A susurrus wind
of chaparral lingers on
after the rain, in the heat of day
behind mountainous clouds
the hissing sun will scarcely fade
until at dusk it finally crawls
and swiftly snakes away.

This desert
with blinding beauty burns
always a season of birds  
before the sun, the grey raining clouds
we traveled miles over hills leading up and outward
with all its budding ways the glowing days of May
fragrant petals faded into summer
scorched our lips, how we slipped
into the ways of fire
our love, only a smouldering pyre.

To all the people in love with the moon,
and to those who love the sound of the rain;
this one's for you:
We're one and the same.

I was watching the moon on a midsummer night. It turned fire red and It gave me a fright.

I was listening to a river in the middle of the winter. It washed up a stump which gave me a splinter.

I could feel the sun on a spring afternoon. I took a deep breath and thought about the moon.

The moon was scary and the moon made me shiver but it didn't inflict pain like the splinter from the river.

I was watching the moon on a midwinter night. A shadow cast across it and disappeared from my sight.

she is seen to appear in moonlit nights
in her bridal dress and sparkling jewelry
though the sparkles may just be fireflies
and her bridal dress a will-o-wisp
silhouetted by the playful moon
smiling in broken ripples on her toe.

she stands on the pond's edge
gazing at the crested sparks of moon
fathoming the depth of the grey slime
where he once reached to lay in peace
and she followed through fireflies and ripples
leaving in the winds her echoes.

white-out-sea-fog
envelopes all
sounds of ghostly
goings on
somewhere out there
along the invisible shore
a man calls to his dog
and seagulls answer
grounded unable to fly

Wooden Bowls and Wooden Spoons
items ***** and mundane
draw me into my shared history
with my foremothers
and theirs before them

The sharing of these simple things
of chopping, stirring, baking
snipping herbs and crafting soup
smoked meat served on wooden platters
such as might have been used
a hundred years ago
or ten thousand -

Wood has served us from the dawn of Humankind
as fuel for the fire
as shelter from the storm
as living trees producing oxygen
as things of beauty and inspiration,
of poignancy and pathos

There is a warmth to wood
absent in gold or sterling
the warmth of life - still with us
and once the meat is gone
the platter will cleanse itself of impurities
with the defenses remaining
from the tree it once was
protecting us yet again
keeping us safe from the dangers
outside of the circle of wood

With wood comes the danger of fire
this danger I accept
and brave the fire I will
to have the wood with me
to walk beneath and smell the perfume of the leaves
to feel them crunch beneath my feet
to see the earthworms retract
as I toe them from the path

I want my life to end
having given more than I have taken
and giving trees brings me joy
and makes the world a better place
a place in which there will never be too few trees
to be able to enjoy the feel
of wooden bowls and wooden spoons
where endless forests and healthy woods
add to this miraculous planet of Life

Cori MacNaughton
Apr 2002

as i drew the curtains
felt a crawl on my hand
that fell on the bed as i ******.

then saw the other of the pair.

i shoved the duo out of the bed
hoping they won't land so far
as to not find again one another.

past my initial reaction
i felt ashamed of the stupid act
and remorse,

for having wasted the time
it took them to be close.

black trees, silent stars
did you see? a meteorite!
life, infinite night