Night Chorus
Village dogs out in the dark—
first they howl, and then they bark.
A filling moon spills from a cloud.
That’s when the dogs become so loud.
Each of my dogs is in his bed,
though they’d rather be outside instead.
My dogs and I silent and still
as outside voices speak their will.
The little burro brays consent.
Wind in the palms nodding assent.
I have my qualms about leaving Morrie and Diego out all night to converse with the neighbors. I spoil all their fun!!!
Two Poems from a Night with No Moon
I wrote these poems two years ago, but I had forgotten them, so perhaps even if you read them then, you have forgotten them, too.
This Night is Broken
With all of its sounds
spilled out,
someone else’s sounds
echo around it.
The space inside of it
is broken, too.
Only the constant rain
seeks to fill it.
Falling Practice
Twice on the stairs last week
and once in the kitchen—
lately, these falls
have been coming in threes.
Tonight in the moonless dark, I tripped
over the low metal bench beside the hot tub.
Then a loud bang sent me searching
to find the heavy husk fallen from the palm tree.
I do not venture out alone again,
but sit on the patio
in the light of my laptop,
hoping to escape the third fall.
Your face on the screen turns green
from the reflection of the string
of Chinese lanterns
as we succumb to hard truths.
I fell in love with you so quickly,
but even all these falls
have not taught me how
to fall out of love with you.
The Prompt today was “Moon“
Phases of history, cycles of moon––
as we grow older, the thought is jejune
that everything passes too soon, oh too soon.
The days seem to eat up our time with a spoon.
When I was younger, the days went so slow,
with nothing to do and nowhere to go,
and every day, every day––all were the same.
I needed adventure, but it rarely came.
Animals’ phases allow them to dare
to turn into something more special and rare.
Tadpoles swim landwards, developing legs.
Pupae to butterflies, chickens from eggs.
Rain falls and water runs west to the sea.
We try to go with it, my sister and me.
With leaves for our sails and vine pods for our ships,
what we wish for remains behind eyelids and lips.
The gutters are swollen and culverts are full.
We harness our boats, and we push and we pull.
But still they escape––rush away on their own.
I envy their future–unfettered, unknown.
In faraway places, I thought I’d be free
to discover new parts I was fated to be;
so I went after life like a kid at a fair,
from her carousel horse, reaching out through the air.
I could not resist the chance of surprise––
to grab the brass ring and capture the prize.
And yes, I did travel and how I did roam.
Life got faster the farther I wandered from home.
Now I’ve been through the phases from child to wife.
I’ve traveled and struggled and had a free life.
I’ve been on large vessels for months at a time,
and on most of my travels, I’ve had a good time.
If I’d known that the slow times were not going to last,
I would not have hoped for my time to go fast.
For now when the ending comes faster and faster,
The pace of my life is just courting disaster.
Though other seas beckon, my boat is well tethered.
My new dreams are tamer, my old dreams well weathered.
Now that I can go anywhere, do many things,
I wish for more time just to fold up my wings.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 