says "thank you"
An old friend writes
"I thought of you today
Hope all is well"
My moist eyes soften
Affirmations of caring
In and ordinary day
Turn my thoughts
To sunlight
A granddaughter's
"I love you, papa"
Is the noontime
Of this ordinary day.
Waiting
Into the dark night
No moon or stars
Clouds hanging low
And a cold north wind
A light flickers
As a fire burns
Where shepherds
Are trying to stay warm
On the hillside
In the valley
The darkness is not
Like any other winter night
Somewhere out there
Comes the word
Comes the baby
Comes the Christ
At midnight
A bell is heard
And then far away
The sound of many bells
Christ is born
Stones In a Pool
The Priest rises to offer prayers for the church, the environment, national leaders, the sick and those who have died, including the men and women killed in Iraq.
the names fall like
stones in a pool of water
stone after stone after stone
each ripple going out
reminds me of a parent, child,
wife, lover, friend
whose cries and tears I hear
and I want to cry out
stop the reading
stop the killing
another name
another stone
another ripple
and I know it will go on
as it has for years without end
Lord, have mercy
Dust
"Thou art dust,"
The priest intones
With blackened thumb
He marks me
With the ashes
From the palms we waived
Shouting
"Hosanna"
Hurrah for the new hero
The new leader
We will follow
Until your dustness shows
Remember now our cheers
For champions
And leaders
Whose dust we didn't see
Remember now
The doped athlete
The adulterous politician
The pedophile priest
Still we look for
One not made of dust
Whose crown will not
Tarnish and rust
Remember, oh man
Thou art dust
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Between by Harold E. Lannom Copyright © 2012 by Harold E. Lannom. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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