blackberries

august 
when the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, i spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is.  in the dark
creeks that run by there is 
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is 
this happy tongue.
               ~ mary oliver

my mother,
sarah jeannette wilson lingwood,
sallie, to those who truly knew her..
and most everyone did -
was born august 18th, 1916 ~
if she were alive today,
she'd be 104..

she adored blackberries..
picking blackberries,
eating blackberries..
eating more blackberries..

august ~ the month that brings
that dark bounty to our lips,
the dog days nectar we prize so high..

just such a one o so warm, lush summer day..
in august, of course,
sallie was out along the hedge
that trailed our yard -
meditating on the benefits
of her berry-picking..
the highlight of having nothing better to do..
and surely, what would be better than plucking blackberries
off the cranky, brambly, scritchity bushes..?
her straw hat covering her alabaster skin from the sun..
~ never touched by the rays of Ra..
when she took a tumble..a slip and jumble..
her precious bucket of gems cascading hither and yon
and her olde bones jouncing  and bouncing to the ground..
she must have been 90 or thereabouts..

i was not in the neighborhood,
the neighbors were not in the neighborhood..
she was no longer limber and nimble
at getting herself up and at it again..
her hat askew but on her head..
berries near enough to nibble..
"i'll rest a spell till i've had my fill
then muster my strength for uprightness"

if one does not master one's circumstances,
one is bound to be mastered by them..
                        ~ the gentleman in moscow

which was at least an hour or so before i arrived ~
popping out of the car, heading to the house
i hear this cheerfully meek and meager call..
honey!

did someone just say honey?
dianna dear..!
~ for she always and only ever called me dianna ~
where was her voice coming from?
i looked behind me..
to the front porch..
around the corner of the house..
finally tracing the call
to the ditch by the patch..
and there -
so merry and berry filled -
was my mother.

o holy mackeral (andy)!

we scrambled about the brambles
dancing a tango among the tangles
weaving a wound-up upraise until she was on her feet..
and although she was hot..
and although she was blue and black
and bruised and scratched and scraped
and although she asked for water..
she went right back to picking
that beloved juicy fruit of august..

happy birthday, mama!

allow yourself to trust joy and embrace it.
you will find you dance with everything.
                        ~ ralph waldo e.

rockstar and rosie

i ask percy how i should live my life (ten)
                               ~ mary oliver
love, love, love, says percy.
and run as fast as you can
along a shining beach, or the rubble, or the dust.

then, go to sleep.
give up your body heat, your beating heart.
then, trust.


rockstar, it seemed, loved me from the get-go..
rosie did not...


rockstar  (& coco)

a cairn terrier of aristocratic lineage
sired from the kingdom of tharbar!
rocky was a blue ribbon show dog
and shared his birthday with the 14th dalai lama -
he frequently wore a talisman of his holiness on his collar!
i would not be surprised in the least
if he comes back as a beloved holy rinpoche..
a dilgo khyentse, dudjom rinpoche, kalu rinpoche

once i had the great good fortune
to hang with rockstar for a few days..
as might be expected he attended yoga practice
up those 55 or so stairs to a wing and a prayer
where he rested royally as the king of our ballroom yoga
the down dog specialist ~
rocky's savasana was impeccable..

rockstar was 15 years plus when he crossed the rainbow bridge
he is survived by his adopted sister, 10 year olde coco..
also a cairn terrier, who was rescued from a texas
puppy mill by colonel potters cairn rescue..
casey and susan schanen of laconner..


rosie 

smooth coated collie
bouvier
american pit bull
aussie shepard and more
all-american dog!

she was found in a gas station by joAnn
collar almost ingrown - 2 bullets in her..
my best guess is that rosie will return
in her next life as a highly venerated
activist of non-violence and human rights..
a john lewis, martin luther king, rosa parks

i had much more time with rosebud, rozal-berry, rosie -
who would often come into my wee hut
only after i had finished my one bowl lunch bowl
to dishwasher it as clean as a whistle..


* the bowl
         ~ jane hirshfield

if meat is put into the bowl, meat is eaten.

if rice is put into the bowl, it may be cooked.

if a shoe is put into a bowl,
the leather is chewed and chewed over, 
a sentence that cannot be taken in or forgotten.

a day, if a day could feel, must feel like a bowl.
wars, loves, trucks, betrayals, kindness, 
it eats them.

then the next day comes, spotless and hungry.

the bowl cannot be thrown away.
it cannot be broken.

it is calm, uneclipsable, rindless,
and, big though it seems, fits exactly in two hands.

hands with ten fingers, 
fifty four bones,
capacities strange to us almost past measure.
scented -- as the curve of the bowl is --
with cardamom, star anise, long pepper, cinnamon, hyssop.

* i read this poem to rosie out on the north forty
while jen and i were having tea..
rosie looked long and hard at me for a wee while, 
then cocked her head and looked over to jen..
and as jen says, with a look like..
what the farnbang?

i was on the mat one morning for practice
when she nuzzled at my door for treats..
i opened up, she wandered in,
went directly to my mat, sat down and
produced a wuffle-full of formidable interior gas
while looking directly at me..
then promptly went back to the door to be out, out, out!

rocky and rosie, these two national treasures ( & coco )
adored my ziwi peake treats from new zealand..
gluten free!
long, long, long ago, a pet store owner suggested
that i offer this to all and any of the four-leggeds i met ~
in order to seduce from them a handful of fur, a paw or a lick..
i carry a jarful everywhere i go..

these treats were my wooing cooing
awww, c'mon rosie, love me doo-ing
prasad  (sanskrit - clearness, kindness, grace)
and i have to say..
i do think she grew to love me..
for now and then i was licked and kissed
(when john was nowhere in sight..)
her head on my knee.. only now and then..
we did have many thoughtful, philosophical evening strolls,
dark early morning flashlight treks
and silly romps across the homestead yard..

rosie was 14 years plus when she dipped her paws in the river styx
leaving behind her two apple cats - pippin and fuji -
john and joAnn webster of mount vernon,

dear auntie kathleen
and me....


a dog on this master
         ~ billie collins

as young as i look, 
i am growing older faster than he, 
seven to one
is the ratio they tend to say.

whatever the number,
i will pass him one day
and take the lead
the way i do on our walks in the woods.

and if this ever manages
to cross his mind,
it would be the sweetest
shadow i have ever cast on snow or grass.


what a favored breed we are, we humanoids,
to come in proximity to these four-leggeds..
who share with us their integrity, humility, selflessness ~
where we are enriched and entwined
in genuine gladsome fellowship,
our hearts broken wide open with their wisdom
and their unconditional love sweet love..


little soul little stray
little drifter
now where will you stay
all pale and all alone
after the way 
you used to make fun of things
                ~ emperor hadrian
             translated from latin by
                   w. s. merwin