a lotta carlotta

Really, really moving, Carlotta. Thank you for sharing them.

All About Me, Me, Me:

#10

September reminds me of Van Gough
Harvest colors and slanting sunlight
Crazy swirling blues and whites
A wind that blows both hot and cold
Upon a cluttered palette

It's not the starry nights, you know
Nor yellow flowers in a vase
It's not Postman Roulin's homely face.
It's the blood red sun in the purple sky
And black crows flying
That reminds me of the Dutchman

[
B]#13[/B]

5:30 a.m.
an early morning riser
on the last day of September
watches from her window
as a white-faced mama possum
and a retinue of near-grown young
hie down the blackberry trail
ahead of coming dawn

silver strands of silence
landscapes in mauve and gray
anchor the arch of stars
that fade out, one by one
as windows in the nearby houses
reflect the rising sun and a golden
aura overwhelms receding night
and splashes light across the lawn


#24
Under the Tomato Bush

In my mother's garden when I was eight
Stretched on my back between the stalks
Hidden below a lattice of translucent leaves
Pendulous red tomatoes brushed my nose.
The smell of the vines and the earth intertwined
With the taste of the fresh plucked fruit
That dribbled over my cheeks, into my ears.
A taste so fine that I ate another and
Watched, through a hole in my bower
As a hawk drew slow circles against the blue


#27
beneath a waxing gibbons

bright ripples on the midnight harbor
a fleet of bobbing mastheads in a line
rhythmic slaps against the pilings
where I walk alone

globe lights pulse across the water
phantom crafts extinguish them from view
the waxing moon is halo-ed
it lights the path for home

[
B]#28[/B]

Driving to the coast
my heart floats when I smell the salt
miles before I crest the ridge
and see the beaches long and bare.
All the sun-worshippers have gone
leaving only hardy souls
bundled against the stinging air
chasing dogs chasing gulls.

I kick off my shoes
and let my feet sink into the cold sand
as I carry my palette and easel
to just the right spot.
I spy a rocky megalith springing
from the gray-green spume
and a tiny sail boat far at sea
almost invisible against the sky

Poised before the crisp white paper
corners lifting gently in the breeze
I pull a wet, blue brush across the page
and sponge a feathered cloud.
Drifting beachcombers crowd around
to watch my art take shape.
Ooh, they trill; though it's not my best.
The work pleases me nevertheless.


#32
My Ghosts

My ghosts are the lost sounds of morning:
The whistling wind in the chimney
The squeaking bedsprings as you rose
The gurgling sound of singing in the shower
The muted buzzing of a razor on your chin
The trilling of the kettle in the kitchen
The purring rumble of the pickup as you drove
Off to work in the predawn cold

My ghosts are the things of memory:
The shingled-sided cottage at the water's edge
The three white birches near the woodpile
Half-raked piles of leaves across the lawn
The clothesline sagging under laundry
The fishing poles against the brown shed wall
The cockeyed wooden porch swing where
I waited for you to come home.


#50
Moonlight Highway

Alone I cruise the highway
Serpentine in moonlit swells
Through black and silent forests
Where midnight creatures dwell

Trees speed by but not the Moon
Suspended in shining space
And newborn stars of splintered ice
Crack open heaven's face

Soft beauty's silence shimmers
For me, alone, to see
The silver road winds on forever
Beyond eternity


#57
Panther Dreams

Last night I dreamed I was a panther,
black as coal, strong as steel,
waking to another jungle day.

The dewdrops glittered
like jewels upon the leaves,
and I moved with silent paws
to the river's edge.

My coming shook the nesting birds.
They rose in a fluttering wave
to perch among the highest branches.

"Caw!" "Caw!" the parrots chimed,
hidden in the tangled depths,
"Sister Panther has awakened.
Give her room."

The jungle silenced.

I smiled, and my watery image
Reflected back with eyes
as blue as the morning sky.
My tongue lapped cool water.

I waded with the easy current,
past trailing vines and floating petals,
past the hushed green banks of trees.
I left them all behind.

Soon the stillness broke.
The noisy chirp and chatter
of the natural jungle rang again.
The danger was forgotten.

When I reached the other shore
I shook a thousand rainbow drops
before I slipped into the underbrush,
and found the well-worn path.

The monkey tree was near.
Raucous monkeys, always out of reach.
With one cool look I sent them
clamoring into the highest branches.

