dcHILLworks
Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Da!
A FRESH BREATH OF COLOR
Today, gray swamps my affairs. Its blanket offers little perspective. Fat chance to be reflective. Colors and undertones are lost, in my despairs. This depressing session fights the dawn. Spinning in a stinking whirlpool, Sinking like every other fool, I've lost sight of hope and light that we all are floating on. I need a fresh breath of color. Like one my first mentor, Miss Crawshaw Made each year. Hers was the vivid straw That broke the back of winter's pallor. In a dish of fine white stones, She arranged in random fashion A clutch of narcissus bulbs. Her passion? To witness the wonder in yearning minds while dispersing learning undertones. That sixth winter brought new perspectives. I saw patience, love and attendant duty Nurture new beginnings into beauty. An infinitesimal step each day became a leap towards life's objectives. Tomorrow is renewal day. I'll be off to the garden shop. Have just the dish that needs a top. I need another fresh breath of color for display. By: dc HILL September 3, 1993
Riches in the Fields
When the Spring sun slants
On this expansive field,
Dewdrops cling to grass
Just before the harvest yield.
Those liquid jewels diminish
In a song of sunbeam sorrow.
Pause, delight! Enfold the sight.
It won’t be here tomorrow.
–dc HILL August 23, 1992
THREE SOURCES
I.
Yesterday, I saw life’s energy flow.
Offered by a niece and her mate.
Whose transparent force was freely given
To two rising sons and others who surround them.
I have felt that energy force.
Only to do the same. And let it drain
And felt the exhilaration
Of its two-fold return.
My heart swells in remembrance again.
II.
A few yesterdays ago, I saw life’s energy flow
From my mother. Her aura sparkling, she sent
To companions, who under constant care,
Had retiring senses. They were aware
Of the precious gift she spent.
I came to know life’s energy flow
In my beginnings. I alone, in sorrow,
the world was bigger than my comprehension.
I ran back to enveloping arms and compensation.
Recharged, I would be challenged by wider horizons of tomorrow.
III.
I have seen life’s energy flow
Welling from my sister and her love.
They gave it to an only daughter.
Later, the same spring delivered
To five upstanding boys.
A year ago, I felt life’s energy flow
To me. That same sister, uniquely charged,
Released a thunderbolt. Now I see
More distinctly, visions in my sojourn
To infinity.
– dc HILL (May 6, 1992)
THE GATHERING (12/12/92)
In honor of Oscar . . .
Lydia was bound by an urge.
Our mother had love and connection
With her sisters and brothers.
A close-knit family,
Their generation came
From a simple life.
They made a point
To meet and share experiences.
Her children? We grew out of the Depression.
Our gathering traditions emerged strong
Because of our mother’s binding urge.
Since my beginnings, I knew
Tom Turkey had an honored place
At Thanksgiving-Christmas time.
Love, giving and sharing filled the space.
These essences bound my generation too.
Then we distilled those primal glues
And tied our children together
While the world went into transformation.
Now, even in these modern, transient times
A family gathering has flourished
Many winter solstice times.
First three, then four generations
Would connect, renew and share.
Today we regress to where three meet.
The next budding group is in preparation.
They will bond true to Lydia’s guiding spirit.
Our children…
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THE TRUTH MIRROR
Only you can review your true image
In a two-sided mirror display.
See reflections engage in a scrimmage,
As your left-right id’s interplay.
Does the “right” reflect might?
Where strength, logic, domination are maintained?
And the “left” hold what’s deft?
Where intuition, song, emotion are retained.
Will the mirror present true reflections?
Reveal what tantalizes – mesmerizes your soul?
Will you bone up and own to inspections?
Know what’s missing? What makes up your whole?
Don’t ponder on the fonder reflections.
Narcissus was a pith on delay.
Truth Mirrors crack with introspection’s.
Balance, Renew! Check the review.
Re-examination comes another day.
April 20, 1992
LETTER TO DAUGHTERS FAR AWAY
May 15, 1993
It’s early morning and I can’t sleep
because I miss you
your presence,
laughter,
personalities,
Time coasts on.
The wind outside moans free
and I’m trying to sing with it.
My lament is from the soul, sorrowful,
because I am disconnected
from your lifting spirits.
The song vanishes into the night.
Emptiness invades and engulfs me.
The quietness creeps in closer
and closer.
I’m touching feelings
That were non-existent yesterday.
That discovery stirs an inner vortex.
I have to write this down,
give these feelings care and thought.
See, I’ve discarded
my legendary illegibility.
You deserve neat printing on two pages
On paper torn from your mother’s spiral notebook.
A moment ago, I painted nostalgia
onto watery eyes. Your formative impression years
were boldly stroked from memory images.
My three babies became children
and now beautiful, energetic women.
You have arrived.
Remember those wonder years?
How each of us discovered awe,
each of us in our own ways.
Thank God I can
relive those times
On nights like these.
Do you remember when
our transition time set in?
We had fewer and fewer moments
in true, revealing light.
Life presented different fashions
For our new, emerging passions.
Oh, we had chances,
Plenty came our way
for connection and clasping.
But other priorities kept grasping
as your maturity came into play.
Oh well, be that as it may.
And now,
I live each new day
in a different spirit.
Rest assured, don’t worry.
I’m building new ways to relate
To each of you.
There, I’ve spilled it out.
Now, you know this part of me.
Take this as a confession.
it lifts a depression
that spans the difference between us,
Making the path between us a new beginning.
I TIED DRY FLIES
by dc HILL July 7, 1992
I tied dry flies
Long before I sipped Mai Tais.
I’ve sat and spat out a black knat.
An imitation to be sucked in by speckled trout.
Or left on stream bank thistle.
I derive more pleasure in doing that
Than in the rite of wetting whistle.
A SUNDAY MORNING LESSON
by: dc HILL August 5, 1992
Is there any higher contentment
Than languishing in bed on Sunday morning?
We had that bit of Nirvana going for us
While morning yellow splashed the windowsill.
Then sounds of crunching feet
Come filtering through the fog of sleep.
A pause and then the shock of the doorbell,
Far more disturbing than Monday’s alarm.
We compete in a dash to the kitchen door.
It frames our Piped Piper neighbor
In slightly irritated stance.
She holds the hand of our three year old.
“We had this visitor come to play this morning.
But really! I need a cup of coffee
And a little of the paper
Before I can get into that scene.”
Morning etiquette has changed,
No early excursions without permission.
Sundays, we still search for Nirvana
And later, for our neighbor’s smiling countenance.
HEART SONG
by: dc HILL July 7, 1992
What makes your heart sing?
little things
melodious memories
spur-of-the-moment flings.
Priceless gifts
for the mind,
remembrance
pondering.
To illustrate,
flirt with a babe
at the supermarket store.
age eighteen months is ideal.
Your cost,
twinkling eyes,
a puckered nose,
a hesitating wink.
The rewards
recognition,
a spontaneous smile
and a new friend.
The Puzzle
Life is like a puzzle
The borders and edges are the foundation of your character
Often shaped with help from others:
Some who love to stand by and watch your puzzle grow
Others who take pleasure in fitting the pieces into place
As your puzzle gets more complex and harder to complete
The pleasure seekers fall away,
perhaps to find pieces of their own puzzle
Or to satiate the desire to ingrain themselves in the process of another
It’s the pieces that you find all on your own
The ones that seem to complete your soul
That are most rewarding
Even if they’ve been there, quiet and just out of view all along
The recognition is immense
The response, overwhelming
Knowing that your puzzle is complete
Is what we all hope and strive for.
© 09/09/15 AEhill
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