The Quail is a Gray Shadow

The Quail is a Gray Shadow

The quail is a gray shadow

Nestled in the spindly arms of the green desert broom

Sanctuary

From sun, rain,

and predators.

Hold; hold still. 

~kathie adams brown (8-19-13)

Poem for a Boy Coming Home

I have waited for you with beating heart

Trembling with anticipation

Arms opened wide for an embrace

Waiting to see your eyes, your face.

How can you know the depths of my love?

I do not think most boys really understand.

Your boyish smile is the delight of my life,

Your desire to protect me is a quality I love,

Your striving for respect is beyond admirable,

And all that you are I love.

I am your mother, your grandmother, your sister, your wife.

I am all the women in your life.

You are my boy, my son, my grandson, my brother, and My Man.

~kathie adams brown (8-16-13)

August Wind

August wind blows dry

Dark clouds gather in heaps over the mountains

Restlessness is in this unsettled air

I stir from my summer stupor

I wonder

What will tomorrow bring?

But for tonight

As trees toss limbs around me

Waving leaves like black lace handkerchiefs against the smoky sky

I am caught up in this wind and carried on a dream

And I fly.

~kathie adams brown (August 14, 2013)

Gold, Green and Gray Days

Covered Bridge at Devil's Hopyard State Park 6-29-2013

Gold, green and gray,

These are the days

Of early summer in New England

When the sun has yet to dominate,

And mosquitoes start to rise on clouds

From wet forests and flooded fields,

Where humidity turns into rain

And back again

In the ageless alchemy of water

and life

and emerald.

It is the time before the blazing days of summer

When everything starts to wither and wilt

And turn brown.

These are the gold, green, and gray days,

The pensive days, the dreaming days,

The remembering.

~Kathie Adams Brown (July 23, 2013)

Sultry

Gilded Flicker

Heat blazing

White skies

Flesh turned to liquid

Sticky and salty

Melting into the heat

Cicadas whine

Their whirr reaching a fever pitch

Birds pant in the trees

Shade does no good

The air is still,

Thick and still,

Suffocatingly still,

and still 

It is summer

With autumn but a distant dream

of color, and coolness, and relief.

~Kathie Adams Brown (July 17, 2013)

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)

Savin Lake

Savin Lake 6-14-13 Lebanon, CT

A late spring day
late in the day
shadows falling, long, deep and cool
across the banks of Savin Lake
brimming from the recent rains
water pouring over the dam
like liquid amber
pounding down to the creek below
I watch the writhing, frothing water
a churning mess that would pound me to death
if given the chance,
But I turn away to the glassy lake
so blue, calm, and serene
where a kayaker cuts through the water
in silent strokes,
and geese serenely sit and float,
and swallows slice the evening air,
then dip and drip and fly again,
and in the brush the catbird sings,
and in the trees the waxwings feed,
as I stand on green and grassy banks
as a yellow warbler calls my heart
with notes so sweet and pure
and I breathe in this rich, cool scene,
I drink in this serenity,
the flat calm water,
the lush green trees,
the world reflected
in Savin Lake.

~Kathie Adams Brown (6-16-2013) Colchester, CT