What would you miss the most
if you had to leave this life
the book asked.

I’d miss you
your big brown eyes
your comforting smile
your big heart
your laugh
the tone of your voice
and the way you say, “You know?”
when you’re on an enthusiastic roll
your lively spirit
your yummy omelets with bits of stewed tomatoes
your relationship with the divine
the deepness
of connection we have
our conversations
telling you about my ****** afternoon
and watching you really listen to me
the way you cackle when we watch our favorite comedy
watching you quilt
your touch
your luscious lips
talking to you when we’ve just awakened
and the way your voice is soft and innocent
speaking our gratitude about our lives together
sharing our pain
being able to weep with you
when I am discouraged
or get inspired by something
how your eyes sparkle when I do so
the way you love our cats
caring for you
you caring for me..

Just to list a few

She stands at the wall reflecting
on those who were lost at sea
names and poems and words connecting
her to those poor souls and to me.
Beyond those memorial walls
the mighty Columbia into the Pacific spills
whose depth and wealth have called
so many to sail from Oregon's green hills.
From the safety of their home
they left for the great unknown
where writers and poets travel
every time they pen their spirit in word
to explore what God and life has unraveled
what pain, sorrow and joy have stirred.

Her kindness and her reflection move me to write
my poems of wandering from a safe and tidy home
to regions of imagination’s heights
shadows, sorrows, or oceans’ foam.
She reads and lives life’s poetry
knows its canyons and desert sands
she yearns only to be free
of the noise and anger of badlands
to smell the freshness of a cool and gentle breeze
feel the air brushing her arms
to look up and see the greenness of trees
to be free from crushing and brutal harm.

I see her standing and watch her reflection there
with seafarers, poets and lovers at peace
where God’s creative breath stirs air
and torments, terrors, and quarrels cease.

Author’s Note:  My sister Genie who lives in a large urban area visited Astoria, Oregon where the Columbia river ends in the Pacific Ocean and local citizens have erected a memorial park with several walls of polished black granite that display the names of mariners lost at sea.  There are also sentiments and poems about those lost souls one of which Genie photographed and sent to me.  As I examined the photo I could see her reflection on the wall as kind of a background for the poem.  That photo and my sister who loves nature and trees inspired this writing.  I wish I could post the pic here for you to see why and how it inspired me.  

Below is the untitled poem on the memorial wall photographed by my sister.

Weep not for me that I go to sea.
I shan’t be lonely, though vastness surround me.
The brotherhood of the sea shall be my family.
The kinship of the deep my company.

Weep not for me, nor worry over harm.
My heart stays with you, still and warm.
In sunrise and starlight my hearth and home
I carry you with me wherever I roam.

Weep not for me, whether bad luck or good.
Tossed about in a shell of steel and wood.
An ancient salt sea sails within my blood –
I but follow its tide through ebb and flood.

Weep not for me that I go to sea:
in the limitless ocean I am free.

When I was a young idealistic thinker
I took the bait hook line and sinker
now I’m an old more skeptical believer
but I hope I’m still an open receiver.

dings and whistles from the slot alert him escape -
sit before my image enter its wild wolf canyon escape

winding road in lofty forest landscape
beckon her - leave him for my green escape

triple x signs promise writhing bodies
heavy breathing and dark dank escape

the flute lay still of the silent table sparkling
sweet melodic memories of fingered escape

the frothy surging surf traces the seam of the sea -
bathe in my *****, wrap your self in my fluid escape

locked door soft light from below no sounds
inside creative energy sparks a poetic escape

on the placid lake he casts his hopes
awaits the tug - he and his prey escape

she stands eyes closed, smiling face turned upward
feels the breeze in her hair thanks God for this sweet escape

he runs in the field of goldenrod tears stream
and he screams a desperate entreaty for escape

the sylvan spirits flown from the mountain trees
into the green glen whisper as angels - escape!

The ceiling fan sends its emissary
to breathe upon the candle’s flame
the humble blaze enclosed but free
in the small clear glass vessel.
Silently it wiggles and swirls
asserts its freedom
responds to the breezy envoy
with light.

May I and you, constrained and nourished
within life’s bounds,
embrace freedom’s grace
and respond with light
as we dance with the wind.

Why do I care what you think
or how you feel about what I say or do?
Should I, especially at my age?
But is not interaction itself the mutual influencing of behavior?
So when I speak to you and you to me
we are changing each other
just as the morning breeze bends the young Chinese Tallows
shaking each spring leaf as if to say, “Wake up tree, its time to grow!”
and the Tallow whispers, "Blow winds blow."
Caring just means I am human
and in spite of everything
I am glad about that.

Now they are memories
like silver threads in a gliding tapestry
how wondrous feeling and smelling the sea breeze
the aromas and excitement of the market
the cool magnificence of the mountains
in late autumn on the brink of winter.

These travels and their newness
still dance in my head
but even now my gut clinches
remembering the effort and focus
on preparations each day.

It’s the dark side of the coin
sadly evoking shame
to even mention it
a blotch in the snow
on the marvelous trek north.

But write it I must.
I wonder if it take courage
to be pitiful in public,
but maybe that’s what poets do
undress in front of everyone.
It is the stuff of nightmares
and here I am doing just that.

On the other hand…

How sweet the peace
and routines
back home
sitting calmly writing
looking out on the back yard
the tallow trees coloring
preparing to shed a variegated carpet below.

Maybe it took travel
to help me appreciate
the beauty of
these serene moments
at home.