The Old Red Barn

There is a place of dreams,

an old red barn with memories

of my grandfather who was

and now is not,

Buried beneath a granite slab

with Nana now by his side.

How do I recall the days that were?

With him walking the earth

With him feeding the cows

With him cutting the hay

With him in his chair silently puffing his pipe

With him fishing along the banks of Black Ledge Creek

With him rushing out the door during Christmas dinner, donning his fireman’s hat as he went.

With him that one and only time he let me help pluck the feathers from the warm breast of a pheasant he had shot—a task usually reserved for his grandsons.

And we stood behind the old red barn

Where his fishing boat stayed in the winter

Only to be towed back to Moosehead Lake in Maine the next summer

To the place of his dreams and deep desires,

the place he brought his bride to all those long years ago,

the place that he loved,

the place of his being,

the place that he died one summer.

But the old red barn is empty now

Save for his memory

or his ghost.

~Kathie Adams Brown (April 1, 2015)

The Way of the Desert

Stealthily she comes on powerful wings,

dropping from the sky,

darting between houses,

as if they were canyon walls,

eyes fixed on her prize;

the hapless Gambel’s quail

with her brood of chicks feeding beneath my feeders.

The Cooper’s Hawk is spotted!

The birds EXPLODE with fear!

The quail run for cover

beneath the sheltering green skirts of a desert broom.

The hawks lands on my feeder pole and scours the yard with a hunter’s eye.

I run from the house like a screaming banshee to chase her away.

The hawk hesitates, then flies.

She is not afraid of me!

She, too, has hungry mouths to feed!

This is the way of the desert.

~kathie adams brown (May 29, 2013)

With a Splash of Red Stayed my Fear Hiding

With a splash of red stayed my fear hiding

In a small black box

Before the dim dusk.

Four fat cats sat high and indifferent

And the cheerless self crawled behind.

Slower than the non-existent

The dawdling cruel thought

The gray common thought.

Still the self cowered at the black sky

While sweet harp music played behind.

Whisper through lips stayed my fear sliding

Sliding the spine up

Before the dim dusk.

Four fat cats sat high and indifferent

The towering trees cast shadows behind.

Thorny it’s not, like wide-eyed wakefulness

The fat ponderous thought

The slow sluggish thought.

There stood myself at a black mountain

The satisfied stone whispered again.

Rocks in heart stayed my fear hiding

The flat-lined heart kept me behind.

Brighter they’re not than comfortable life

The dull fat thoughts

The squat relaxed thoughts.

Still looming large over the red valley

The unfortunate self stifled again.

With a splash of red stayed my fear hiding

In a small black box

Before the dim dusk.

Four fat cats sat high and indifferent

Truth rose up and set me free!

~kathie adams brown (April 30, 2013)

NaPoWriMo 2013/30 Poems in 30 Days

Prompt 30:  Rewrite a poem using words that mean the opposite

This poem is my version of the opposite of All in Green Went my Love Riding by e.e. cummings.

A Gray Day

This is a blue day filled with promise

As the runners take to the streets,

The shining streets of Boston

—pounding feet

—hearts of courage

—dreams of glory fill the air,

Breathe, run, breathe, run, sweat, run some more.

This is a black day, a gray day

—where all hopes are dashed

—where red blood flows on gray streets

—where bird song and heart song are silenced

And in the silence...

a gray heron croaks.

~Kathie Adams Brown (April 15, 2013)

NaPoWriMo 2013 30Poems in 30 Days

A Valediction for Trudy

Trudy 2008

Even now I see your face

Faded blue eyes shining with Joy

As you show me the oriole on your feeder.

Long ago you nurtured

-this bird love in my heart,

--this God love in my heart,

--this love for all of nature.

I remember the last time I saw you,

Shrunken and gnome-like

With the pink, leathery skin of old age,

Yet eyes that still shone like a child’s.

Oh how I loved you, and love you still.

I think of you now like a constant thing,

Like birds, and God’s Love.

I knew the last time I saw you

It would be our last good-bye,

You were 102 then—time had run out on you.

I hugged you tight while tears

streamed down my face in a flood.

I could tell I was but a faded memory

In your aged mind,

But, you still loved me,

 you still loved God,

and you still loved the birds.

I wanted to hold you so tight

as if my love could keep you

from the inevitable.

How is it that you are gone from this life,

Yet still so alive in my heart?

In the birds I see everyday

—I  see you,

—I see Love.

If parting is such sweet sorrow,

Then remembering is sweeter still,

And saying Good-bye is but a brief moment in time.

~For Trudy Smith (read more here)

~Kathie Adams Brown (April 6, 2013)

NaPoWriMo2013 Day 6 Prompt: Valediction

There Are the Dead

 There are the dead

Standing in the bog

While a flicker laughs behind me

At the slowly creeping green,

The first sign of spring

Here among the dead.

Geese are busy nest building,

The wood ducks paddle

between silver stumps,

and tall snags

like up-ended bones,

stark, bare, and beautiful,

engraved by wind,

carved by bird beaks

with nest holes that now provide homes,

these silver arms reach to a springtime sky

blue as a robin’s egg,

strong arms that serve as perches

for the kingfisher and his mate

laughing their rattling call,

 a sound like dry bones,

while tree swallows glide by

on metallic blue wings,

building nests filled with life

among the dead.

~Kathie Adams Brown (April 3, 2012)

Old Tree (Part 3)

Old Tree knows

The ways of the woods

The life that goes on and

The life that ends.

Old tree knows what renewal is

As each spring it is reborn again and again.

Yet old tree knows that when its time is done

It’s time to let go, release and become

One with the earth from which it was born

Supplying new roots with fresh nutrients from its tree bones.

~Kathie Adams Brown (December 23, 2011)

I Know What is Coming

The Summer Grasses are starting to fade,
Daylight is slipping away,
I see the hint of color in the leaves,
and I know what is coming.
As blackbirds gather into flocks by the thousands
preparing to become a black ribbon in the blue sky
I feel the coming dormancy,
the future leaf drop,
the coming snow.
I feel the darkness coming,
and the dread.
I know what is coming...

~Kathie Adams Brown (August 20, 2011)