I feel you on my face
I taste you on the wind
I labor while I long for you
My most beloved friend

So long since you've been gone
Yet feel I the pain as much
And counting days as happenstance
Await your spirit touch

My fear profound yet plain
That I will never know
A love the like I had with you
The will to let you go

Cori MacNaughton
2Feb2005

If I only had a daughter
I would pass along to her
All the things I've learned in life
The things that are and those that were

I would try to smooth her way
When everything was getting rough
Still, to have me for her mother
Might be handicap enough

1999

Have you ever done something
and then could not believe
it could possibly have been you?

Have you ever said something
and then cringed when you heard it
exiting your mouth?

That would be me, sometimes . . .

Or, while mentally calculating
your accumulating grocery bill,
have you run into a friend
only to completely lose count?

I have stood in front of the door to my home
trying to lock or unlock the door
using the keyless entry fob from my car.

I have done this --- more than once.

I have, months after getting rid of that car,
searched for its keyless entry fob
on my keychain.

I have spent hours and days
searching for glasses on my head,
for keys that I was holding,
for the purse on my shoulder,
and have managed to miss them completely.

I have called information for a number,
written it down,
and then had to call them back
because I misplaced the number before I could redial the phone.

I have neglected friends and family,
duties and responsibilities,
not from lack of love
or sound intention,
but merely by allowing myself to be distracted.

If I had followed up
on what I knew at seventeen
whales, sharks, mankind ---
might already be saved.

Who knows what my focused mind might have accomplished?

But instead
I put myself to sleep
because the real world
was far too much to bear,
and living in books and dreams
so very much safer
than all the dysfunction awaiting outside.

I met my soulmate at twenty
and then left him behind
marrying one man,
and then another,
who never got me -
instead of the one and only man who truly did.

There's a reason that God protects children and Fools.
There's a purity of heart,
an innocence of spirit,
and . . . occasional lapses in intellect.

So, for all of the lessons I've learned and I've lost,
There are worse things than being a Fool.

Which I remind myself again
as I accidentally call my own cell phone
and then hang up my land line to answer the call.

In parting, I offer what I finally learned, which is

This above all:
To thine own Fool be true.

Cori MacNaughton
6Apr2005

I have a poem, a wandering wraith
to capture you I tried
in putting pen to paper
of my feelings when you died

But feelings are elusive things
especially when acute
and I have felt my words betray
my heart and leave it mute

Someday the poem may finished be
and then it will be known
of gifts you oft conferred to me
of love not said, but shown

But still my mind my heart betrays
eschews my fervent call
your dwelling place my heart these days
as tears unbidden fall

28 Dec 2002

Your world is going perfectly
Your life is as you want it
You are healthy and in good spirits
You have a beautiful life, spouse, family -

You are an alternative physician
making a real difference -
helping people,
healing their bodies,
eschewing petrochemical prescription drugs,
using ancient knowledge to make them well -  
making their lives better.

And then you die.

Three doctors,
all “alternative,”
all targeted by the FDA
and other government entities . . .
all dead within two weeks.

Coincidence?

If you think so,
I have half a bridge
across Tampa Bay
to sell you.

If "increasing knowledge increases sorrow,"
depression culminates from seeing clearly.

The choice to exercise free will
regardless of the consequences

In the night
I watch the candle flame
cast its flickering glow
through its own transluscence

A tiny flame
of light in the dark
of warmth in the cold
It dances to the breeze of the ceiling fan
as if fanning a spark of belief in my soul

A tiny flame
to show the way
to point the proper path

We need no raging fire to light the way
A tiny flame is enough

In no way am I ready
for the bluster of winter
the deep freeze
and the ceasing of all things
green and growing

In no way am I prepared
for endless days of cold
the chill inside my house
and the greyness of the skies
for months on end

In no way am I ready
and yet
undaunted in the end
I am unwilling
to give up

In the wee hours
as the crickets chirp
and frogs and owls converse
a forest symphony
outside my window

I am reminded why I came here
not so long ago
for the glory of the Milky Way
the Moon and all the stars

as far away from light pollution
as we could have come
for the river
for the woods
for the quiet

And on those days when I would trade
our winters for a song
I think of all the years it took
to bring me to this place

I walk the woods in gratitude
for all our many gifts
and think
perhaps
the owls feel the same

Irony; moving
Sun Belt woman to Zone 6b
decrying each freeze

I see them in the evening
echolocate after gnats
as they dart and dive for micro-prey
our night sky is alive with bats.

