Daddy's Girl

my father was a gardener
from dairy farm days
with July winters
and 4 am day breaks.
he left
eventually (too charming for a barn)
to find the Pacific Northwest,
U.S. Navy,
and Steve McQueen's Hollywood.

my upstate New York
girlhood summers were
spent skipping tombstones,
(Jacob Mueller 1885)
chasing my daddy's grampa's farmhouse ghost,
hooking worms for a catfish lake,
and catching a baby skunk
we'd smuggle across state lines
in a dog carrier.
we brushed nanny goats like ponies,
fed baby pigs with blue bottles,
(like my 'baby alive' doll)
watched our lap dog chase two rabbits round the yard.
we napped on a porch together -
my love-strangle hold
on a white cat
like an angel.

when a snake showed up in my father's garden one summer
the neighbors came to investigate.
the infestation! the rats!
they would take over backyards,
eat tomatoes, and bite children
to the beat of St.Vitus' dance.
so my daddy drove it to a pasture
in our Ford station wagon-
freedom in a wooden crate
and bicentennial blanket.
.

last night
i dreamt i took a nap in an old farm's pasture-
a moonlit bed of snakes.
they rolled round my ankles,
ran over my elbows and wrists like bracelets,
through my dark tangled hair like dancing ringlets.
snakes like otters -
bounding through reeds
in under lily pads-
slinkies we rolled down stairways,
kittens tumbling in haystacks.

i stood in the grass
watched them pulse beside me.
a silent beat on some snake frequency
lullaby rattle and roll,
like the hands of a river tumble rocks to a bed,
to a child's pocket,
to her father's dresser,
and into your shoe.

dance with me.
my father was a charmer
and i am not afraid.

B.VanSchaick

Clifton Hill

Whispered from the
Deepest corner
Past a willow tree

"Let it go, but write it out and do sit here with me."

She is

Ann Yearsley

"The Bristol Poetess"

She is

Gently tapping my hand,
My phantom friend.

Before she died, she says
She went around the bend.

five twenty five

this morning's waking thought
was dying is like sleeping -
never waking to remember dreaming.
it's not unlike living
without dreaming
waking to find you were a dream.

i passed you on the road three days ago -
remembered
the last time i touched you-
how you smelled of beer and exhaustion.
i felt alive.

OLD SCHOOL MAGIC

for Matt ,with love and friendship

North, South, East and West! Let no runner have his rest!
I call ye knights of earth and fire!
I call ye gods of sea and sky!
Prepare the ground for magic high
And while he’s sleeping, guard him nigh.
And gentle hands relieve his heart -
Untie the binding grief hath brought.
Let him know that she is near -
Her love enfold him – ease his fear.
Now strike while I have lit this flame! Take sorrow back from whence it came!
Let this light be: Imagination, sunlight, starlight
A shimmering chandelier,
A Ducati, Italian leather boots,
A Valentino suit and the streets of Rome to ride on,
An abandoned theatre (up to code,)
An infinite ink well and boundless prose,
Paint, canvas and brushes,
Fireworks and electricity,
A long lost treasure from beneath the sea,
A summer home in the Hamptons,
A ticket around the world,
A motor boat, a jet ski, a gondola,
A VIP poker game in Monte Carlo,
Fresh flowers delivered every day,
The vegetable garden of his dreams,
A hot air balloon,
No calorie desserts,
A tavern filled with tacos, whiskey, wine and poetry,
A cloak of invisibility,
His own private concert series,
A Tony, Oscar, a smattering of Emmys,
A time machine with tinted windows,
A private ATM,
An office in the Eiffel Tower in spring,
A magic sword,
A very soft bed,
His lover’s hand and heart,
Their health,
And, The Book of Answers.
May the tiniest moments of his delight catch fire -
Set forth a roving rampant blaze of joy and laughter!
And by this light, go now, take flight!
Words become light everlasting!

reward

for all memories
from before I met you
when I was lost
when your hand extended
and the longest night's shadows
lifted when we met
to finally kiss you
on a floor when Frank sang
under the luck of a full moon
and roll into surprise -
for works of art
for wonder and beauty
for singing excitement
for bodies
for hay
for the roll and rolling in hay
for the full unfolding of day
on your brow
my face in your side
for gratitude
past tense.
why gone?
where to?
so long
and locked away -
let me love you
my love
is useless on this pillow

shortest distance

a cartograper makes maps.
a cartographer surveys.
making maps makes sense.

it's knowing
every pebble row
odd corner
under overpass
that is worthless.
that is because
roads dry up
rivers dead-end
railways get recycled.

the crow flies
shortest distance
A to B.

make me
make me make a map -
make a map that makes any sense.
i must make way
outta this.
this here
incessant spiral -
this last dip -


the ever loving
deepest.