A milk green python, coiled
around a yellow limb,
wisely slithered into dappled foliage
camouflaged until I traveled past

The jungle fears the panther
when she walks her emerald world

I reached a hidden bower and licked
the detritus from my midnight fur
before lying down to dream
I was black-haired woman


#58

I saw the flame-burnished wings
Translucent red when the sun burns through
Soaring over me, adrift upon the sea
A bit of jetsam on the dazzling waves of blue

And the wings of flame throw a shadow
To shield my parched skin from the killing sun
And it sings of another paradise
Where unfettered spirit songs are sung

I release myself and rise with the flame-bird
The span of my feathered wings grows wide
Don't look at the bobbing shell upon the water
Rejoice, and embrace the universe inside


#78

Lost in the thicket
Brambles pluck my clothes
And scratch my skin
As I go
Finger branches catch my hair
Prickly vines entwine me
Uprising roots impede the way
I slow
Mired in ancient soil
Tendrils snare my limbs
Green fingertips sprout
I grow
Captured by the thicket


#79
The Topiary Forest

The snow was lighter than air
When I walked the tumbling veil
Over a crystalline carpet
And down the winding trail

White figures in the darkling forest
Startled me, then became the trees
Hung with bowing arms of snow,
And etched with icy fleece

These prowling monsters
Were only snow-backed shrubs
Shivering on fragile stick legs
With arms like frozen clubs

And the silent silhouettes
Inside the drifting snow
Shaped like topiary phantoms
Where imagination grows


#83

When I was new in another life
I drifted on bark and leaves
Only a speck on the dimpled pond
Billowed along by the breeze
And the warmth of the sun was good
To the sprite who lived in the wood

When I was a giant in other times
And my head topped the tallest trees
I had my pick of the sun-ripened fruit
And the honeycomb made by the bees
The world was easy for giants then
Wandering from forests to fields and fen

When I was a dragon so long ago
My fireworks lit up the skies
And when my shadow fell upon earth
All scattered in frightened surprise
I left the landscape scorched behind me
Let Dragon Slayers try to find me


#87

I dream of other places
I've always hoped to see
Crumpled ruins weathered
Into dusty history
To walk between the runes
Or sail the wine-red sea
Or feel a balmy trade wind
Beneath an island tree
These are dreams I harbor
In the ports of fantasy

Because I have an anchor
I cannot drift away
Tethered in familiar waters
I bob, I twist, I sway
My mind will always wander
But home is where I stay


#94
The Pomegranate Tree

Once, in California, as I was trespassing
Through acres of sun-dried grasses
And groves of Spanish oak
I ventured down a steep embankment
Near a rocky dried creek bed
And came upon a pomegranate tree

I sought some shade beneath the limbs
And a taste of the wild, red fruit
I found a dry-as-dust encampment
An ancient coffee pot, rusted through
A tin fork, handmade, a piece of leather shoe
And a long, brown bone

I drew my finger down its pitted surface
Wondering how it came to be there
Beneath a tree not native to that clime
I imagined long ago, a poignant scenario
A hobo carried a pomegranate in his bundle
He fell asleep forever at the river's edge

"It is the bone of a cow," my brother avowed
And of course, it might be true
But I wondered then, and wonder still -
Which came first, the bone
or the pomegranate tree?


#96
The Late, Unlamented, Year
8:49 AM

As I sit here within smelling distance of the Pacific Ocean
It dawns on me that the new year has started elsewhere in the world
In Sydney, Tokyo and Kuala Lumpur the little rockets have come and gone
While I sit here waiting to shake the dust from my dancing shoes

I anticipate, I wait for this arbitrary gate to open and free me from an old, dead year
A year of procrastination, drudgery, duty and dreams; a year of standing still
And I hear the music playing, I hear the sirens calling, I feel the fever growing
The carnival is waiting just over the hill; thank you God for another year

Just Thoughts:

#1

Yesterday
The gray washed sky
Feathered into the ridges and valleys
Foreshadowing autumn
With cold embraces

Today
The late summer warmth
Fell over the frosted forests
And mountain ranges
Everything changes
Everything changes


#15

Mother's getting older
It's hard to face, it's hard to see.
When did her voice become so feeble
And her cane rest at her knee?
When did she start demurring
To her daughter's primacy?


