The Christmas Monkey

One special Christmas
so long ago,
but fresh in my memory,
like new fallen snow.
One little brother
I loved so dear,
one Christmas toy
to bring Christmas cheer.
Cutting and sewing
and stuffing away--
One special monkey,
One special day.
Christopher opened
that happy surprise,
he squealed and a light
danced into his eyes!
Tears were then rolling
down his cheeks and mine,
I'd given something
that made his eyes shine.
One Christmas Monkey
so simple--and Yet!
It made for a Christmas
I'll never forget!

~Kathie Adams Brown (December 16, 1986)

The Mountains

Seek the highest mountain

run upon the hills

Let the trees surround me,

I leap the rocks and rills.

To breathe fresh mountain air,

as an eagle to fly free, 

to glide in air, to glide in time,

to live and to be me.

While leaves will laugh and sing and warn,

wind whispers secrets low,

Listen to the sound of living,

being where I want to go.

Fulfilling dreams around each corner,

to rest in Nature with a sigh,

Never take me from the mountains,

here let me live, here let me die!

~Kathie Adams Brown (November 11, 1975)

Original Title: My Dream, My Wish

Reflecting on the Bride to Be

I only have one daughter

so this is new to me

the flood of memories that came rushing back

when she told me she is getting married.

Why is it that this grown girl

makes me remember the babe

all pink and new and squealing?

I put a dress on her right away,

My little girl with eyes so bright,

The day you were born was filled with promise

Of this day, this future,

This letting go,

This remembering of birth,

This aching love in my heart.

(For my daughter, Renee.)

~Kathie Adams Brown (October 24, 2012)

In the Desert Now

I am in the desert now,

In the soft low light of October,

But every now and then

I catch a glimpse of autumn color,

The remembered rainbow

Of the forest’s last fling,

And I think I hear the sweet autumn song

Of the white-throated sparrow,

Or the crunching of dried leaves beneath my feet.

Is that the scent of apples carried on the wind?

Can I really smell the memory of  

The first wood fire on the hearth?

But these are gossamer threads

Pulling me back to a place I have left behind.

I am in the desert now

Learning new rhythms to life and seasons,

I am learning new scents and sights and sounds,

The kestrel calls to me, the thrasher and the phainopepla,

It is the Say’s phoebe whose voice I hear at dawn.

I am learning a new melody,

Soon I will sing the desert’s song.

~Kathie Adams Brown (October 24, 2012)

Scarecrow

I am just a scarecrow dancing in the dark,

No one wants to play with me,

When I’m at the park,

It seems I am not like them,

I have a funny face,

I walk a different way,

I think at slower pace,

My stuffing’s always falling

Out upon the ground

And though my face is smiling

Inside I wear a frown,

Not because I’m angry,

But because I’m sad,

I only want to be included

In the group so bad,

So off in darkness is where I dance

Upon my secret stage

Where no one can deride me

For the games I play,

No sees the dance I do,

No one hears my song,

Still, I keep on singing,

In hopes that I’ll belong.

~Kathie Adams Brown (October 12, 2012)

• One Single Impression 
• Prompt 241: Scarecrow

The Song of the Say's Phoebe

I awoke to the song of a Say’s Phoebe

Calling me out to the dawn,

It pumped its tail while on the tall vent pipe,

It lifted its beak to the gray monsoon sky,

And as the sun broke through the wooly clouds

Suspended over the Rincon mountains

A single sunbeam reached out to caress

The soft gray breast of the bird who sang

with such a plaintive voice:

A plaintive voice,

--a  two-note sigh,

 I heard its longing

Fill the sky.

~Kathie Adams Brown (September 12, 2012)

Return to Tucson

It is so quiet here
in this desert city
under this pale blue sky
where lizards creep across my yard
drawing warmth from sun-heated stone.
I have hummingbirds in my backyard,
and pigeons overhead.
In many ways it is like any other city, yet,
it is so different too.
I have returned and I am new,
new to this part of town, this neighborhood, this house.
The desert wind that caresses my face is familiar,
and I know these lungs have breathed
the scent of creosote bush that perfumes the morning air before.
I look out to the circle of mountains surrounding this city
and I feel their embrace
as a stony hug.

We all Move On

In the end we all move on

None of us is here

As a permanent resident.

We take up space

We breathe,
We eat,

We love, we change, we grow;

We live here, or there, or many places

But in the end,

We all move on.

Kathie Adams Brown (July 28, 2012)

How Can One Heart be Two

How can one heart be so torn in two,

--between two places,

--between two children,

--between two loves?

