SUNSHINE

 Sunday morning

Sunshine woke me!

Over the telephone,

Sunshine spoke a

Call to play

And so it goes

Quickly, I pack my car

With bottles of water

And a light backpack

The hiking sticks,

Already onboard

I dress in layers because

Winter still reigns,

And drive post haste

To Sunshine’s house

He greets me with a

Broad smile and a

Big kiss and

We are off to adventure!

The day sparkles with Joy

I love Sunshine and

Sunshine loves me

Dedicated to GM

Almost spring 2017

What Poet Isn’t Passionate About Words?

They are our greatest and best toy!

We jump in the deep end and back stroke through

the dictionary like we own it—and we should!

We love words so much, every single one should

be ours.

My heart thrums with such joy when I page through

my Heritage (dictionary) and spy a word I’ve never noticed,

But the letters tell me that it is a word of distinction and

station

I relish reading the meanings, 1 through 5 and chuckle

at the odd pronunciation—-O my, what possibilities this small

 microcosm of the English Language!

 It carries a whole narrative of a miraculous journey

 through mystery and intrigue

If I decide to swim deeper, I go to the Oxford English Dictionary

where a whole page can be dedicated to  a single word and its ancestry, explaining all of its origins-enough drug to  keep a word geek high

for an entire afternoon!

But I digress…

Googling will never give this generation the satisfaction of

Savoring a word, masticating it carefully and swallowing its

Essence

Only hard copy can give such satiety and ultimate pleasure

But I am a word geek and a silly poet-what do I know?

raintreepoet, reporting.

White Carnations in a Cobalt Blue Pitcher

For G.M.

Oh, what lovely flowers you brought  to

comfort my sorrow

Delighted, I cut off their ends and arrange them

In a blue pitcher

The next morning I find three scattered on the table

I pluck them up and rearrange them

into the pitcher again

Then chide my cats to be more polite

Morning two: Again several more flowers are strewn about the pitcher, dehydrating in the air

I put them back, wondering which of my two cats the culprit is

When I arrive in the afternoon, I notice flowers strewn about again

One cat, Oliver, was inadvertently locked in the small bathroom

As I free him I note his innocence

I now know who to indict!

Morning Three: Blue pitcher on its side,

Water soaked magazines and papers

in close proximity (the carnations may have been sassy)

apparently it was them or him

(Winston), and he prevailed

As I leave this morning, the flowers in

the blue pitcher are set safely in the sink

There will be no more cat vs. carnation skirmishes

This cleaner has surrendered-has decided not press charges

Nor mete out punishment!

P.S. That grey cat can thank his

cute furry little ass.

raintreepoet, reporting cat tales.

Has Capitalism Eaten Our Democracy?

Tomorrow, the United States will induct a new person
into the presidency; A man who is shadowed by controversy,
who incites his followers to violence and who is repugnant
to me.
 From his mouth spews racism, sexism and any other
dang thing he wishes to vomit into his Twitter feed.
He has single handedly undignified the position of POTUS
before he even takes office.
The first family is usually the wife and children of the
president, however, this president is on his third marriage, and
is dragging his adult children from two previous marriages
along for the ride. Could he rub our faces any deeper into his
manure on our traditions?
Some of us thought a "business man" would run the country
better than it has been run in the past. Perhaps that will happen
 I sure hope so. Government as usual was devolving our democracy.
 Will a "bottom line" thought process improve things?
 I do not truly know.
It is disturbing that he may have prevailed due to another
country hacking into our computer systems. More disturbing
are his attacks on our Intelligence community. Talk about a
Chihuahua picking a fight with a mastiff...Can we afford this
guy's sensibilities?
A big fat liar having the gall to be sworn in on "Honest Abe's"
Bible? Give me a break!
He is so quick on the Twitter trigger, I have wondered if he
has a minion typing it out for him. If we bring him up on charges
of treason, he'll probably throw that minion on the fire.
There are so many things I am ruminating about as I wait to
see the hammer fall. Even though it all looks like doom and
dire at the moment, the good news is Mr. T. has brought
close scrutiny on our government. This is a ginormous wake up
call. Citizens are on high alert. The same hi jinks that used
to slip under the radar are now throbbing in neon.
We, my fellow Americans, I believe, are in for big changes!
From where I sit, it was well overdue. What say you?

raintreepoet, opining.

Paella & Sangria in Barcelona

The train ride from Torino, Italy was an overnighter,

with lights on and sleep mask provided

Seat would only recline to 45 degrees, so

sleep was fitful and restless

Getting lost in Barcelona was hardly pleasant,

Even train station cops had no English to

communicate

Finally, through much angst & effort,

I found the hostel

Exhausted, I showered and freshened up

stepping out into the bright Spanish sun

Buildings tall, streets narrow, I never did

find the seashore!

After wandering for hours, blocked by

maze-like streets, I spied an outdoor café,

with a sign: Paella!

Sitting, hot and thirsty, I asked the waiter:

Do you have sangria?

He smiled and said: You would like sangria

with your paella?

Si! Si! What an offer, I thought

He smiled, nodded and rushed away

The paella wafted a fragrant, seductive smell

The taste sumptuous, result: orgiastic

The sangria, chock full of lemon, lime &

orange, so incredibly refreshing, I sighed

That horribly uncomfortable night on the train

melted away, salvaged by the sweet goodness

of paella & sangria, a Barcelona memory

I could embrace with joy!

Shakespeare’s words crept in: “All’s well that ends well”

Gustatory delight assuaged my soul.

a sweet memory from Summer 2012.

Raintreepoet, reporting.

Review of Elephant Company

By Vicki Constantine Croke

The story of “Elephant Bill”

 James Howard Williams, who arrived in

Colonial Burma in 1920, a young veteran from

WWI who went to work for a British teak company

And rose from “forest man” to manage the elephants,

 who logged the teak and the great Bandoola who

would become Billy’s most passionate idol.

The story culminates in a life threatening trek

and the great Bandoola leading the elephants

over a mountain to safety from the WW ll war zone,

the Japanese nipping at their heels.

Elephant Bill was awarded top military honors

and the praise of renowned field marshal, Sir

William Slim.

The book was, as promised, a page turner that

I could not put down. Gripping as any true life 

story I have ever read.

Raintreepoet reporting January 2017

She was a Warm, Red Sweater

She was a warm red sweater cozy and kind

Cup after cup of stout coffee, sweetened with

lots of sugar, whitened by copious cream

Archway cookies, plentiful, drawn from a

kitchen drawer

She was a warm read sweater with

a listening ear and soothing words of comfort

But she’s not here anymore

She was a warm red sweater who walked

the railroad tracks for miles and miles with me

Talking history, literature and philosophy and

What it was like to go from servants to poor, from shackled to free

She was a warm red sweater with pockets

full of apples from her orchard and

a smile wide if not true

She was the sweetest, woeful girl

I ever knew

She was a warm red sweater who birthed three

of her own, filling the gaps of her youth

when she had been so very alone

They became her works of Art because

long ago she laid her pencils and brushes down

No one ever encouraged her, so

she left that art behind

She was a warm red sweater, who packed lunches

for others, fully grown

and drank cups of coffee, quietly contemplating on her own

She listened and she watched

She nurtured as she talked but she

never told anyone that

her heart was not home

She was a warm unread sweater who

gave and gave with little return

-it never seemed to bother her

 to quietly yearn

Until one day she didn’t say good-bye

But simply walked out the door

It’s been years, but finally:

There is no warm red sweater

anymore