Category: A Poem

Remembering

 


We remember, and the memories float
like clouds that shape themselves
then dissolve into something else.

We remember, and the past comes to life
as if there is no difference.

We remember how the years pile up
like children’s blocks we try so hard
to keep from crashing down.

We remember and at our best embrace
sweet gratitude.

 
Gudrun Mouw (c)
May 9, 2017

A Poem

1.

 

  1. Tuli Fog

 

“Life is Difficult”

M. Scott Peck

 

“That’s swamp fog,” he says, “it collects

in watery crevices

between local hills, especially, after

this wet…wet winter.” I nod, thinking, mysterious,

beautiful and wispy,

 

thinking of someone who said,

I will drain the swamp; instead,

he empowered swamp monsters

to pollute our air,

streams, rivers….

 

2. The Need to Learn

 

Yesterday, I heard the sound

before the sound.

 

I remember Opa, ignoring papers

to Auschwitz, Poland,* was forged

in to a hidden man,

 

a silent man,

shrunken

inside his clothes.

 

I need to learn each day as if new,

so everything humane becomes audible.

 

3. Today’s Mammal

 

“Look,” he says, “back there! The bobcat!” I remember

crying out as the gopher ate my last butterfly plant,

and bobcat came to grab that offender. Now, we wave,

“Hi, friend, good to see you! It’s been a while!”

 

He looks at us over his right shoulder; his tail tilts

left. He almost stops, steps forward at his former speed,

not fast, not slow, but casually, self assured.

We have nothing on our offering plate, today, and he knows it.

 

 

 

*From Ashes Into Light,  explores dealing with fascism

 

 

 

 

 

A Poem

1.
I’m on a mission uphill,
downhill, back and forth,
I refuse to fall into myself,

to sink. Cold
may contract
all it wants.

Breath lifts and lifts,
I raise my face to sun
like a prayer.

2.
In that space between rain
after rain, after rain,
I stand on wet grass,

close my eyes, hear happy birds,
see the play of red and gold
behind lids, radiance.

3.
When anger crosses the street
and makes a sharp left,
I am relieved.

I check the slider and two doors;
one was not locked.

I sit by a west window and enjoy
bright afternoon light
almost warm.

………..
Gudrun Mouw (c)
March 1, 2017

A Poem

To Deer in the Meadow

 

Between rains, you arrive,

heads down, nibbling on the green, green

winter grass. You are not anxious;

you have never heard of politics. You come

and go at will. Only, sometimes, you look up

to see if I will shoo you off my roses

and other delicacies. I have given up on that.

I am leaning into an essential, universal

truth that says we are no different. A cold wind

of bigotry has frightened me and made me hungry

for that abundance of careful management, thoughtful

governing and peace we once enjoyed. So my friends,

my deer neighbors, please, eat your fill.

I wish you well. Love, your chastened human

February 3, 2017

Gudrun Mouw (c)

Gudrun Mouw is the author of From Ashes Into Light a novel on how to recognize fascism

with the telling of three vivid, international stories. Order online or from any local bookstore. 

Description

From Ashes Into Light is the winner of multiple awards including the 2016 International Book Awards in Visionary Fiction and New Age Fiction.

From Ashes into Light is a transpersonal tale of epic tragedy, spirituality, family, and personal redemption. It is told through three distinct voices: the hauntingly tragic story of Ruth, a Jewish adolescent during Kristallnacht in World War II Austria, Saqapaya, a stalwart Native American from coastal California during the time of the Spanish conquest, and Friede Mai.

Friede is born during WW II to a Bavarian soldier and a East-Prussian mother. As those around her struggle with the inevitable chaos and paradox of war, Friede opens her heart to gruesome enemies, at times saving herself and family members from atrocities. With war behind them, the Mai family immigrates to the US, where Friede, her veteran father and ex-refugee mother, struggle with the reverberations of trauma. Friede is unable to find inner freedom until she meets her spiritual guide, a Rabbi, who helps her see that the voices from the past are teachers and the horrors of history are also beacons of light.

Three electric characters weave a narrative of raw consciousness, a moving example of transforming the ripple of suffering through the incredible strength of vulnerability.

A Poem

Books

There are books for which I wait,
perhaps, they’re in the mail, or maybe,
they’ll write themselves straight from
dents in the trail made by dainty deer steps,

or coyote tail waving, or gophers playing
peek a boo, or owls and wet grasses.
May book after book unfold

before my eyes. On a cloud filled afternoon
inside my favorite yellow room,
I read the memory of sun. Outside, a dripping
roof creates puddles I can almost hear.

 
Gudrun Mouw (c)
Jan. 7, 2017

A Poem

1.
Day Off

A day of rest unfolds each breath,
inhabits every room in the house;
walls brighten as the year of challenge
(Gustado, no kitchen and other things)
strolls to an end.

Morning falls silent.
Not quite golden, but a sense of relief
that I do not need
to go anywhere.

Casual wear, warm beverage, breakfast,
what more could this body seek,
suddenly, transparent and floating….
“Want nothing,” my teacher said,
“and you will want for nothing.”

2.
The Mother

Working constantly, she wears
normal exhaustion like a coat,
December’s coat.

Loving constantly, seams burst;
her arms get cold.
Muscles freeze.

Her face carries areas of concern.
She does not dare to step
back.

Now is her salvation, every pain,
every challenge her solution.


3.

I delete myself;
that desire for revenge dissolved,
along with fear, anger and resentment.

A broken heart has its uses;
the frail heart teaches many things. Clouds pressing
down reflect a silver brightness all their own.

 

 

 

(C) Gudrun Mouw

A Poem