How can one heart survive

This rending,

This tearing,

This ripping of the tissue

So tender and filled with blood?

~Kathie Adams Brown (July 28, 2012)

Red Cardinal Bright

The red cardinal, bright
on a steamy summer's day
offset by gray,
gray sky, gray birds,
like nuthatches and titmice
fighting at the feeder
for the best spot,
and the dull brown of house sparrows
filling the blank spaces,
offset by green,

but there is the red,
red cardinal,
bright as it is on any snowy day
in winter. ~KAB

The Robins Were Not on the Lawn

Sacred Heart Park in Andover, MA

The robins were not on the lawn,

They have all flown away,

the robins are gone,

the robins are gone,

on this hot August day

when the temperature rises they live in the shade,

until evening comes when they take to the sky

the robins are flying home.

Kathie Adams Brown (August 2, 2012)

Catbird Eyes

Catbird eyes are black and curious,

Shining like coal and,

Full of soul.

Catbird eyes are friendly eyes,

Little gray bird, so quick and lithe,

It makes me wonder if I…

Can have catbird eyes,

And see the world as you do.

Kathie Adams Brown (May 23, 2011)

A Phoebe in Maine

In the shining green of damp leaves

In the liquid gray of summer rain

The small, gray bird landed

clinging

To the bark of a tree

It flew to a wire

--and tried to shade itself

It flew to the woodpile

--and pumped its tail,

And then while I watched,

With wide eyes and pumping heart,

--it flew away.

Kathie Adams Brown (July 11, 2003) Livermore Falls, Maine

The Mulberry Tree

I watched each leaf unfurl in springtime
and then each blossom with bees nuzzling into
each delicious throat,
and as the berries ripened to red,
and then deep purple,
the catbirds came,
dressed all in gray,
with fine dark berets,
and cinnamon breaches,
they feasted and fed,
filling their beaks and bellies
with the ripening fruit.

But the fruit has gone by
and there are no birds in the Mulberry Tree;
only the groundhogs that have grown fat in its shade
waddle around beneath the tree as it leans out over the yard
reaching for the sun.

And while cicadas whine in the woodland,
the fledgling blue jays flutter and fret,
begging the adults to still feed them.
there are no catbirds in the Mulberry Tree
because summer is half gone
now.

~Kathie Adams Brown (July 17, 2012)

A Walk Among the Fireflies Canto III

Firefly Questions

I took a walk this evening

Just to stretch my legs

And clear my head

So on this summer’s night

Thick with the promise of a thunderstorm

I walk the streets of my neighborhood

Past familiar houses

With lights and families inside

Past the old meadow

Which remembers a long gone farm,

Past the tree-lined bog

Now silent for the night

Save for the infrequent croaking

Of a bull frog.

Around the bend I go

Into the newest neighborhood

With houses big as mansions

Painted every shade of a muted rainbow,

Meant to make them appear different,

Yet unable to hide the fact that

they are pretty much all the same.

Along the edge of the park I walk,

Where fireflies flash between the trunks of an oak wood,

And a small bunny rabbit scampers across my path

And into the rose thicket

Presenting me with an evening’s delight!

And I can’t help but wonder

If the children in these monstrous homes

Watching TV, playing video games,

Or texting their friends realize

what a wonder is waiting for them

right outside their doors?

And I can’t help but wonder if they even care,

Or if their will even be fireflies 20 years from now

And will the next generation even know what they are?

~Kathie Adams Brown (June 22, 2012)

A Walk Among the Fireflies Canto II

A Firefly Waltz

In the muggy, humid air of summer

I watch the fireflies dance

Above the soggy, boggy swamp,

Where green cattail spears stand tall

And point their fuzzy cinnamon spears to the sky,

I watch the insects flash and fly

And listen to the bullfrog chorus

Croak a song more ancient than

The surrounding trees,

And still the fireflies blink and flash,

A primitive dance, a primal thing,

Of earth, and skies and seasons,

The pulsing rhythm of life,

The mating rite of summer.

~Kathie Adams Brown (June 22, 2012)

A Walk Among the Fireflies Canto I

Firefly Delight

I saw the stars fall from the sky

Into the bog and rise

As fireflies!

And the earth sighed with pleasure

At the glory of the sight

And small children danced in the meadows

With the light of the fireflies dancing in their eyes!

It was a merry time,

A long ago time,

A simpler time of life.

~Kathie Adams Brown (June 22, 2012)

Birding is Fun Wherever You Are

Brown Pelican at Lakeside Park in Tucson, AZ 2009

Birds are around, in the sky, in the air

With birds on the ground there are birds everywhere.

