So often we move, and live in between the beauty of this season,
and the brutality we don’t want to see in our world,
may we learn how to dance, and to love anyway
accepting who we are, choosing to believe
in that hope we know still exists, filled
with dances of light
as we move forward
twirling,
each of us a graceful ballet
of love and new life.
Amen.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Poetry and Image © Copyright, 2022 rivers renewed
Her gentle hand touched his shoulder, and she was surprised by the power of his blood, the thickness of his fur. He had finally found her and fought his way through the Alps, all the way to Spain, enduring the attacks from creatures of the night.
She accepted his repentance on a level most could not comprehend. The lies were over. She could sense so much love now in his heart as her hand went further to his chest.
His wolf beauty nearly took her breath away as her light ignited, healing the wounds. Unconscious he barely knew she was there. Yet in his sleep he felt her presence.
Each wound, each particle of pain was taken. Exhausted when the restoration was done, Emma fell asleep on his massive chest, barely noticing he had shifted back to human.
She tucked in her wings, sighing in her sleep contented.
Barcelona had been very, very good to them.
Writing and Image Copyright © 2021, 2022 rivers renewed
I’d rather have a cup of coffee with a transgender woman…. than with any extremist on the right, most likely she won’t even own a gun let alone an AR15….. she hates violence of any type,
and since she studies history, we could talk about the constitution…. “assault rifles are not in there…” she continues, “do you realize how long it takes to reload a musket?”
She’s getting her PhD next year, but she tears up, reaches for a tissue from her purse because children aren’t being taught about the pain of racism, “slavery really did happen…. we need to acknowledge our pain, so we can heal”…. I shake my head yes,
when I mention the radical left, she laughs saying, “I’m more of a John McCain myself…..you see how people assume?” …. She mentions the only radicals she knows are in a musty old basement on the east side of Brooklyn, university students writing their manifesto….. “by the way, they have no guns,” she quickly adds,
“I think people just want Grandma to have her electricity on, to have heat in the winter, and some decent food to eat…. instead of dog food out of a can…. is that so terrible?” No not at all, not even one bit, “that’s not radical…. that’s being human,” I add. “Exactly!” she says.
Yes, I’m sure I could have an amazing conversation with a transgender woman….. but not with an extremist, from the right.
What time does Starbucks close?
Writing and Image Copyright © 2022 rivers renewed
The French cuisine was exquisite along the border. Emma reached for her steak knife, cutting deeply
into the honey glazed chicken, as she was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight in a quiet corner of the café. The meal reminded her of a certain general who always wanted her, honey glazed
The plan worked.
show ‘em a little leg, have him caught in a web of a beautiful seduction, and before he could be her champion… she called forth the wolves,
he learned his deadly mistake as he quivered on the marble steps. She had towered over him
another Nazi leader decimated,
eliminated,
then fertilizing the moss covered soil that would one day carry Allied tanks.
Emma poured herself another glass of wine, smiling sardonically, looking at her reflection in the shine of her steak knife. Then she cut deeply again into the honey glazed chicken, while a wolf howled in the distance.
She would never be the victim of anyone.
It was 1941. Or was it?
Writing and Image © Copyright 2022 rivers renewed
Autumn’s frost deepening the crimson of maple leaves, yet
I wonder
of the poet’s heart,
are we only placed here to renew, clearly
we have a voice
as with summer crickets singing
their sweet songs,
yet locusts clattering of who knows what, droning
until summer’s ear no longer listens.
So instead of singing sweetly or droning endlessly
I write simply,
will we survive until next autumn?
I wonder, and an equation is formed like this:
CONSPIRACY THEORIES = HATE = VIOLENCE AND CRUELTY = FACISM =
DESTRUCTION.
Think it can’t happen in the United States? It already has.
Just ask Paul Pelosi.
VOTE.
Poetry and Image © Copyright, 2022 rivers renewed
P.S. Almost all political hate is from the right. The “both sides” theory is from the right wing attempting to defuse their blame. More than 90% is from Republicans, according to Liz Cheney.
Layer upon layer, each layer
of my unending horizons
washes over me
teaching me that I am more,
so much more
than my struggles
clarity, corrected vision
encouragement even
that yes
I can embrace a sense of hope,
and I have
a future.
By God I do.
Poetry and Image © Copyright, 2022 rivers renewed
I wondered, in this tinge of pink, in this hue of purple
what the poetess would contemplate
in the ocean
seeing, more with the heart
could she hear the music
in the waves?
would whale bones speak to her?
no God would condemn
such a soul that loved the mysteries
the vastness of everything
whose being
was awakened
by the sun.
Note: Dedicated to the memory of the wonderful poetess Mary Oliver.
Mary lived for a time in Massachusetts with her partner Molly Malone Cook. Molly was a photographer and at times took pictures of famous people.
Mary’s poetry speaks to me due to her observations of life and nature, and how she feels about being alive. Currently I’m reading her book Why I Wake Early. It is filled with light, and I always feel lifted when I read her work. I highly recommend it.
Peace.
Poetry, Narrative and Image © Copyright, 2022 rivers renewed
As I write my heart I find,
some poetry still living
as if from a cave, no longer dormant
a summer flower,
never fading, longing
for the sun.
Poetry and Image © Copyright, 2022 rivers renewed
P.S. I will share some poetry for the next couple of weeks.
It was all about God in those days, working those hours
children in the minivan, McDonald’s
we were so young then,
oak trees could still reach up, able to breathe
California was not on fire yet,
and the Earth
had not yet rebelled against humanity’s insanity.
We left our guns at home
rarely concerned about a break-in
and this was all before Fox news was ever invented
and before trans people had to run for their lives,
France they say is still safe,
and we remember, Josephine Baker.
Poetry and Image © Copyright, 2022 rivers renewed
If the spirits of the poets are subject to the poets
then the spirits of wolves are subject to the moon,
and Madrid never gave away any of her treasures
because there were too many vampires
in Belgium,
night clouds cascading
into dark poetry.
It was 1941.
Narrator: Emma wrote these notes on the back of a napkin, while taking the train to Paris.
Writing and Image © Copyright 2022 rivers renewed
Rivers Renewed 