Friday, May 22, 2020

Lenora Rain-Lee Good ---------------- three poems

This While
            --by Lenora Rain-Lee Good

I lie next to you this night
listen to your soft snores
feel your chest move up
move down, enjoy your
body so close to mine

and fear this is
our last time together.

A thousand miles and more
separate our homes; I fear
you won't return,
and I cannot come to you.

Age holds us both
in its iron grip; only one way
for us to break free.

I so want to share
with you the years we have left
to treasure you,
to hold you close and tell you
I love you—
but your heart belongs
to the Salish Sea.

If you ask, will the Sea call me,
allow me to be with you?
You and she have years
together; a history you and I
can never share.

I swing between happiness
you have her to love
and tears it is not me.

I do not sleep while we are
together; I lie awake
listen to  your soft breaths
feel your chest move up,
move down
                    keep you
covered so you don't chill
as you dream of that distant sea

and marvel
you chose me

for at least this while.

Without End
            --by Lenora Rain-Lee Good


The clock measures time with
the monotony of a well-made quartz
movement. Barely audible, ticks and tocks
count the minutes of my life;
the pendulum no longer swings
with youthful abandon of self-
absorbed lovers walking through
the park swinging entwined hands
with each step into their future--
a pastel colored dream.

With inexorable precision the
metronome keeps perfect time,
measures the beat of heart,
of song, of life, of death.
The sky grays with predawn light
birds chirp and call the sun.
They live, they sing, they eat,
they die. Where do they bury their dead?


I miss you, I tell my son.
Why? He asks, somewhat surprised
and maybe a little embarrassed.
Oh, I reply, no reason—
maybe the garbage needs taking out.

He laughs, and says
he's going to die. Not soon
I quickly say. No, he laughs
at least not to my knowledge—
but I don't control that.

We all will die. Our bodies
no longer home to our souls.
In his youth, he pictures himself
worldly wise, accepting.

I wonder his reaction when I die
when I can no longer laugh with him
comfort him. How, then will he think
on death's inevitability?


Reiki music softly
repeats on my stereo.

The wind sneaks
a chill into the house.

Birds squabble for
seed and territory.

El NiƱo disrupts
our weather pattern.

I smile. The
butterfly beats wings
near a mulberry bush
in a land far away.

Kubota-sama Dreams in Silk
            --by Lenora Rain-Lee Good

His hand, steady, gentle
takes narrow bands of silk
places tiny stitches
silk puckers
mini hills, mini canyons
dyes of love.

Vibrant colors emerge
purple     blue     pink     golden
the four seasons
in kimono to grace a wall
to grace a body.

Dreams of silk
flare when the wearer
turns in unAsian haste
to betray western clothes
garish     loud.

Kimono evoke
gentility of sword
and seppuku.

Poetry interwoven with pain
shimmer together
in narrow
bands of silk
dreams of Kubota-sama
become kimono.

Inspired by the book Opulence, The Kimonos and Robes of Itchiku Kubota

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