Monday, June 11, 2018

A Galapagos Lad



Vermilion Flycatcher Adult male



A Galapagos Lad

Rafael whistles a vermilion flycatcher to us

ascending green branch by green branch.

Rafael grew up on these strange islands
learned the language of its birds
and of undersea creatures.

He speaks to sea lions
imitates their comical walk
swims in their wake.
He knows the caves of sharks—

The Galapagos lad inhabits
 These wild volcanic wastes
Rafael at home in this place.

Wednesday, May 30, 2018












I found a blue feather
I found a golden ball
What had been hidden
Was never lost at all.
A magpie’s blue feather
Floated down from a tree
My golden ball always
A part of me.

                                                                                         Barbara Spring

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

A Finger of Wind


A finger of wind writes her name
In ashes from dragonish burned coal.

No one could decipher the ashen tongue
Or transparent snake skins curled in dune grass.

Gold summer sun enters
The oak through many doors

Yet cannot touch her at all
She who lies dreaming

Of cold water drawn up
Gushing until her pail can hold no more.

No more to enter her house
Her house the sun enters by day

And through lace curtains
Sometimes the strawberry moon.

She lies in a dark deep ravine
Day sunset and night.

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Fairy Tale


Fairy Tale

In Rhinelander, the city of the green glass dome where stands the court of justice, there dwelled a mighty sage who had paid dues.  I sought the sage for my desire was to be a poet.  I sought the sage in the hall of justice but he was not to be found there.  I found him at last under a green leafy canopy contemplating a cool damp mushroom.

“Greetings,” I blurted out brashly— then the sage fixed me in his gaze for surely he had never seen me before and I’d never seen him either.  He spoke then and I blushed for he spoke of the foolish things I do and know and some wise things, too although I hadn’t said anything except “greetings.”

A woman who wishes to be a real poet the sage said must accomplish three tasks:

  1. Capture the consonant dragon murmuring under the sea.
  2. Capture the black troll growling vowels.
  3. Capture the essence of meadow flowers—the pleasantest task of all.

But how am I to begin?  My tendency to fly must be overcome in favor of earthly images.  Stay grounded at all costs.  Women should not try like Icarus to fly.  Why court disaster?  My kiting dreams of many colors I pulled down on a string.   Whoosh—they dangled from the skeletal limbs of a tree between Heaven and Earth.

I sat down on the damp Earth until my bottom felt at one with it: cold and damp.  It happens that dragons dwell in the satiny waters of Wisconsin lakes.  No one has to look very far to find one.  I stared out at the rippling water and discerned a moving shape beneath it.  Dragon slip, dragon slide—on a dragon I would ride. I slipped onto the dragon’s back.

Hssss—the sound of dragon scales.  I feel the cool pressure as we stir clouds of silt where winding weeds grow.  The dragon takes no notice as I slide from its emerald skin.  One of his scales has stuck to my shoulder.

I lie down on the grassy shore to dry.  BZZZ hums the sound of honey bees kneading each flower with their legs furred with yellow pollen.  They fly to their hive—females doing the work of the world.  Yellow pollen covers my hair, my hands, my feet.

My body leaves a hollow place in the grass as if a deer had lain there.  I wander into the forest with its dappled light.  Leaves rustle as small animals flee.  The coal bright eyes stare at me eye level.  I am lost.

”Take me to the troll who dwells under the hill,” I ask of the brown and white owl.  He spread his silent wings and flew low to the place where stone and black dirt meld—then disappeared.

All night long I listened to the hooting echoing through the trees.  Hoo. Hoo Hoo Hoo.  I sat on a stone and waited for the bandy legged man.  Then in the moonlight he approached.  I confronted him there.

“Take me to Mother Earth’s vowels,” I whispered.

“Why can’t you finally leave me in peace?”  He asked.

“Please forgive all the mean things I’ve done and said—my rude laughter—take me there and I’ll be grateful ever after,” I said.

“You must follow me to the fen” he said.

Moonlight turned leaves to quicksilver as small breezes blew through them.  At last we reached the dark fen where the earth quaked under our shoes.  It sucked at my ankles and I knew if I fell into the water it would whirl me around and return only my hollow bones.  A green luna moth brushed my cheek and I whispered “fly away.  The moon you see below is deception and decay.”

The prune hearted man heard what I said and threatened to bind me to a willow tree.  But I showed him the dragon scale clinging to my shoulder and bee yellow pollen that caught in my hair while I was still unaware.

“ I will lead you out of the fen if you will take this apple seed from me,” he growled quite low.  He handed me an apple seed like a tear drop and I placed it under my tongue.  “Now follow me,” he said.

As we approached the high mountain meadow he disappeared and I saw the first rays of violet dawn then the golds, reds and luminous grays.  East wind dandled flower strewn grasses and when I felt tempted to rise and blow away with it, I laid my body down, for grounded after all is where it was decreed I should be by the blithe one.

And there I saw a bright yellow flower symmetrical as the sun.  I touched it to my lips and breathed in its freshness.  “The sun and the flower are one,” said I and felt a deep harmony.  I could not explain how this is true, and yet I knew.

The sage who had paid his dues was right.  By staying earthbound, I could go everywhere.  A courthouse capped with a dome of green Tiffany glass could never contain this truth.  So now I will roam Earth’s high and low places and write my poems.  I reeled in my kite from the tree and gave it to a little boy.



Wednesday, April 11, 2018

An Ekphrastic Poem


Life Born of the Sea

Dale Chihuly

Cobalt Blue Persian Set with Cadmium Red Lips


I hear sounds of surf rolling in
 Secret cobalt seas--
Kissed by cadmium sun
Tossed by gentle winds
Small waves splash in—
Sea cradle of blue, rippled with green
Pale sunlight slides down through.
Then vibrant life
Life begun in the rocking sea cradle
Born of sunlight, sand and water
Pure alchemy.
Green and ochre vibrations
Tumbled and tossed
Rippling, rolling roiling waves—
Life trembles
 Wave after wave
                                                 Tosses life’s splendors ashore:
Strange living shapes
Transparent, round, tubular
Cast upon shore from living waters
From near and afar.
 
                                                                                         --Barbara Spring










Thursday, April 5, 2018