Mare

“Astronomy for the use of schools and academies.” Joseph A. Gillett (1882)

Oceanus Procellarum

His eyes the hue of all Earth’s oceans tossed
In tumult (spume, spray) churn infinitely
Her heart, the oceans of the moon, ensconced
In basalt magma mares laid anciently
He senses love and feels it coursing through
Her ever-present depth, the seat of grief
Conditions both are now accustomed to
By life’s relentless quest to find relief
Yet, love and laughter fill their atmosphere
A world where they alone can live and be
It saves them from an epoch of disaster–
A home, a space, a place—this you and me
New woven in this moment learning how
Their love gives import to the here and now

Sunset over Utah Lake. (February 2025)

Sea of Scorpio

Darling, I haven’t yet told you
How beautiful your eyes are
Like the ocean’s depth, a sea
Moved by primordial currents, dark,
Yes, below the surface, but there
Beautiful, almost infinitesimal
Flecks of ochre, golden troves,
In the rippling rich blue that
Remind me of the entire universe
Contained in that chasm, which
Is to say soul, kelp ribbons
Amber stones, acorn barnacles,
Brittle stars brought to surface by
Maelstrom. Sign that all the
Depths you’ve fathomed where
You learned through excruciating
Joy and wracking gladness, an
Abyss rife with life and pain,
Eternal you, there laid bare
Inside your beautiful eyes

Sunrise over Timpanogos. (February 2025)

Mare

Oceans
Lakes
Basalt Planes
Pulled
Constantly
Moon’s
Gravity
Attraction

Heavenly
Bodies
Flow
Churn
Forever in
Blue and
Green
Earth

Ancient
Mare
Haunt
Remembering
Seas
Exist in
Every
Universe

Moonset. Full moon. (February 2025).

Gold

Sunset. November. Image, my own.

Beethoven Era

Can you imagine?
Deafness where once was joyous
Sound
Blindness where once filtrations of color-filled light
Ricocheted
Can you imagine?
Losing everything?
If you are human, the guess is, yes
But why must pain catalyze all our understanding? Is it
Truly our only teacher? Isn’t the promise of
Death
Enough to cause us to cling to love, to
Life, to now, maybe not. So maybe we go deaf, blind,
Senseless
Into that good night, into the dark, waiting for
The dawn with breath so small we barely live, sore
Respiration
Reaction, all part of this existence when what we
Thought we wanted most is gone, dematerialized where
Reality is echoed and
Chambered
Oh heart, please, live, please drink the night and day as
A cup of bitter sweetness, lasting but a blink
A piano hammer in the abyss, hammer to string, string
bing, bing, ba-bing, go, boogie,
Be

Gold Nike Shoes. Oakland Museum of California. Image, my own.

Andante

It will never do to keep running
Into yourself if you can’t look up,
Ponder the path of the stars in
The night sky, gaze with longing
And new eyes, on the moon with
Rapture, take in the horizon each
Day and walk into a new lifetime

Light Bulb(s). Image, my own.

Honey

Honey, laughter and green curry are all the #soulfood
I need the joy of bright kaffir lime leaves charged into garlic
and simmered over vegetables, a meal to carry us
through the ages, a gale of fascist hail and bull shit, the
storm of the century is upon us, and all we can do is cook,
sing, and watch the moon as it rises high in the night,
silent observer of her earthly neighbors what a perplexity
what a tragedy, only for a moment, all mixed with joy and
delight, how will we last, how will we survive the fight
join it, gear up, only history knows on this very first calm
snowy night. We hunker in, we knit, we resist like life
depends on it because it does, resistance can be small
nearly silent until the way is clear and that same moon
swims overhead as the path is lit in the quiet dark

Moon. Image, my own.

Orb

In reality
In the body
Black and gray
White and blue
softest aura
Hazing purple
Bold broad
Moon the
Clouds opaled
All around
Stars and sky
Dappled through
and Through
Lord, Bless
Gratitude for
Ohs and glitters
Heavens and Earth
The glory of it
All that lone
Full Moon

Gold. Leaves. Fall. Trees. Image, my own.

Jack Johnson

Happy Day, my friends. We’re getting on toward the weekend. Thank you for reading, sharing, and general love for poetry. Even my poetry. 😉 XX, M

Just want to ask anyone who reads this post to kiss Jack Johnson for me if you see him. Oh, and invite him, Jack Johnson, to come and play at my son’s 16th birthday!

