It is You I know

We are old in our love

on a Saturday morn

We have lived a long time together

We move in a smooth dance

through these familiar rooms,

all the steps memorized

from years of practice

even as we change and grow

It is You I know.

Kathie Adams Brown (March 14, 2015)

Happy Anniversary, Gus!

Regrets

Santa Rita Mountains in Arizona 8-7-2010

I guess it’s too late to be a ballerina, lithe, graceful and pretty.

I guess it’s too late to own my own horse and ride wildly over the fields.

I guess it’s too late to build a log cabin, all from scratch with my own trees and on my own land.

I guess it’s too late to live in the mountains, far away from anyone or anything.

I guess it’s too late to live in Idaho, a place more wild and beautiful than I could have imagined.

I guess it’s too late to be an Indian princess and live in a teepee and wear a buckskin dress and moccasins.

I guess it’s too late to become a doctor and practice in some faraway place where I am most needed.

I know it’s too late to save my poor dog, the beautiful Irish Setter—poetry in motion. I let him down. He was my friend. He was my heart.

But it is never too late to sing my own song, or write my own story.

It is never too late to love, or forgive,

or to dream.

~ Kathie Adams Brown (4-1-15)

To Reach for the Sky

Cattle Egret in CA 2012

What joy it is to reach for the sky

Arms open wide

to receive all there is,

or to celebrate

and cheer

With elation.

These arms of mine

So taken for granted

Are essential things

I use them every day—in so many ways;

to hug, to reach, to grasp,

to perform essential tasks!

How wondrously and marvelously made we are,

Birthed into this world, perfectly formed,

We crawl and walk and run through life

Arms outstretched and open wide

As if we were always born to fly.

By Kathie Adams Brown (March 15, 2015)

Common Terns, Chatham, MA 2011

The Journey

Photo of Balanced Rock at Chiricahua National Monument courtesy of Donna Simonetti

I am going hiking

To a place I’ve never been,

To the snow covered Chiricahuas

To find my place of Balance

I can hear my footfalls,

I can feel the soft snowflakes falling on my face,

I feel the others with me,

Ancient spirits walking

This same trail

Seeking their soul’s moment,

Seeking and finding their balance

In this place so far from manmade things,

In this place so wild,

One is reborn

And made new.

I hear Raven calling,

Black wings against the white,

He is sharing his wisdom

And guiding my way.

With each footfall, I hear the chorus of garooing

Sandhill cranes emerge briefly in the shifting gray clouds above

Then fade away like phantoms in the mist,

While I watch each snowflake fall softly on the earth,

And coat the ground around me, erasing my steps

I follow the trail through lichen covered boulders

To the place of Balance

In these eternal heights

And I hold on.

I hold on to this thought

while the mask covers my face

and I slip into a dream

beneath the surgeon’s knife.

~Kathie Adams Brown (December 20, 2014)

A Fragile Thing with Wings

So, where will we be when all the butterflies have gone?

When we have harvested, and sprayed and obliterated

Every meadow and unplowed field?

What if there is no fluttering in summer, no metamorphoses happening?

What if there is no renewal and transformation? Will all hope then die?

Will we, as a human race, forget serendipity and joy and the ephemeral pleasure

Of a fragile thing with wings?

~Kathie Adams Brown (September 19, 2014)

This poem is dedicated to my friend, Roy and his blogpost: A Butterfly Day

Questions on a Perfect Summer Day

Can I pause for just a moment

to enjoy this summer day?

With the breeze teasing the branches and

a chickadee brightly calling?

Can I stop and listen to the cicada’s sultry whine?

Can I smell the fragrant flowers on the sea salted air?

Will I pause long enough to watch gulls wheeling overhead?

Or stop my frantic rushing to watch a butterfly at rest?

Can my eyes follow the darting of a jewel like dragonfly?

Can my heart stop to fill with wonder on this perfect summer day?

Can my soul drink it all in and hold it as a promise

against the coming winter’s snow?

Can I taste such sweetness and live?

~Kathie Adams Brown ( September 4, 2014)

Branches and Twigs

All trees reach for the sky,

—each branch an arm,

—each arm a fork,

a split,

a fine-tuned divide,

becoming smaller, grayer, thinner.

Yet in each twig life-giving sap flows

to each twig tip, where leaves nestle,

and flowers and fruit lie curled as buds waiting

to grace the world with ripeness—an EXPLOSION

of form, shape and color,

the resulting scene a vibrant landscape

with ribbons of color and splashes of life.

