My Book of Days

The small daily poems I've set myself to write this year are  gradually being removed to a new blog (click to find): My Book of Days.

Small stones are meant to be outward-looking, whereas my daily poems have become more and more self-reflective, so I decided they don't belong here but need a blog of their own. 

January micro 2023: 8

no parking space — 

have the angels

forsaken me 

or shall I never know

what mishap they prevent?

*

joining my afternoon rest

she lies beside my head

purring loudly –

the supervisor, the mother,

leaving only after I’m settled

January micro 2023: 7

my Tarot client

speaks of her widowhood

and I too weep

*

ten years 

since he died —

by now

memories are both 

grief and joy

January Micro 2023: 6

all the things

visitors don’t remark —

offerings on the sill

a small ritual every morning

the upturned broom by the door … 

*

finishing the library books

a three-day feast

of (mostly) very good poetry —

and now my mind 

is blank, my pen still

*

He’d love to stop work.

‘Change that conversation,’

I long to say —

as his back pain

gradually gets worse.

January micro 2023:5

When I stroke behind her ears

as she settles to sleep,

I love even more than her purr

the ecstatic curl and flex

of one little paw.

*

Sunday breakfast treat —

café style raisin toast

two fat slices

*

I draw Queen of Swords 

the independent woman 

also the widow –

happy to think of Andrew

and what a good life we made

January micro 2023:4

 

When I have a new Tarot, I pull a card a day as a way to learn — though all Tarot is Tarot — the particular character of this one. Recently I got the Crow deck by MJ Cullinane. I love crows, and I liked the artwork: neither too realistic nor too fancy. Today I pull the 8 of Cups: a longing for something beyond the material wealth I have. (I don’t have lots of money, but I have enough of everything else for my needs, and even some emotionally sustaining non-essentials — and that is wealth to me.)

But to take a more spiritual path — what can that mean? I have followed one all my life. At the age of 83, is this a message that death is beckoning? I don’t think I’m afraid to die, but I don’t feel ready yet. And despite the inevitable ageing and slowing, I don’t think my body is at that point either. But perhaps it’s a gradual journey. (Perhaps I need to begin some preparation.)

even with wings

ascending a mountain

must take time?

*

alone except for my cat

I put on the big blue earrings

(deep blue and white, like pottery)

which Angela gave me one birthday

– dressing up for myself

*

night owl texting –

certain friends know

who else roams the dark

January micro 2023: 3

summer interrupted

rain all night

today all drizzle –

even my garden statue

looks miserable

*

My card for today

is Queen of Cups.

Does it signify me

(water sign woman)

or the damp day outside?

*

The library reminds me

those books are coming due. 

OK – this afternoon

turns into a banquet:

gorging poetry.

*

The small cat dreams 

through the afternoon,

making tiny throat sounds

as if calling, or perhaps 

greeting someone (me?)