Jack, from a Mother,
with love

Sometimes,
you have to write
love poems to people
you may never meet.
Here is mine:
Jack,
We, my people and I,
Have listened to you,
Jack,
their whole lives.
I have to say ‘their’
whole lives because I
found you on a foggy
day in Anchorage,
Alaska. Bubbly Toes
and all. A CD player
in the white honda
accord. I was 19.
When they, my boys,
were small
and still afraid of Mike
Wazowski. You know,
Mike, he’s scary.
He scares children.
On purpose. One eye.
My boys understood
exactly what you
were saying. It
Is. Completely.
Utterly. Better.
When we are
together, Jack.
I don’t mean you
and I, or you and me,
but me and them, Jack
You sang it best.
And you turned
our whole world
Upside Down for
the better. In fact,
that is exactly what
We’ve done. My boys
and I, we’ve tried
to share the love
We’ve found with
everyone. And,
you know, I think
it is working.
With love, M

One Little Fisherman. San Francisco Bay, Crown Beach Tidal Zone. Image, my own.

Ocean in the Bay

there is a time that is tattooed
in my memory, it will never be extracted
We were on Crown Beach, in the San
Francisco Bay, and somehow,
All of Us– Mothers and children,

Grandmothers, mothers and
daughters, sons, and cousins, and
grandchildren, we swam into the
tide. We rocked in the waves; we
laughed out loud with joy in the
shift of the spray, mousse, and suds

god, that memory will sustain
me until the end of my days
an inaudible melody of the past
so whole, so common,
so elemental,
so joy

More Half Moon. September 2024. Image, my own.

Oh, she knew

Oh, she knew
every step in this
dance

She walked in strength,
threaded through the lecterns to
shake

his hand, who would
never have given Her the same grace and
humanity

Of course, she knew,
to live your life in the skin of a
woman

You’d have to know,
what a task, what a challenge, what a
gift

Beach Walkers. Oregon Coast. Image, my own.

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

Let it Be

Let it overwhelm you
the unwashed windows
and dishes and uncut grass

Let it be heavy, the
loneliness, the longing, the
unfilled space

Let it be exhausting, to be with
others and support them when you
can barely support yourself

Let it be Wednesdays of barely
making it. Fridays of surrender, and Sundays of
wishing you could have just one more.

Let it be weary when you wish you had the
energy to help one more human with
their diction and syntax

Let it be a complete let-down to
go to the grocery store at 9 p.m. under the too-green
neon lights, the alien otherworld before you sleep

Let it be 6 a.m. and you simply cannot
want for the slow coffee of Saturdays the physical newspaper,
black ink and real paper in your hands

Let it be too much to drink at happy hour on a Thursday
when you know you’ll pay for it
the very next day, poor move

Let it be hiding from virtual bread crumbs that somehow
you created and left for yourself, unanswered
texts and plans gone cold

Lithograph 19. Paul Klee.

Evolve

Scrub Oak in Transition, September 2024. Image, my own.

Autumn Equinox

there is this balance,
this even-keeled consciousness,
an equanimity of the breath
in the air this time of year,
the night and the day coming
into equilibrium, living and dying
reflected in the vegetation,
the need for both action and
rest, moving and pause, all
things in their time and space

Rubber Rabbitbrush, September 2024. Image, my own.

Evolve
-for the elders who’ve shone
a light along the way

I’ve been watching the course
of Life more closely as
I’ve neared ‘halfway’

I’m totally clear, I may die tomorrow
of a fungal infection brought
on by an errant hang nail

This year, I started to see
and understand some parts
about this journey called life,

Facets that had never been
open to me before,
that had never been revealed

In youth. I began to witness
the power of personal
human evolution.

I’m sure I’ve seen it displayed
previously, but now, it seemed
closer, more raw and real

The strength, the peace,
the solidarity, and grounding
that some humans

Offer themselves and others
when they choose to live
with their arms stretched

Up to the divine, when
they’re moving forward in
purpose while trusting the

Siren song of the universe
to guide them to good ends,
and over hard roads, too, don’t

Mistake. I don’t think that
living this evolution is simple
in any way. To allow the

Lessons that life has offered
you to be inculcated into
your core, this isn’t a flat

Path, rather peaks and valleys, I see
my mother who pursues her
passions like watercolor and arts

Grant writing without
prompting or celebration,
and steadily understands

what she loves, what she
holds dear and then lifts
up those elements of her

Life, tending to her own
garden of desire, she invests
her best self in her and us.