~Kathie Adams Brown (April 10, 2014)

Letting Go

So much of Life is about

Letting  Go.

You cannot hold on,

You cannot keep,

You cannot capture or retain

Another’s soul.

We do not own each other—we must let go!

We set our children free,

We set our friends free,

We set our lovers free, then

We set ourselves free.

We must let go

To Grow.

~Kathie Adams Brown (7-7-14)

Spring Song

The fields and forest call to me

I need to run and play

So many months and years have passed

Since I have been away.

The scent of new mown hay I need,

the color of ripening wheat,

the purple, green and blue of mountains

 rising strong and sweet,

the sight of newborn calves curled up,

in meadows in the spring,

the skylarks singing perched on fences—I know why they sing!

The trees that whisper in the breeze

beside a chattering brook,

an eagle soaring in the sky—I need to run and look!

Whether a full moon rising in a starry night,

or the fireball setting, shedding golden light,

God’s creation calls to me,

Oh! Let me run and see!

~Kathie Adams Brown (May 8, 1994)

• NaPoWriMo 2014

Highschool Haiku

Transformed

The snow comes and makes

The gray winter beautiful

But how about me?

Ephemeral

Am I to be like

A vanishing mist or will

You remember me

~Kathie (September 26, 1974)

Though it's National Poetry Month I have not had much time to write new poems. So, I thought I would celebrate the rest of this month by posting some poems from my past. A kind friend informed me that yesterday was National Haiku Poetry Day and amazingly I found these while searching for something else in a box in my basement. I wrote them when I was a teen but they still seem relevant today. I hope you enjoy them and get inspired to write some of your own!

• National Haiku Poetry Day
• NaPoWriMo 2014

The Wild Blue Sea

View from Land's End on Bailey Island, ME  3-16-14

I wait on the wild blue shore to see,

I wait to watch the wild blue sea,

What are the creatures, what of the birds?

When will the wind blow?

What will I hear?

What are the colors,

All shades of blue,

Some shades of gray,

Some green too.

Here in the bay by the wild blue sea,

here I am waiting for whatever will be,

Why am I drawn to this wild blue sea?

~Kathie Adams Brown (April 10, 2014)

NaPoWriMO 2014

Christina's World

Christina's World by Andrew Wyeth

Is the world all bleak and gray, Christina,

Is there not a spot of joy?

Does all elude your legs?

Yet in your fingertips do you not feel the damp earth

In a way unknown to most?

Can you not smell the years of decay that bring forth life?

I see you looking up the hill,

Is there longing in the twist of your body…

Or acceptance of your lot in life?

What do you know, dear Christina, that most of us do not?

What can I learn from you and your world, Christina?

Can your weak legs open my eyes?

~Kathie Adams Brown (April 1, 2014)

*an ekphrastic poem-a poem inspired by or about a work of art

NaPoWriMo 2014

An Ode to Sycamore Canyon

Sycamore Canyon 7-22-2010

I came to say “good-bye” to you,

I thought you’d make me cry,

but you have changed so much

and now I wonder why?

Your wild slopes have been torn up,

machinery rumbles on,

belching out its black exhaust

‘till all the birds have gone.

The bird song has diminished

and traffic noise increased.

though beauty still surrounds you,

You’ve lost your sense of peace!

I found a few fine sparrows,

the cactus wrens still call,

I walked right by an owl,

it made me feel quite small.

I think I’ll just remember you

the way you used to be,

there’s no stopping all this progress

but this Progress ain’t for me!

~Kathie Adams Brown (January 16, 2014)

Sometimes Solitude is Bliss

Photo courtesy of Chris Rohrer

I like people...sometimes.

I like to have a friendly chat, to walk in quiet companionship through the woods,

To laugh about a funny movie with a friend,

To bemoan the worries of the world over coffee or tea.

I love to share the things I love with my friends, but sometimes, solitude is bliss!

There are no demands when I am alone,

No right answers I have to think of,

No need to be clever or cute or witty.

I can just be me and think my own thoughts

And smile at what makes me happy

Or dance in my heart.

There is no one to criticize or summarize or scrutinize or any other “-ize” me.

I can just be.

~kathie adams brown (October 17, 2013)

The Mists of Yellowstone

Morning light diffuses in the mists of Yellowstone.

