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gaiamouse

art, writing, aikido and the universe

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sources of inspiration

Sonnet to my Cat

Black and white fur, green eyes and pink nose
At the first light he bites bare, tender toes
Pushes coins clinking from drawers to wood floor
I turn over and attempt to ignore.

He pitifully meows when he wants some food;
He’s a little lion with attitude.
If he wants to play he sits by his toy
I fling it around and he leaps for joy.

He sits on the window watching the birds
He calls to them but they only make turds.
He crouches and jumps to catch flying bugs
Tortures and tears them apart on my rugs.

Black and white fur, green eyes, and pink nose
On my computer he curls in repose.

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Spider

My fierce friend

Dangerous hunter

That fly better look around the bend

Or he’ll be torn asunder.

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Day Opens Up

Work is over

and day opens

even though it is dusk,

red and purple in the sky.

I return home

to light

and warmth.

 

I wait for my love

in silence,

the porch light on,

cat across my lap,

the night traveling through time.

 

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Dear Laura

Dear Laura

I thought of a poem

to write because

it’s a lovely rain

splashing off 95

making the trees

extra special green

like I could lick them

and they’d taste of spring

and wild animals

as I try to escape

this life of work and laundry.

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Grace

Placid waves

wash warm

Over toes, knees,

belly to breasts.

Drink in sun.

Float

cotton-candy clouds

framing

rose,

lemon,

sapphire

sky.

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Mongolian Desert Sunrise

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sun rises
slowly.
at first
sky’s merely a
lighter blue,
stars fade
as lemon and pale tangerine
glow on the horizon.
camels
softly call,
sounding
like
intermittent
distant motorcycles.
dark outlines change
to
pale peach-ochre land
studded with
quartz and granite and
chocolate rocky outcrops.
stunted and uneven
grass glows
viridian tipped
with silver-gold
seed kernels
and sheath.

6/27/17, revised 9/25/18

Valley of Mist

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Mist wafts,
gently kisses
the contoured banks
of Patapsco River.
Cloaks tree tops
after days
and weeks of rain
wrapped in beauty
that,
despite traffic,
licks the leaves
wet
with promise.

First Husband

What is there to say?

The last time

we met on the street

you showed surprise my hair

had turned gray,

although you were kind enough

to quickly hide  it.

 

Our greeting was too brief;

you were still angry,

I had so many regrets.

 

I was 24 years old,

a topless dancer on Walker Street.

I wanted to perform with Martha Graham.

Instead of telling you I was a student,

I told you my dream.

You tipped generously

and asked for a private dance.

I wore my red coat to your loft

and fell in bed

after you rubbed my back.

 

I remember tripping in

kaleidoscope colors of

sea and fish and coral rocks

as we made love

still wet from the Caribbean sea.

 

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Mongolia

The world is

a 360 degree mandala,

surrounded by mountains,

rivers cutting valleys,

Human pathways

and animal tracks

leading me

across this broad plain.

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