Saturday, March 22, 2014


I have a new/old working  electric stove as of Friday morning


As the anxiety of the weeks' waiting dissipated, I grew relaxed enough for a lovely long nap.  I dreamed of a controlled fire one year in Massachusetts.

Burning Dead Wood
Rising, renewed, I spent a few slow hours on clean up of all the things I'd removed, while snacking on the foods I'd prepared to get me through the siege.
I am amazed at the luxury I'd become used to.
How sharp the turn of mood when it was gone.  
 Easy to see now that wall needs washing.
My kitchen world is settling back into itself.


This second shift will halt and drift
until in May it bursts all barriers with it's gaudy gift.

One Years' New England Storm

Another Years' Blue Sky
Geese At Harlem Meer
In Yet Another Year

There was a golden sunset then

Forth Into View, Random Warriors
by Pattiann Rogers
The slender checkered beetle, pale
earth brown, sallies forth from among
the bark canals of the oak, the eaten mar
of the woody gall left dying.  Her spiny
yellow hairs sparkle in the summer sun.

Lacewings, locust, and laurel loosen
cocoon, carapace, and bud, shimmy out
and pause, airing wings expanding like rumpled
petals, spreading petals opening like slatted
wings, as they pass into the new world.

Toe by toe the children of the sun depart
from the east out of living fire to become
spikes, glumes, anthers, sheaves, broad
montane grassland, flowing steppe,
savannah, veld, wild horse pampas.

The fiddler crab with his royal blue
spot emerges beside the great charging
dawn of the morning sea, scuttles sideways
out of the drenched sands and savory
mud bank of the tidal marsh.

Now echoes in cougar lairs, snake crannies,
coon burrows, the hillside den of gray fox.
Moonrat's  nose appears from the crevice
in the bluff, sniffing fish and wormy mud.
Turtle's beak shows at shell's edge first.
Claws and feet extend directly.
The smooth, golden-green swale
of the trout swivels upward, breaks
through the boundaries of sky
with its mouth wide open gulping day.

After parting the flap, after gripping
the knob, after lifting the latch, after kicking
the door until the hinges crack and fail
and the hindrance falls, then the jaunt,
the saunter, the sprint, the lope, the totter,
ramble and meander, the traipse and slink,
the shamble, shuffle, gallop and glide,
the push against the beyond begins.

~Back To The Present~
Three flights up in the Manhattan Pre-war Building I've lived in since 1969, currently enjoying Saturdays' broadcast of 'A Prarie Home Companion' with a tune from The Battlefield Band while supper readies itself inside the stove.



Mo Crow said...

I love your building! can't imagine living in the same place for all those years... igot to 45 about 5 houses ago when I could still remember things like that at the end of last century (I love saying that!)

grace Forrest~Maestas said...


Pattiann !!!!!!!

you quote her beautiful MIND here and i missed it by a day...

oh...oh....THANK YOU for putting
her words here. She is a QUEEN
of the Universe of word image