This is a cruel mystery:
That someone as strong as she
So independent all her life
Abides now quite dependently
Because she endured
Because she is old


#23

Hey,
Your thoughts, not mine, that's what I want to hear
Your art, your books, your music; our differences are clear
I know my own perspective; I walk with it each day
Yet, here I am, I'm not immune to things you have to say

So,
I'm listening, I'm learning, for there's one true thing I know
That comfortable sameness is not the way to grow
I'll give the view from my world; you do the same for me
Patterns overlapping show true diversity


#36
This Bone-House

Inside this house of bone lives
One with fetters to the mossy earth
And nothing more than spirit to release it
Like the birds, it wills to fly, but higher

Crack the bone-cage open, soar
Look back and finally see the pattern
Of all the hours, days and minutes spent
Imprisoned, bound by all things clay

Waiting for the day when these invisible
Bars release the flapping thing inside
And the bone-house crumbles into dust
And scatters in the wind.


#42

oh, gray, gray dawn
autumn's knights have fled
the foggy breath of winter's dragon
precedes its heavy tread


#47

On a blustery day like this
Leafless trunks bend back and snap
Loose-limbed branches at the sky
As yesterday's dead plumage lashes by
I wonder once again, what reason
Does each season fall upon the last?
Time speeding by hasn't moved at all
Spring into summer, summer to fall
Dreary leaves falling, falling down
Dead on the dun-colored ground


#52
Flawed By Design#54

I wish I had a dog
A wet-nosed, big-pawed friend
Who only lives to please me
From end to wagging end

I used to have a dog
Who kept me warm at night
And only smelled a little bit
And wasn't very bright

He didn't care if I was plain
Or lazy, or unhinged
He didn't care if I had germs
Or went out on a binge

I wish I had a dog
Like the one I had before
To rest his head upon my knee
And greet me at the door


#55

Mars in the morning
A red winking eye
Close enough, almost, to pluck
From the star-embedded sky
Impertinently watching Earth
An unapologetic spy
Until its orb begins to slip
Ahead of dawning day


#60
Galleria

Landscape
Patchwork hills of rolling pastures
Where spotted cattle clusters graze
And horses race with wild manes flowing
Turning only when the split rail ends
Hillside tractors package grain
And leave hay boxes in the rain

Still Life
Chrysanthemums of burnished copper
Dusky plum and shades of red
Watery stems in crystal sparkle
Reflecting glints from the southern sun
Fallen petals of varying hue
Form a pattern on cerulean blue

Portrait
A face, composed in phantom time
Unseeing eyes gaze at unseen sights
Corn silk hair falls over too-pink shoulders
Blue lined fingers hold an unopened book
A textured image in a paisley shawl
Eternally wondering on the wall


#62
Haiku Times Two

Every morning
Dawn's pink tongue licks away the night
From the eastern sky


Three ash trees fell down
The empty place where they stood
Makes my green heart mourn



#82

What are simple things?
Do we ever really listen to our own hearts?
Some say the simple things are free
And yet they willingly will part
With fortunes in the quest for simple things.

There is no simple life
Lives are lived in layers of rich complexity
A casual walk through Nature's paths
Might be another person's drudgery
That moment's sweetness hidden and not sought

So we yearn, and yearn
To find the straight path through the maze
Or, one true answer for our angst
Perhaps we should embrace our complicated days
And wait for simple answers after death



#95

My brother
Has gray in his beard and in his ponytail
He has the same friends he had in high school
Sometimes he works, when his back's not bad
He lives with me

My brother
Has an enviable music collection -The Grateful Dead,
Richard Thompson, Bob Dylan and so much more
He has three guitars, but he doesn't have a dresser
He doesn't have a car

My brother
Has a beer belly and fights a nicotine addiction
He reads everything and leaves books in the bathroom
He only cooks spaghetti and Ramen soup
Dogs and children love him.

Whew! That's a lotta carlotta!
I must rest my eyes.

That is a lil book, but I love it.

Well worth the read. Thanks for sharing it.

Re: a lotta carlotta




Very honest and moving work carlotta - sorry i didn't see it before.
The above written feels very close to my own heart - although until today I never really understood why a person can feel lonely after loss - but not want to see anyone else.
The last five lines are, I think, what makes grief hard to bare.

All the best,

Endy

Thanks for your words, Endymion. I appreciate it.

carlotta