Blackbirds gather to feed on the insects attracted to the warmth of hot springs,

A few of them perch in silhouette against the pale blue sky,

Like the shadows of elusive thoughts.

The mists envelope me and cloud my mind.

I wonder if this is real, if I am awake, if sun will ever shine again.

I wander down the misty trail, eyes trying to pierce the fog, to see,

The bare bones, the tree spines, the souls of the forest revealed.

I am walking on hallowed ground,

The earth is renewed in this steaming water,

From the bowels of the earth the birth heat is released,

And then I find the life born in this place,

Evidence of generations of its kind nibbling on grasses, seeds, berries,

Parallel lines of black and white streak down its back

And end in a furry tail.

I smile at the chipmunk, my furry friend amidst all this steam and stone.

I know there is a plan, an architecture to it all—

Here in the mists, there is structure and order, and LIFE!

~kathie adams brown (October 17, 2013)

adapted from a post I wrote for Kathie's Birds called: 

Morning Mist in Yellowstone National Park

Handprints on the Wall

I’ve cleaned these walls before

In a different house

Twenty years ago

when you were young

cheesy handprints on the wall

sticky imprints of your life

Your own DNA embodied

 in the small boy

Who races through my house now

with joyful abandon.

I get the spray bottle and the cloth

And as I wipe I smile

At this connecting thread.

~kathie adams brown (8-26-13)

My Mother's Painting

She let me pick the one I wanted

I liked the way she painted the pond,

the grasses and the rolling hills,

and the small red barn along the hedgerow.

I have never seen this place,

Yet it is everyplace I played

as a child.

It is the pond where my siblings and I

fed bread to small fishes,

It is the barn behind my grandparent’s house,

Those are the hills I ran upon,

that is the tree I climbed,

It is a collection of all the places

--from my childhood,

--from my memory,

--from her paintbrush

--to my heart.

~Kathie Adams Brown (April 1, 2013)

The Way of the Desert

Stealthily she comes on powerful wings,

dropping from the sky,

darting between houses,

as if they were canyon walls,

eyes fixed on her prize;

the hapless Gambel’s quail

with her brood of chicks feeding beneath my feeders.

The Cooper’s Hawk is spotted!

The birds EXPLODE with fear!

The quail run for cover

beneath the sheltering green skirts of a desert broom.

The hawks lands on my feeder pole and scours the yard with a hunter’s eye.

I run from the house like a screaming banshee to chase her away.

The hawk hesitates, then flies.

She is not afraid of me!

She, too, has hungry mouths to feed!

This is the way of the desert.

~kathie adams brown (May 29, 2013)

I am the Velveteen Rabbit

Body misshapen,

Fur worn off,

Scars on legs, arms, face,

I have lived my life

And my body shows it.

I look in the mirror

And wonder where the girl I use to know went,

with flawless skin and shapely curves.

I look in the mirror and I see evidence

—of a life lived

—marks on my body

—each tells a story

some happy, some sad, all LIFE!

I am the Velveteen Rabbit

And I have become REAL.

~kathie adams brown (May 21, 2013)

With a Splash of Red Stayed my Fear Hiding

With a splash of red stayed my fear hiding

In a small black box

Before the dim dusk.

Four fat cats sat high and indifferent

And the cheerless self crawled behind.

Slower than the non-existent

The dawdling cruel thought

The gray common thought.

Still the self cowered at the black sky

While sweet harp music played behind.

Whisper through lips stayed my fear sliding

Sliding the spine up

Before the dim dusk.

Four fat cats sat high and indifferent

The towering trees cast shadows behind.

Thorny it’s not, like wide-eyed wakefulness

The fat ponderous thought

The slow sluggish thought.

There stood myself at a black mountain

The satisfied stone whispered again.

Rocks in heart stayed my fear hiding

The flat-lined heart kept me behind.

Brighter they’re not than comfortable life

The dull fat thoughts

The squat relaxed thoughts.

Still looming large over the red valley

The unfortunate self stifled again.

With a splash of red stayed my fear hiding

In a small black box

Before the dim dusk.

Four fat cats sat high and indifferent

Truth rose up and set me free!

~kathie adams brown (April 30, 2013)

NaPoWriMo 2013/30 Poems in 30 Days

Prompt 30:  Rewrite a poem using words that mean the opposite

This poem is my version of the opposite of All in Green Went my Love Riding by e.e. cummings.