They clear away mosquitoes
never seeming to alight
and make it safer here below
these tireless workers of the night

I am fearful for their future
as we use our toxic sprays
for as we spray mosquitoes
we poison those who call them prey

Still the acrobatics thrill me
in their nightly hunt for gnats
and I hope for many years to come
our nights will be alive with bats

Cori MacNaughton
(July/Aug?) 1999

If only I knew
now, as much as I did when
I was seventeen

It's amazing how baby animals
renew our zest for life

Leaping light
Flashing fire
One moment he is gone
But to return
Suspended
Hanging
Then with a splash
Delightful play
He dives
And disappears
And we are left alone
And longing

1982

Love, alone,
can inspire us
into our own best selves

Marriage, once I came
to know you well, ceased to be
a step to avoid

I,
deep in sublime meditation,
become One with the Universe

Memories
can keep you hostage
to inaccurate and painful illusion

Memories
can erase the past
and bring dead to life

A century-long killing spree
(Still pales next to Religion)

Gene splicing recombinant E. coli:
What could possibly go wrong?

The winding drive along the sea
I took so many times
to steal away from anarchy
to pacify my mind

The city sirens come undone
before the ocean spray
then down the hill to U.S. 1
and thus begins the day

The Pier receding to the South
Will Rogers to the North
Topanga is the turn we seek
as we are going forth

The starkness of the hills and pines
the rivulet below
as Westward the Pacific shines
beneath the morning glow

The twists and turns I still recall
though roads are better now
no unpaved sections left at all
nor farmland for a cow

No Austin Mini Union Jack
the landmarks too have changed
and I so lost since coming back
I almost feel deranged

The Health Food Store with hitching post
the horses canter past
the countryside I love the most
and visit now at last

But on Mulholland Highway there
surprises lie in wait
there’s razor wire on the fence
and horses at the gate

As giant dishes aiming deep
into a mountain wall
so Orwell’s promise do we keep
applying it to all

But I remember still the day
the hillside turned to fire
the way to turn had burned away
the sky was black with ire

And in a wide spot in the road
in reverence did we stand
a fox, a hare, my dog and I
all watched the burning land

Can nothing make us feel as small
as fire pure and cruel?
to know it as a cunning foe -
to know we’re naught but fuel

But through the smoke a fire truck
led us down on Kanan Dume
toward the cleaner seaward air
away from certain doom

And all at once the trial was o'er
for we had reached the sea
as once Carrillo had before
and now my dog and me

We pass the house of river stone
Moonshadow’s Restaurant
and even Tidepool Gallery
for years my favorite haunt

And back to Santa Monica
on PCH we drive
admiring still the beauty
yet more thankful we’re alive

The winding drive along the sea
I took so many times
to steal away from anarchy
to pacify my mind

The man who makes me laugh,
love, think, consider, strive

Here is the inimitable Jeff Buckley's poem, "My New Year's Eve Prayer," which he performed live at Sin-é in Manhattan, NYC, in 1996.


"You, my love, are allowed to forget
about the Christmas you just spent stressed out in your parents' house.

You, my love, are allowed to shed the weight
of all the years before,
like bad disco clothes.
Save them for a night of dancing ****** with your lover.

You, my love, are allowed to let yourself drown
every night in bottomless wild and naked symbolic dreams.

You, my love, in sleep can unlock your youth
and your most terrifying magic;
and dreaming is for the courageous.

You, my love, are allowed to grab my guitar
and sing me idiot love songs
if you've lost your ability to speak.
Keep it down to two minutes.

You, my love, are allowed to rot and to die
and to live again,
more alive and incandescent than before.

You, my love, are allowed to beat the **** out of your television,
choke it's thoughts and corrupt its mind.
****! ****! ****! **** the *******
before the song of zombiefied pain
and panic and malaise
and it's narrow right-winged vision
and it's cheap commercial gang ****
becomes the white noise of the world.

Turn about is fair play.

You, my love, are allowed to forgive and love your television.

You, my love, are allowed to speak in kisses
to those around you
and those up in heaven.

You, my love, are allowed to show your babies
how to dance full bodied,
starry eyed, audacious, supernatural and glorified.

