Back in the Day

Back in the day  

before the ravages of time and injuries settled into joints

I could squat – 

but I can’t bend those knees that much anymore!

Back in the day

I could have run this 5 K race with you -

or at least most of it!

Back in the day

before the crow’s feet of time

etched a road map on my face,

I could look in the mirror

and see smooth skin, 

and bright eyes

which could read tiny print -

but are now clouded 

with the beginning of cataracts.

Back in the day

before organs sagged and excess weight crept on,

I could travel without a suitcase of supplements and

other personal necessities –

but I am grateful it is not medicines or medical paraphernalia!

And I plan to keep it that way!

I would instantly take back my youth – but only if I could

keep the experience and wisdom I have gained with time!

© Beverly Diane Harner, 2012

York River 5K Race during Estuaries Day 2015
Photos by Jon T. & John G.
from Wikimedia Commons 

Surrender

The leaf dances over the snow

being blown this way and that

by the turbulent winds with

no volition of its own

not knowing where its final

resting place will be

except that it will be far

from its Mother Tree.

Life’s like that sometimes -

we feel buffeted around by

circumstances we don’t

have control over.

It would be easier on us

if we could just surrender –

and dance like the leaf!

  © Diane Harner, 2016

Leaf in snow
Photo by zeevveez
from Wikimedia Commons

Misperception

I smile as I look at you from a distance

still standing on the fence post – motionless.

I gave you such life –

named you Hawk and

endowed you with beauty and

even spoke to you of it.

I watched you not moving thorough

downpours and wind.

I brought you into my meditation and

allowed you to endow me with

groundedness, unwavering motionlessness

and persistence.

I took your archetype as a power animal

who would lend me powerful wings

and keen vision.

My friend still laughs about

my telling her not to disturb you

on her walk and make you fly -

so then perhaps our other friend 

coming later in the day

would still be able to see you –

after all, you had been there for hours! 

She got close enough to see

that you were just a wooden Owl

nailed to a fence post!

What else am I not looking at

closely enough to cause me

to harbor misperceptions?!?

© Diane Harner

Carved owl at Prestbury railroad station, Cheshire, UK
Photo by Danny Molyneux
from Wikimedia Commons

Praise Song

I praise the West Wind that blows down off the mountain

Whipping up waves and currents

On our back yard lake.

I praise the Sun as he reflects and shimmers

Bright diamonds moving across the water.

I praise the weeping willow as she

Waves her hair wildly in the wind

While the perfume scents of the blooming trees     

And flowers waft our way.

I praise the Seasons – turning on the wheel of time –

Each becoming more precious the longer I walk

This earthly journey.

Though darkness gathers and day draws to a close,

I Thank the Sun setting in all his revelry and

Bless the promise of another sunrise yet to come.

© Diane Harner, 2014

Sunset
Photo by NOAA from Wikimedia Commons

If My Grief Were Liquid

If my grief were liquid, 

it would fill and flow 

in all of the channels of the Mother Waters.

It would fall as rain 

and there would be no drought.

It would bubble up

from the deepest springs,

being purified as it passes

through the layers of the earth.

It would tumble

from the tallest waterfalls

creating mists and rainbows

and swimming and bathing pools.

If my grief were liquid,

it would cleanse my Soul

and ease its pain and longing:

  the pain of separation - the longing for union

  the pain of loss - the longing for fulfillment

  the pain of not belonging - the longing for community

  the pain of not feeling at home - the longing for home

  the pain of not having children or brothers or sisters – the longing for family and a         

  legacy.

If my grief were liquid,

it would heal my fractured heart

and allow me to fill the longing for connection

  to the sacred core of my being

  to the goddess within

  to Nature and its diversity

  to the wild part of me

  to my passion.

If my grief were liquid,

it would allow me to

re-member

and to love again!

© Beverly Diane Harner, 2003

Waterfall near Flam, Norway
Photo from Wikimedia Commons

Ode to the Mango

Oh, ecstasy of taste!

The sublime succulent

honey sweetness of

your sun kissed flesh

melts in my mouth,

while your fluid essence

drips down my chin,

fingers, and hands.

I’ve watched you for days,

noting the color changes 

of your skin: 

from hues of green

to yellows, golds, and then

faint pink maiden’s blush

takes on deeper embarrassed

shades of red,

while your hard interior

begins to yield to soft caresses.

Then, I know it is time.

You are mine to take

when I see the first fruit fly

explore and inhale

your fruity aroma.

© Diane Harner, 2013

Mangga gedong gincu
Photo by W. A. Djatmiko
on Wikimedia Commons