Poetry from Natural Highs
October is a season of soul as well as heart.
First advancing briskness,
cold night's snug sleeping,
grass signaling ice to come with morning's frosting,
fire's first glory.
Then there's the nostalgic sun
reminding wistful hearts of August's passion
in final sweet baskings--
ah, nothing quite blesses like Indian summer.
Add to it the drama of leaves dazzling in dying
instructing the heart in the art of letting be.
October's season knows gratitude and grieving,
zest and melancholy,
savoring salute to harvest abundance
and resolute bracing against the dark falling.
Charles C. Finn
It was an early Memphis morning
and rain was lavishing the Earth.
Slowly I stirred
as the music of it insinuated itself down into my dreams
and lured me awake.
How contented I lay
curling deeper under warm covers next to my love
and thrilling to the sound of the rain.
With eyes closed, sounds can so fill a mind and flood
a heart
that one becomes them.
I became filled by the rainfall, enveloped by it,
washed all over by its cascading loveliness and mystery.
Windowpanes and rooftop clicked in rhythmic cadence,
car wheels hissed on wet pavement in the distance,
a thousand magnolia leaves rattled solemnly
as if to enchanted music in a mystic dance--
the whole Earth seemed under a spell.
Squirming luxuriously, listening, surrendering,
I imagined some kindly wizard
intent upon intoxicating me then soothing me.
I turned to my sleeping love and wished her a prayer.
I prayed that there might be moments when I could
be to her
what this spellbinding rain was to me.
It was an early Memphis morning
and rain was lavishing the Earth.
Charles C. Finn
When you've had a crappy day,
feel a combination peevish and pitiful,
long to disappear into distraction, addiction,
or best of all sleep,
may you spy moon,
hear bird,
stroke cat,
smell flower,
taste water,
hold child,
long enough to reconsider
if you still want to disappear.
Charles C. Finn
Like the moon
we each by the grace of the universe
have a dark side,
perpetually in night,
cool,
hidden in mystery
behind the splendor of our light.
Charles C. Finn
For the first time since my muscle pull,
I can split wood!
And none too soon what with woodpile low
and January advancing.
Stumps from fallen hickory stand ready
to receive maul's decisive ringing.
And what would I do without son of six
astounding us both with unguessed strength
stacking even the big ones?
Shoulder mending,
hickory stumps waiting,
monster maul thundering,
son stacking higher--
by God, let January advance,
there will be fire!
Wandering the beach tonight alone
I listened with the soul of me
to waves breaking close and to distant surf roar!
Thoughts scuttling every which way,
I kept the ghost crabs company.
Clouds obscuring moon and stars,
my attention was felicitously freed
to feel breeze off sea,
sand under remembering feet,
gratitude as deep as night.
O perfect sounds of waves breaking close
and distant surf roar.