You, my love, are allowed to **** in every single endeavor.

You, my love, are allowed to be soaked like a lovers' blanket
in the New York summertime
with the wonder of your own special gift.

You, my love, are allowed to receive praise.

You, my love, are allowed to have time.

You, my love, are allowed to understand.

You, my love, are allowed to love.

Woman, disobey,
when little men believe;

You, my love, are Rebellion."

My newest buddy
baby goat Vortex
climbs my leg and
wants to be scratched

His brother Hope
bewildered
is seemingly convinced
that I will eat him where he stands

I tell them often
I love you both
and if it's up to me
you will both die here
of ripe old age

Got the New Job Blues
find the politics absurd
but like the paycheck

New Technology
seldom the panacea
its users had wished

All I ever learned
of nobility I learned from
my first Newfoundland

No More But Skin and Fur and Bones
The sea lion’s eyes were glazed in pain
The morning after the storm alone
I sit with him in drizzling rain

Our rocky shore, its raging depths
Provide the stark reminder
For tiny souls twixt life and death
That death is oft the kinder

Cori MacNaughton
23Mar2000

Oh Lord, Take my Potential
And do with it what you will
For I squander opportunity
And fear I always will

I seek to love and honor you
And some days find my way
Yet the next will find me wanting
As myself do I betray

I seek to know and understand
The purpose I am serving
The thing that I most fear
Is that you find me undeserving

So I study and I scramble
For the tiniest attainment
And take solace in the truth
I am providing entertainment

1999

How can four computers
fail in the same way
simultaneously?

We returned from our trip
to our rabbit's sad loss

Cool water
Once fresh and clean
Reflecting the skies
In azure imitation
A complement to Nature
In her splendour

The image fades
Distorts
With the spread
Of an oily film
And the pond
Now tinted brown
With algae and silt
Hints of Death
No longer giving Life
But taking
That which is
As blood gone stale

Cori MacNaughton
22 August 1983.

Morning is lovely and cool
puppy is scratching himself
kitties await being fed
goats in their stall want to browse
chickens are seeking new ground
doves cooing soft in their cage
I want to go back to bed.

Sky Afire

It started as a tendril snaked
And quickly caught my eye
That beckoned me to come partake
The bright majestic sky

From turquoise into indigo
And all the shades between
With molten lava spreading slow
As far as could be seen

With orange and corals juxtaposed
Against the deeper blues
And silhouetted trees in pose
Amid the great bamboos

The clouds were piled in tumbling flow
And darkened as they fell
To charcoal black, blood red aglow
At meeting with the swell

And as the skyflow met the sea
And seemed to melt within
The sea took on its vibrancy
And flow began again

And as the skyflood reached its peak
Engulfing and aflame
It seemed directly to retreat
As quickly as it came

The ashen grey began above
And slowly spread below
Till all was left in pumice drifts
Within its final glow

And now the show has ended
With the sky once more a sky
And the clouds and sea appended
For a witness such as I

3 Oct 2000

When I lived on Venice Beach
my nickname was “Smiley”
because I smiled at everyone

When I lived in Luxembourg
I was not understood
because I smiled at everyone

When I was a child
my mother made a game of smiling
and when she saw someone unhappy
on the street or in their car
she would smile at them
until they finally smiled back
and only rarely did her efforts fail

I have been considered shallow
by those who never knew me
because I smile at everyone

but those people have no clue
how much inner strength
those smiles represent

Spring
that lovely season of planting
and praying they'll grow

Strange Territory
the wilds of the human mind
unfathomable

Why won’t you just die?
It’s past time you know
To give up the ghost and move on
The strength of your spirit
The fight for each breath
Inspiring and wrenching as one

Why won’t you give up
Your struggle to live?
It’s hard to both love you and see
The length you will go to
To take one more breath
Prolonging your own misery

Why don’t you just die?
You’ve nothing to fear
An end to your pain is at hand
Your time here has ended
A door has been closed
But another awaits your command.

20Dec2000

Happy Father's Day to my dad, Horace Edwin Donaldson, known to one and all as Eddie, who was born 26 July 1917, and died 21 Dec 2000.  
I love you and miss you.

Summer is waning,
and I'm just now ready for spring.