Birds in the water, birds in the trees,

You can see birds wherever you please!

There are birds at the pond, and birds at birds at the beach,

Birds in your yard and birds out of reach,

But sometimes the birds are off at the mall,

And sometimes you only know birds from their calls!

They are down by the river, or off at the park,

Nesting in bushes, or climbing up bark!

Birds are nature come close-up to meet,

With feathers and beaks and funny bird feet!

So look out your window of your house or car,

‘cause Birding is Fun wherever you are!

~Kathie Adams Brown (May 3, 2012)

Original post with additional photos can be seen at Birding is Fun

I Hate Dust

It is easier to complain about dust than cancer

It is easier to see

And easier to remove.

I can be angry about the dust.

I can wipe it clean and it is gone.

The dust will not ravage a body

Like cancer can.

I can tell if the dust has returned

Before I know about the cancer.

Both are silent things

One floats through the air,

The other slides through the blood stream.

Both alight somewhere

And start to accumulate,

Clogging up the works

Making the house unclean.

Just a little lemon oil and a dust rag are all I need

to remove the dust, but,

I wonder how chemo smells

And if everything glows and sparkles inside

When it is through.

I hate dust.

~Kathie Adams Brown (4-19-12)

An Early Spring Walk in the Evening

Shawsheen River 4-7-2012

It is a peaceful occupation to walk

In the woods by the small pond

As the sun sinks low

And red-winged blackbirds call,

And Grackles whistle and click,

While wood ducks float lazily preening,

And all the world is hushed

With the clear blue sky an empty vault

Above the greening grass

As the lazy river glides by quietly

From lack of rain

And robins serenade the evening twilight

And bid good-bye to this day.

~Kathie Adams Brown (March 27, 2012)

There Are the Dead

 There are the dead

Standing in the bog

While a flicker laughs behind me

At the slowly creeping green,

The first sign of spring

Here among the dead.

Geese are busy nest building,

The wood ducks paddle

between silver stumps,

and tall snags

like up-ended bones,

stark, bare, and beautiful,

engraved by wind,

carved by bird beaks

with nest holes that now provide homes,

these silver arms reach to a springtime sky

blue as a robin’s egg,

strong arms that serve as perches

for the kingfisher and his mate

laughing their rattling call,

 a sound like dry bones,

while tree swallows glide by

on metallic blue wings,

building nests filled with life

among the dead.

~Kathie Adams Brown (April 3, 2012)

In the Last Days of Winter

In the last days of winter

hungry hawks hunt my bird feeders,

the bog  thaws and refreezes

and grackles return to the north.

Red-winged blackbirds call from the swamp

their “konk-a-REE” calls trilling over calm waters.

A late February snow starts to fall

with flakes as fine as stardust.

Soon they grow to the size of feathers

white and drifting to the ground,

forming a lumpy blanket on the still brown grass

before they obscure it completely.

Outside my window the gray sky is fractured by the

limbs and twigs of oak trees, maples, and poplar.

How is it that this fractured gray world filled

with drifting snow and downy flakes

can feel so peaceful and soothing?

I am mesmerized by whiteness

and the muffling of the snow,

but the blackbird’s konk-a-REE

as he flashes his red epaulettes reminds me

that under this white blanket the bulbs are warming,

and fine green points will soon poke out their faces

to greet the light of spring.

Kathie Adams Brown (February 29, 2012)

Robin's Egg Blue

Though it is February first, it feels like the end of winter

My woodpile is getting low and the temperature is rising

Down by the Shawsheen River the robins flood the banks

Red-breasted and bold, digging in the forest duff,

kicking and picking with their beaks,

they are a sure sign of spring in this warm rain,

and now the rain clouds are breaking apart

become tattered fleece in a sky as blue as a robin’s egg,

then even the clouds are gone and all I see is blue,

robin’s egg blue

and I wonder how long it will be

before I find a Robin’s nest with sky blue eggs nestled inside?

~Kathie Adams Brown (February 1, 2012)

Poem for a Winter's Day

I watch the steady fall of rain against the dove gray sky

Outside my window a few snowflakes fall like tiny pearls among liquid rhinestones

And in the hedgerow the sparrows gather with juncos hopping

Like slate colored shadows

The cardinals shyly watching are the only flash of color on this stormy day.

Here inside from where I watch the fire crackles on the hearth

Its warmth pressing against my back.

It is a pleasant place to be, inside looking out

And I feel the primeval need of this moment

In this technological world I now live in.

I pour myself another cup of tea, and settle in.

~Kathie Adams Brown (January 12, 2012)