One Rich Life
New Year’s Eve
Today
we stripped
the pine
It rests
in the woods
a place for wrens
to sleep
Glass ornaments
tucked in tissue
are boxed on
storeroom shelves
Family faces recede
in train windows
one leap second
passes without sound
I bathe
in the light
of the blue moon
Her fingers
sift the dark
laying hands
on tomorrow
JZR
12/31/90
Keeping Christmas
No mistletoe snowmen tree
with twinkly lights angel
guarding us from the top
instead poinsettias a boxwood
wreath on the door the aroma
of pierogis stuffed with sauerkraut
mushrooms and garlic
almond cookies dusted with sugar
hearts brimming with Christmas
present past glad tidings
for the new year
A slow rain pocks the river drips
from the eaves the roof slippery
for reindeer our stockings lie
on the floor next to the jeans we wore
walking through the woods watching
for woodpeckers winter wrens
the chatter of tiny feathered creatures
filled the air like carols sung
by a multitude of heavenly hosts
Yesterday we delivered gifts
of homemade cookies to aging cousins
friends in the city thankful
for their presence remembering
losses suffered by so many who
will keep Christmas alone this year
JZR
12/23/o1
To each and every one of you, I send wishes for a holiday season filled with cheer and a New Year overflowing with promise!
© Joan Z. Rough
Once upon a time when I was younger and my kids were very small, we’d spend sunny afternoons picking apples in our own ancient orchard. I’d cut the good ones into big chunks and place them in the barrel of our cider press. The result was a sweet and tangy quaff meant for the Gods. I’d bottle it up in quart containers and with a sign in our driveway, invite those who were interested in buying this seasonal treat to our door. It sold well.
Those were simpler days. In today’s world, I long for those quieter times when I took great comfort in everyday gifts, like the making of cider.
Cider Season
The last of the crop dislodged I gather windfalls firm and rimy Rake the bruised into piles Where pincered earwigs crowd Droning yellow jackets sample the brew
My children pretend not to hear When I ask for their help prefer The rustle of leaves tumbling And diving scattering yesterday’s work
With sharpened knife I quarter Blushing rounds pack the barrel To overflowing lower the plate ‘Til it resists pressing sweet amber liquid Buckets of gold
I’m drunk on October apples Swishing mare’s tails Against a blue field of sky Wood smoke greeting the cold A threat of snow by morning
jzr
Buddha, Photo by Sharon Martinelli
When I was preparing to move to Virginia from Vermont, back in 1979, a few of my friends said I really needed to be careful down here in the Bible Belt. They were sure I’d be swarmed by Born Agains wanting to save me. My off the cuff remark to them went something like this: “Don’t worry, when they knock on the door to invite me to church, I’ll just tell them I’m a Buddhist. They’ll never come back again.” I mean no disrespect. It is just that I’ve had my tangles with organized religion and don’t want to go through any of it again.
I planned to use those words the same way I often tell people that I’m a poet when asked what I do, mostly when I travel and don’t feel much like talking. It’s generally a real turnoff and the questions end. Thankfully, I’ve never had the person say, “Oh, I’m a poet too!” or “Where can I find your books?”
It’s not that I’m don’t want to be kind or friendly. I love talking to people I don’t know. It’s just that I am a bit of an introvert and when I’m belted into my window seat, hurtling through the sky at a gazillion miles an hour, I love watching the landscape unfold below me. I find myself doing some of my deepest wonderings about the Universe and how I got here. Perhaps that sounds strange or even crazy, but that’s how it is with me.
When I was moving, I was not a Buddhist and had no desire to become one. Nor was I poet when I first started saying that I was. Virginia seems to have some strange, magical power, because it is here that I started studying Buddhism and also began writing poetry. I’m still studying Buddhism and have a meditation practice. But I’m very much a hybrid when it comes to spiritual matters. Though I’m still writing, it isn’t poetry, at the moment anyway.
