A Poem – Poetry Divine

Published September 22, 2020 by Gudrun

Santa Barbara View

On the tile roof, a seagull stands strong
against the rising down-coast wind.
Sun shines sideways through
the pepper tree, whose shadows
dance wildly inside the parked car, where I wait
during this pandemic for take out food,
as wind moves everything it can.
I have been waiting, quietly, since
we hid from the Gestapo,
though I didn’t know what I was waiting for.
And now, I wait again in this current era
of dictators and would-be dictators
as that strong bird still stands
against a down-coast gale.

September 19, 2020

A Poem

2020 election Poetry quarantine poetry

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Published April 21, 2020 by Gudrun

April 2020 Poem

So sorry readers, I rushed to post
forgetting that: “A poem is never finished,
only abandoned.”
—Gudrun

…

FROZEN SOULS – Updated

1
At 5:00 pm
guards would start collecting women;
children looked through bombed out eaves
to see stars, sometimes the moon.
Once there was a different kind of light—
something conscious.
A child inhaled the essence
like food she was not getting.

2
Rachel stretches. This 70 years old memory,
she thinks, and now another dangerous era.
The pandemic needs drastic measures.
And the horse porch hearth glows;
new beams mix with old.
We watch home movies.
The hitching post stands idle.

…

April, 2020

A Poem

April Poem Poetry quarantine poetry

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Published October 15, 2019 by Gudrun

October poem

October

1)
I look at the month
of forgiveness—when rains
come down, when the land expands
with relief, and I forgive myself
for every complaint against heat,

though I still save dish water
for the courtyard
as a hot, dry climate
and fading sun
slowly relent.

2)
I do not forget:
The Drought Years
That Year of Fighting Bucks
Coyote Years
The Year of Fawns

That Skunk Family Year
Mountain Lion Years
Bobcat Years

and Years When I Don’t Know
What to Expect.

October 6, 2019
Gudrun Mouw (c)

A Poem

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Published August 14, 2019 by Gudrun

“August represents pure love,” my teacher’s teacher said;
then, why does hatred pull hatred to the mark?
After two national massacres, today looks
unreal. Hardly a bloom in the courtyard under cold fog
followed by wind over brown, dead grass.

I finish reading another bad book, sip lemon water.
Two friends connect by phone; I am willing to help.
We look for ways to heal, to engage, to find once again
joy hiding among the decades.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
August 7, 2019

A Poem

current events Mass Shooting Poem Poetry

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Published June 25, 2019 by Gudrun