Ode to a Gardener


How she digs deep into rich loam

absorbing the currents of earth’s hearth

in the palms of  her  hands,

strong and sure,  wet with rain

she must guide tiny tendril sprouts

into the threshold of spring.

 

Mud and sweat, digging, diving into earth,

A firm grip pounding solid pole,

Driving a staff into readied amber ground

made rich with her finger-tips,

pressing softly into the warm walls of life,

her healing hands gently guiding home.

Ode To Maya Angelou


Maya,

I will always miss you.

A great tree is who You were,

Roots surging past jagged stones,

Steady, sure, sifting

Through the gravel in my bones,

Waking each cell,

Feeling each bruise,

Absorbing life’s

Battered branches sprouting with light,

And giving me strength,

And breath to breathe,

A beacon in a dark land,

Hope, when all seemed broken,

A free bird soaring,

Picking up the pieces of my heart

Where your cage fell apart,

Following the drinking gourd.

In your trail of living water

I live

In your promised land,

And though you didn’t know me

Your voice was familiar to me,

Comforting, warm like honey,

A resilient old negro spiritual,

Surging, throbbing beyond southern soil,

A thriving river soft like tear drops,

Yet strong,

Running deep where cuts lashed with sorrow

Tangled in veins, and skin, and memory.

Your words healed me with your passion,

Woke me with self-compassion.

You are the rising spirit on the backs of history,

You are the dark ocean moving,

Threading a journey into tomorrow.

Bright diamond,

In the star studded sky,

Lead the way to water,

And I will follow.

 

Karen K. L. Espaniola,

June 1, 2014

 

Ode To The Time Before We Saw You


Day 7

Above the world...between O`ahu and Molokai`i

 

First view,

Iconic view of you,

Blue Earth Rising

Out of a void of man’s unknowing.

Who would know what lay below,

From up above those graceful, swirling, dancing spirals

Like salty lipped sailors dancing jigs and singing

Placid sea shanties in hollow voices,

Mourning women left at home,

With guitars wrapped in aged leather

Sails down, fluttering,

The slap of waves on hull,

Under sunset skies

They care not for an hour, a minute,

Or an increment of fossil fuel achievements

Or manned insects with hammers and wires

Boots, and steel,

Hard hats braced for the advancement of times,

Or space-aged, oil-spewing black

Blood in spurts,

Her energy depleted

In wasteland dumps,

Draining deep pockets of ancient sunlight,

Drilling irreversibly, driving further, faster

Mechanically, methodically without question

To man this rocket up to space to take that shot

Of you,

No,

No,

They care only

When all the sky was blue

And the ocean source

Of life to all,

Soft, pastel, vibrant

A Mother rocking children

In lullabies of peaceful rhythms

In timeless space,

In the paradox of seeing you

Face to face.

 

April 7, 2014

Poetry

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© Karen K.L.Espaniola and hinarising.com. 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Karen K.L. Espaniola and hinarising.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.