Waves unfurled like the backs of whales
Rolling in a tempestuous sea
With cresting foam like the heads of sails
Straining to break away free

The clouds bow down to touch the waves
The waves ****** high above
The wind whips up a howling dance
As sea and sky make love

Cori MacNaughton
25Mar2000

Gorgeous,
verdant,
with more waterfalls
than any other state

Well I've gone and done it
I've gone and been true to myself
stood up for what I believe
and said so out loud
to the one most important to me
consequences be ******.

I'm sorry you could not do the same
afraid of what the fallout might be
yet in seeing your struggles
I knew what I could not be
and it made me stronger.

You made me stronger
in your choice to never
stamp your weaknesses upon me
in encouraging my choices
and questioning my doubts
and in showing me
that I had your respect.

Thank you Momma.
I love you and miss you.

The Celtic Cross
Around my neck is often seen
An ancient sign
Of where I go and, too, have been

The cross more ancient
Than the Christ oft signified
A mere expedient
To Rome when Jesus died

Although I wear it in His name it further goes
To those whom Hadrian so feared he built his wall

The land where rivals are the thistle and the rose
Where the blood of all my forbears once did fall

As their mingling souls in Heaven thence arose
The stones within the mist cast silent pall

Cori MacNaughton
8Mar99

Exhausted
old
he exerts himself
no longer

Nothing left
no energy to expend
for simple
useless
survival

He does not eat
or sleep
but calmly closes his eyes
dying
at last
drifting with the tide
and
returns once more
to land

Seeking the words with which to convey
all of things that I've wanted to say
high on a mountain or out on the beach
wrestling as they remain just out of reach

It was after we passed Moby’s Dock
that Ebony met her first thresher shark

He was five feet long or so
two feet shark, three feet tail,
and had just been pulled from the surf
to be proudly displayed
by the fisherman who had caught him

Ebony stood transfixed
her every muscle poised
her feathered tail twitched
as she leaned closer to inspect
and then recoiled from this cold-blooded beauty
still dressed in fleetingly iridescent
blues and greens and purples -

As the sun’s fading beams highlighted
the magnificence of this dying shark
I mourned his loss that night.

The noise and tourists
in the Pier’s arcades and bumper cars
did not detract from the peacefulness
of the Pacific in her chaos
for this was August
and they would soon go home

I watched a distant storm at sea
flashing fire against the deepening twilight
I stood, and Ebony,
gazing at the flashes of lightning

My hand felt her softness and warmth
as I stroked the waves of her black fur
relishing the cool wind on my face
listening to the rigging
of the boats resting at anchor off the Pier

Thinking about thresher sharks
Willing them away
from this place with its fishermen
and cold, baited hooks

Cori MacNaughton
13 Sept 2000

From the very first
she gently lifts him
pushes him to breathe
and so the learning starts

He is so clumsy
as she teaches him to swim
she laughs a gentle mother’s laugh
if inwardly

No arms to discipline or hug
yet what a heart to give
to her one small and only son
just twelve feet long at birth

One distant day he’ll near her length
at forty-five or so
and shall remain
the most important thing
to her
upon this Earth

She had been at sea for three decades
her first voyage at age eighteen
a week after her marriage
in the year of our Lord 1883

She married a sailing man
captain of his own ship
handsome, bearded and tall
a fine commander of his men
as they searched the sea for whales

She loved life at sea
and could imagine no other
the motion of the ship
the sounds of the rigging and the sails
the quiet companionship
with her husband every evening

She was beloved by her husband’s men
whom she mothered well
having had no sons of her own
but nurtured and healed
patched and sewed
bloodied and broken hearts and men

Often she came out on deck
for she knew when they would find them
and though she was in the stern
and the lookout was high in the crow's nest
she saw many whales they missed

She thrilled each time she saw them
awed by their sheer size
marveling at their strength
humbled by their beauty
careful to hide her feelings

Sometimes she could feel
when a whale would blow
and she would call to the first mate
so the men looked at her
as the whale passed unseen

Most times she silently prayed
willing the lookout to search
the wrong spot of ocean
and felt again the pang
of disloyalty to her husband
for he commanded a whaling ship

But then the lookout's call came
"Thar she blows!"
and the men sprang to action
taking after the whale in longboats
while she escaped below

She had seen before the killing
she would not watch again
too many whales succumbed
to exploding harpoons
and a death horrifyingly cruel

And she wondered
what would happen
if only whales could scream . . .