The Marvelous Crumb

Follow Joy. Find Belonging.

Category: Poetry

An imperfect beginning, but a beginning

Protest Faces

We are born wise. We are born complete. – Quote from my Licorice Mint Tea this week.

Three beginnings shape my world this week.
Each glistening with that special radiance a new thing always brings — trepidation, joy, uncertainty, excitement.

Like crossing a threshold

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Spring Arrives, Wish It Didn’t

Spring is here.

You won’t find an exclamation point at the end of that statement on this blog.

I’ve never cared for this slow build toward summer. I contentedly decline Spring’s invitation to enjoy the extended sunshine by doing more. No thanks. While others  are running,  hiking, biking and planting,  I’ll be inside,  wrapped in something warm, writing moody poems, longing for fall. When I do venture out, it will be only to admire precocious neighborhood cats who bask in fabulousness regardless of the season. They are a great comfort.

Fat Spring Cat

Spring Finds

It’s time to come out
From the warm and wet underneath
Where it felt so good to dip my hands
And feet until  all was consumed

The clocks have jumped forth
And now I must wait patiently for the quiet hour
Contend with the day’s fingers stretching
Into my rich worm holes
Illuminating, tickling, overwhelming and leading  to 
Stiff drinks in which swirl the memories of grains and grapefruit peels

Oh, if only to instead lay outstretched
The central figure on a cracked and settled driveway
Paws intermittently spreading, limbs stretching
To amplify the comfort
Confident, full and a little bored
Among all this doing and not doing. -KB

 

The best view

IMG_2268

In Silverlake this weekend we climbed the hills
And looked over the city bathed in rose gold and twinkle
So inviting
Not
The urban tangle
Where a tree’s stillness or shimmy forecasts the weather
sturdy black wires from here to where hold crows caws and
slope down then up through trees making it difficult to tightrope walk
Long honey fingers stretch in at 4:00 p.m.
the same time the man arrives looking for Kimberley
calling out above the soundtrack of Drake, the ice cream man and the every-so-often      ricketing of car over speed bump
This, all of this
laid out from the comfort of the duvet
Remains my favorite scene

The Hand Dance

Hands

4 Women
We stand
Offering our hands
What they hold
And what they long to hold
Affordable housing, real mental health care, reverence for Mother Earth, feelings of  worthiness
This is how we InterPlay

The discovery of a spy

I spot him surveying his territory from a fence post
A misstep, a crunching leaf, and my location is compromised
Green eyes land squarely on mine
A roar, then a leap from his perch
Without pause he makes his way
Carrying, I hear, a weapon of disarmament
A contented hum intensifies as we assess each other
He, my firm legs, warm body ideal for an unabashed howdy-do
Me, his fine orange coat impressively decorated in autumn
An alliance forms with the discovery of the mole hole

Mr. Pumpkin

Nov.3

You grinning imbecile

Don’t you know the candy was collected?
The last candle snuffed?
No more Elsa’s or Vadar’s or Minnie’s will run up your steps
It’s just the regular folk today
Who made you smile, then left you here

Under a November sun

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