I’m extremely happy that some Entity saw fit to introduce me to Buddhism and to help me start writing. But I’m even more happy that I never told anyone that I was running from the law, a prostitute or a banker. I wonder where I’d be if I had?
Today's Daily Progress
On Tuesday, I was in the cellar getting ready to fold freshly dried laundry. At the instant I opened the dryer door, there was a huge rumbling sound, like a freight train about to crash through the house. It felt like the walls around me were expanding and contracting. I charged up the stairs, realizing the house was shaking. It was not the dryer door that had caused this havoc, it was a magnitude 5.8 earthquake, with it’s epicenter just 40 miles up the road. We’ve since had 3 or 4 after shocks. Nothing terribly big, but enough to leave my dogs, Sam and Molly, on the clingy side, not letting us out of their sight.
There has been little to no damage here in Charlottesville, save for a fractured gas line that was repaired quickly. In Mineral, where the quake was centered, several homes were destroyed and in Louisa, the elementary school built in the 50’s is probably going to be condemned. Friend’s of mine, who are living in a new house in Louisa, have cracks in their basement floor. The nearby nuclear power plant at Lake Anna, was shut down automatically as the quake began, but only 3 of its back up power sources came on-line. That is being investigated.
Officials in Culpepper, just north of us, are razing an historically important building today because it is too dangerous to leave standing. In Washington, DC, our magnificent National Cathedral was damaged and there is no word on whether or not it can be restored.
Nobody in the area expected this to happen. No one has insurance that will cover damage from earthquakes. It’s a separate add-on to a regular homeowner’s policy, that no one buys because we rarely have earthquakes here. There have been only 25 quakes in Virginia since it became a state, according to what I heard on CNN.
Sometime tomorrow, Hurricane Irene will sweep up the East Coast after making landfall on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Virginia has already been declared in a State of Emergency. At this time, New York City, is on the direct path the storm is likely to take. Can you imagine being in a highrise on the 20th floor in surface winds of 85 miles-per-hour? Can you envision what the City will be like when the subway systems and streets are flooded with the copious amounts of rain that could fall? If you live on Long Island there are only a few ways off and around the City. Then where do you go? Inland flooding is expected to be as dangerous or worse than what is being predicted on the coast.
In this country alone, it has been a summer of huge, natural disasters. From tornadoes, flooding, drought, and searing heat, to earthquakes and hurricanes, it is a year to remember and contemplate. What will the coming years be like? Are we prepared for these catastrophic events? Can Mayor Bloomberg do enough to keep his city safe? What can any of us do?
Here in Central Virginia, we should experience winds up to around 30 mph tomorrow, along with about an inch of rain. Unless Irene takes a more westerly route, we have little to worry about. Sunday promises to be like any other day in paradise, while huge suffering will be taking place north of us into New England.
I wrote the following poem in 1989, as a way of dealing with my frustration over what we have been doing to our beautiful, blue planet and why we may be experiencing some the things that have been happening.
This dog
We are fleas upon this dog hopping about sucking searching for a vein persisting in synthetic dreams vinyl blue pools golf course green grass rejuvenated monthly with fertilizers insecticides fungicides
We sculpt the land cut trees for paradise strip malls hurry up highways lace the air with unseen gases deadly vapors so thick we cannot see the views we cut the trees for
We pump heavy metals surgical leftovers into the sea sit in the sun risking cancerous complexions on oil slicked beaches where dolphins lie dead
And this dog keeps spinning chasing her tail trying to scratch chew nibble and shake the pain away
JZR
I know I sound gloomy and pessimistic, but what we are seeing is happening. Each one of us must try to find ways of stopping the pollution, of understanding and attempting to reduce carbon emissions, bringing global climate change within reach of being lessened. Some say we are beyond the tipping point, but I don’t find that to be a viable excuse to keep us from trying to leave a better world for our grandchildren.
Where ever you are this weekend, please be prepared and stay safe.