All I’m saying is that for a
very long time I felt completely
perplexed with the recipe of this

thing I was witnessing–
evolution– my septuagenarian
friends, were practicing this

Art of living with purpose, too,
with love and with a fair dose
of spicy ironic interjection

Swimming every day,
hiking all over the hills
and valleys of our home

They were another of my
sign-posts. And my uncle,
who spoke the eulogy at

My aunt’s celebration of
life, a woman who also
lived and gave her life over to joy,

He has also chosen
to live in the miracle of the
era of man, to let life

Be the ocean, the teacher, and
he became the student,
he’s allowed those learnings

To become part of him
in the way he loves his
children, the way he acts

In community, the way he carries
the knowing that life will always be
a question, a universal

Query that we can only answer
by living more truly, more soundly,
more surely in verity

To that Flame that was lit within
us at our birth, the miracle of
existence realized, we evolve

Lights. September 2024. Image, my own.

On Being

be who you are and
who you can be,
and meet those two
verities inside yourself
with loving kindness
and compassion and
let it be enough to
experience the joy
of living as you see fit
as you love yourself

Andrew Wyeth Grasses, September, 2024. Image, my own.

Steady in the Fall

the sun and moon
move into equilibrium
waxing crescent to quarter

peloton of geese ride high in
the wide blue sky, calling
and answering back, headed south

flowers still bloom, delicate violet
saturated yellow, vibrant magenta,
as grass fades, sepia to umber

fully bronze dragon fly the size of
a silver dollar flickers past in the sun
chased by a saxe blue fly the same size

grasshoppers bunch on mustard rabbitbrush
in the sway of breeze next to dark-chocolate
velvet cattails, stalks steeped in pond-water

cooper’s hawk cries from the brush
high and free like an alter ego
finding the next rodent in the undergrowth

the air takes on the rush and pulse
of crisp wind as the sun’s rays angle
longer, cooling field, flower, and fly

Paul Klee, Night Flowers.

New Moon

Full Moon, February 23, 2024. Ryan Moat.

With a new moon and the beautiful transition to autumn upon us, some poems for your week, month, moment. XX, Megan

September

draughts of cool morning air
carried on dry-sighing leaves
respirate, whispering: rest, stay,
plan, see, manifest, begin, in every
breath the order and
organization of Earth
are upon us as gardens bear
fruit, hay is left to cure,
baled in sun waning
warmly in late afternoon
fields of golden bristle,
summer to fall, denouement
to eight months of moons
new and full and new again
transitions cyclical, circling
in the darkening sky
just after the last gasp
of cerise light crests over the
western mountains at sunset
wind chimes low and resonant
toning oooooh-aaaaah, bracing
rush and sweep of air transmits
that ocher timbre of September

Wasatch Mountains, September 2024. Image, my own.

Temple
for Danny and Kat, with love, M

Come into the temple
of my love for
I am sure about
its beauty and its
strength

Come into the temple
of my love for strength
can also mean softness,
stillness, peaceful respite,
home

I’ve learned that lives
change so quickly, so
surely, that surety is
difficult to process, to
prepare

But one thing I am
sure of is that as
the sun sets and the
stars rise, I will love
you

Through the night,
and as the sun rises
on the next morn, in
communion with the coming
day

In shelter of our shared
humanity, loyalty,
commitment, love, and
serenity we weather
storms

Of life together,
centered as we enter
into the temple
of our
love

Book Room, August 2024. Image, my own.

V Yourself:
Violet and Verstue

vivacious
viridity
verve
visceral
vital
vulnerable
voluptās
virtu
verity
volant
vociferous
vehement
violaceous
varsal

Hay Bales and Timpanogos. August 2024. Image, my own.

Let There Be Joy

Let there be joy all
around you

Humming, thrumming
in the air above

Your body, the conduit
from the outside in

That electricity
of savoring the

Small, the ephemeral
first bite of a

Ripe peach the
stream as it licks

And leaps over
each stone, all things

Unabashed and still
known like the

Sun as it dapples
clouds and leaves

Each beam a special
reminder that life and

Love are meant for
you the first kiss

Of a new love fresh
on your lips

Double Rainbow over Strawberry Reservoir. August 2024. Jamie Hagan.