Even Better: a poem

 

Even Better

 

Even better than a plodding 3-toed land-locked

emu is to imagine yourself the white feathered

egret, soaring above rivers into skies & clouds

eternal holding their droplets of dew; no boundaries.

 

Even better than the rangeland’s wool-covered cluster of

ewes is to step heavy into wrinkled footprints of an

elephant, these giants lumbering gracefully,

elegant despite their size, with large clear knowing

eyes.

 

Even better than racing the clock, saving the world from some

existential crisis is to prevent the chaos from

enveloping our world, cloaking the innocents,

eating all inhabitants in its wake. With

each beating of our civilized hearts, we

erect barriers to our Mother Nature, the

earth who birthed us all. In the name of

energy we are zapping the sun’s rays hotter,

excrement filling our oceans, ice caps melting,

ending mighty glaciers that collapse and crash.

 

Even better than waiting for that magical day, an

event that

erases our

errors of the past, some heavenly formation of the

exoskeleton we have destroyed, instability

eroding our ozone no longer, wanting more than an

ethereal gauze hazing our future, we

eventually need to face ourselves, to stand

either together or never again, to rid the

ether of lies we inhale to hide our truths,

exit the past of our destruction, join as

equals with our Mother. Respect our resources,

eyes no longer

eclipsed to the glorious

eternity we may offer,

ere this planet and all on it

ends.

 ***

Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle Paschold

4.10.24

 

WD April 2024 Challenge # 10 ____________Better & Write Now #41: begin each line w/ “E”

Change is Hard: a poem

 

Change is Hard

 

When I have to repaint the boards
of my picnic table,
I need to scrape the old
peeling paint off first.
 
If you are going through
a painful or confusing
period of your life,
maybe you are like the
picnic table,
getting rid of the old flaking paint.
Scraping can hurt.
 
But think of it this way:
you are getting ready
for a new, beautiful
you.

 

Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle Paschold

2.11.24

The Pace of Christmas Morning: a poem

 

The Pace of Christmas Morning

 

The only sounds I hear
are the creak of my boots
on the layer of snow atop the sidewalk
this Christmas morning

and the squeak of my hood
against my winter hat,
a child’s multi-colored knit beanie with
double pom-poms sewn on top like ears. 

A small crabapple leans in towards me
as I walk south to the end of the street,
its branches reaching barely above my head,
berries clinging in the slight wind. 

As I reach the end of the street and
turn around, I face my own boot prints.
I walk where my own feet have trod. 

My toes touch heel prints,
my heels press where my toes
once met the snow over the concrete. 

My pace is less than my usual two-foot length
toe-to-toe, the small patches
of snow and ice keeping me cautious.   

This specific length is one I know because
my boss the soil professor had me measure

the distance of my regular pace
during my freshman year of college
in order to mark out his research plots, 

two feet being the same length
my son nearly stretched
from head to toe the day he was born. 

But today he stretches far above me,
far above every member of the family
nestled back at my parents’ house 

where I am headed. He is almost as tall
as this crabapple tree I greet a second
time as I walk beneath berry-laden
branches now covered in snow. 

The flakes, bright fat clusters falling happily,
cling to everything they touch, whitening the
landscape, tapping me on my shoulders, my glasses, 

saying oh happy day, happy morning, today
is a day to gather as I reach the door behind which
my family sits, our own cluster of happy celebration,
feet tucked in socks, hands wrapped around coffee cups, 

Christmas the easy pace of the day.

 ***

 by Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle Paschold

written 12.25.23

*****

If you liked this, check out my book Horizons!  Found on Atmosphere Press website or email me at jpaschold @ gmail.com for a signed copy 

 Come to a poetry reading if you are in the area!  Schedule found on my post here. 

One More Time: a poem

 

One More Time

 I hope you know
when I deleted your messages
it was not me deleting you;
that I still see your eyes
and remember your words
and feel your hands and lips
and body, still smell
the smell of you on my couch.
That I wish we had one last
pleasant moment after the pain,
that we could have spoken
words of closure, that I
could reach back and show
you why I did what I did,
and it wasn’t because of you
but what others have done
to me that broke and scarred
who I am today, that I am
trying, that you matter to me,
that I believed what you
said and I thought we were
headed somewhere other than
off a dead-end cliff,
that when I didn’t hear from
you it felt as though you had
disposed of me and that I
was garbage to you, and now
when we see each other you
will act as if we are
strangers, that I meant
and mean nothing to you.
I want to tell you in the quiet
when it is only us two
that I am sorry, oh, just
one more time, to see you
and tell you to your face—
I still care, I’m still here,
I still miss you—
each and every blessed day.

 ***

Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle Paschold

12.17.23