Rose Mahanor Art Blog

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water and the great heron feeds

I come into the peace of wild things

Who do not tax their lives with fore thought

of grief.  I come into presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light.  For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

  My life has stood- a loaded gun-

In corners- till a day

The owners passed- identified-

And carried me away-

Now,

In June,

When the night is a vast softness

Filled with blue stars,

And broken shafts of moon-glimmer

Fall upon the earth,

Am I too old to see the fairies dance?

I cannot find them anymore.

In Africa the wine is cheap, and it is

on St. Marks Place too, beneath a white moon.

I'll go there tomorrow, dark bulk hooded

against what is hurled down at me in my no hat

which is weather:  the tall pretty girl in the print dress

under the fur collar of her cloth coat will be standing

by the wire fence where the wild flowers grow not too tall

her eyes will be deep brown and her hair styled 1941 American

will be too; but

I'll be shattered by then

But now I'm not and can also picture white clouds

impossibly high blue sky over small boy heart broken

to be dressed in black knickers, black coat, broken white shirt,

buster brown collar, flaring black tie

her hand lightly fallen on his shoulder faded sunlight falling

across the picture, mother & son, 33 & 7, Communion Day Hill

I'll go out for a drink with one of my demons tonight

they are dry in Colorado 1980 spring snow.