MEDICINE OF THE DREAMCATCHER

 

MEDICINE OF THE DREAMCATCHER

           for D. P. on her 15^th Birtrhday

The first ones were made of willow hoops

with a horse hair mesh. Feathers and beads

were added, and circumstances, too,

played a part. The point was to slow

and even stop the bad stuff, while smoothing

the way for the good stuff. Dreams, D.,

dreams, because the dreams show ways

to make differences beautiful. What

happens in our own lives, too,

turns into medicine. All of the good

that passes through becomes yours--

and D., you’re already full of medicine

because of love you’ve been given

and love you’ve given to others.

Your job is only to practice.

All the good that enters here is yours.

Love,

Gpa

27 December 2022

FOR YOUR BEAUTY DOESN'T STOP AT THE EYES

 

FOR YOUR BEAUTY DOESN’T STOP WITH THE EYES

            K.L. at 17

This is the Year of the Rabbit

and for your birthday coin

I might have ordered that silver one

from China. Instead, for 2023,

I chose the woman journalist,

Kathleen Kit Coleman, 1856-1915,

from Canada, their first woman journalist

and North America’s first woman war

correspondent. The rabbit tempted me

first. When you were three, the year

we put the red wagon together,

(K., where did you put the screws for the wheels?),

you always wanted to go see the bunnies

up the street. K., you belong

in so many places. Kit Coleman,

born in Ireland emigrating to Canada,

covered the aftermath of the Spanish-American War.

You speak more than one language, traveler,

understand cultural roots. You do the math.

Your gateway eyes, one path to your beauty,

know how to sit at a keyboard and tell stories.

Love on this day, Gpa

All our love on this day, for it is yours.

Gpa & Gma—Jim and Karen

21 January 2023

0330 HOURS

 

0330 HOURS

In this longest month

waking too early again

dead leaves hang from trees

Jim Bodeen

24 January 2023

EARLY SUNDAY MORNING

 

EARLY SUNDAY MORNING

Finish with laundry

I put in last night

two loads wash and dry

All my pretty ones

white cotton socks and tshirts

Two blue handkerchiefs

Jim Bodeen

22 January 2023

SKI UNTIL THIGHS BURN

 

BACK ON SKIS AT SOLSTICE

Light opens in trees

Body as strong as the light

Tracks until sundown

Climb the ridge behind Hogback

Photograph tiny snowflakes

*

Ski until thighs burn

Cherry pie in the backpack

Still two hours of light-filled

Here among the things to do

Follow snowflakes to fir branch

Jim Bodeen

21 December 2022

MY COOKIES

 

MY COOKIES

I prefer a dangerous cookie

The one that doesn’t cut back on sugar

The one made with butter

The expensive, creamy butter

The cookie your doctor doesn’t want you to have

is the cookie come from my oven

Jesus says put your cookies on the table

My cookies don’t give a damn

about those pills from your pharmacy

Jim Bodeen

9 December 2022

TWO WAFFLE POEMS

 

AFTER WORSHIP WAFFLES

    [When Karen’s January 2d birthday

    falls on Monday, at 78.]

That’s my idea

I’d like waffles for breakfast

Just say buttermilk

I’ll make you Sunday waffles

And one extra for Monday

Jim

2 January 2023

*

THIS IS THE WAFFLE THAT DIDN’T MAKE IT

TO THE BREAKFAST TABLE AND

INTO KAREN’S BIRTHDAY POEM

You might think of a waffle

as a grid-patterned pancake-like food

tasty with syrup. But the word

is also a verb that means

to avoid making a decision.

Waffling seems to have its origins

in the 1690s as the word waff,

to yelp, possibly in imitation

of the yelping of dogs. However,

in 1725, in England, borrowing

from the Dutch, take flour, cream,

wafel, wafer, web, weave.

A pancake with syrup traps.

And in the American grain

waffles go random rogue

Oh, Dr. Williams! Like when

you moon someone through

a chain link fence: Dude, let’s

go over to the overpass

and waffle the fuckin’

nine to fiver’s.

Jim Bodeen

2 January 2023