and you are watching

sometimes I think I'm mortal
when things are happening so fast
my life is changing
and I find you standing
behind every tree around every corner
I notice you
because you keep greeting me
handing me gifts
in plain brown packages
tied with wires of gold
and as I keep unwrapping unwrapping
circling the gold around my fingers
I find I never
get beyond the paper
the unwrapping is the gift

I look up and you are watching
with your unbelievable smile

(c) Cecilia Reid Driscoll 2010

Broken Morning Pantoum

A yard may be a private paradise

a rural moment in a city day

when neighbors are still rubbing sleepy eyes;

the children haven't tumbled out to play.

A rural moment in a city day

heart's sanctuary; quiet spirit sighs.

The children haven't tumbled out to play,

creating small new worlds with brave cries.

Heart's sanctuary; quiet spirit sighs.

Caressing breeze, waves of cicada song

creating small new worlds with brave cries.

Expect this refuge not to last too long.

Caressing breeze, waves of cicada song.

Ignore the random slams and engine roars.

Expect this refuge not to last too long,

a brief escape through open, friendly doors.

Ignore the random slams and engine roars.

Clear choice: reside in close community.

A brief escape through open, friendly doors

where leaves and shadows dance, a sip of tea.

Clear choice: reside in close community.

When neighbors are still rubbing sleepy eyes,

where leaves and shadows dance, a sip of tea

a yard may be a private paradise.

(c) Cecilia Reid Driscoll 2010

Loose Daydreams Pantoum

Let them have their moment
you might say
the visions of old loves turn before you
in the bedroom of your day

you might say
on a sultry afternoon
in the bedroom of your day
in the atlas of your mind

on a sultry afternoon
memory travels its own lost roads
in the atlas of your mind
away from fading light

memory travels its own lost roads
where words are always kind and sweet
away from fading light
away from spirals of realities

where words are always kind and sweet
in a constant time
away from spirals of realities
away from deeps and highs

in a constant time
the visions of old loves turn before you
away from deeps and highs.
Let them have their moment.

(c) Cecilia Reid Driscoll 2010

Immaterial

It isn't what you produce that makes you a poet.

It is the writing at nightstill, dawnburst, dayrush, sunslide, unveiling of stars.

It is the writing for which you forgo sleep, and other such pressing business.

It is the writing which calls you first, which you tend and serve.

It isn't the boxes of journals in the attic,

books with your name in the corners of libraries,

pressed onto shelves of family and friends.

It is the mindspark heartmotion handflow.

The ink appears and disappears.

It is the writing that creates your life.

(c) Cecilia Reid Driscoll 2010

Beachcomber's Pantoum

Everyday I calculate the tides
Adjust the planned activities in store
An open gaze reveals what nature hides
Rolled from the sea collection to the shore.

Adjust the planned activities in store
Exciting walk that promises surprise
Rolled from the sea collection to the shore
To find and catch with quickest hands and eyes.

Exciting walk that promises surprise
A perfect fan or spiral, white or black
To find and catch with quickest hands and eyes
Stripes, patterns, curls congregate in sack.

A perfect fan or spiral, white or black
Uncommon whelk or scallop burnished red
Stripes, patterns, curls congregate in sack
To fill the dreaming basket by the bed.

Uncommon whelk or scallop burnished red
An open gaze reveals what nature hides.
To fill the dreaming basket by the bed
Everyday I calculate the tides.