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SHARK REEF
A Publication of the Lopez Writers
Guild
Vol. 5, No. 2
May 2005
Poetry
by Brooks
Baroque Concert
Lips on reed
fingers on keys and
stringed wood
cradled close.
Breath pushes
slowly through oboe,
bow races, then slows
across receptive strands
each angle discrete.Wind and fingers swirl
alive a charmed sound
to woo the Gods of peace
back to earth.Copyright © 2005 Brooks
Partial Return
the masculine pronoun is used for consistency and is meant to include women soldiersWhen Dylan first asked 'When
will we ever learn', I thought
we would. I believed Kennedy
when he told me I could make
a difference. And I saw
Martin Luther King's dream.
Now, I weep and rant because
these hopes are dead and
we've been bullied into another
war for peace.The deaths are not even the worst
these are at least final losses.
More cruel are the partials.
Partial life. Partial death.
Tangled minds. Suffocated hearts.
Ripped, torn and mangled bodies.
Nightmare experiences that drill
deep into the core. Stalked
by fear, never to walk free again.
The tender young man, sober
before war, will never be again.
The killer who must learn to
trust himself with a newborn.
And the soldier's children,
certain they caused Daddy
to be this angry stranger.
Bright lives darkened
by the smoke of killing,
the stink of death and, worst
of all, the horror of what
we are each capable.
Copyright © 2005 Brooks
Otter Skeleton
From pelvis to
lifted neck,
a graceful curve.
No limbs or skull.
Ribs arch and meet,
their ends enclosing
a small sweet space.
Each vertebrae extends
into short wings like
some earth bound bird.
The pelvis, long and narrow
with gaping holes, reminds
me of a Shaman's mask,
left in the sand.
Copyright © 2005 Brooks
Star Fluff
In the spaces
where
dust gathers,
we find
offerings
of sacred debris -
star fluff
tossed off
in the soul's
shedding
of matter.The Gods
insist I honor
these growing
dust fluffs
never touching
a broom to them.I am obedient.
Copyright © 2005 Brooks
Southwest red rocks-
golden in sunlight,
in moonlight, blackCopyright © 2005 Brooks
dense fog everywhere-
yet, the mountain appears,
as if by sleight of handCopyright © 2005 Brooks
Ten thousand years
of Buddha mind
and men still fightCopyright © 2005 Brooks
New grass -
chickens and sheep eat well
cat still wants tunaCopyright © 2005 Brooks
The Shepherd's Choice
Halfway between sea
and sheep, in a place
of solace, he considers
the cost of choice. How
choosing might leave
an emptiness so gaping
the rest of him leaks out.His face stiffens
with sea-blown salt.
His head fills with smells
of brine and lanolin.
He listens as returning
waves and bleating sheep
harmonize into the sounds
that have always been
his world - sea and sheep,
each wanting this man
to be their own.The sheep implore him,
almost pitifully,
to stay and be their leader,
to belong to this place,
and honor the unspoken
ancestral promise
to protect them
on land long
shared by their kin.The sea calls,
deep and soulful,
telling him of tides,
unfathomable depths
and endless shores.
Offering him all that is
beyond this grassy bluff.Copyright © 2005 Brooks
Brooks arrived on the last ferry to Lopez Island September 11, 2001. That was her last cross-country move in this life. She writes, makes art, does ocean stuff, teaches classes and workshops, and flies among the islands doing emergency mental health evaluations. She walks on beaches and among tall trees, collects bones and rocks, and laughs a lot.
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© 2003 Lopez Writers Guild
Made on a Mac by
Leta Currie Marshall