Aronoff_poems

The lone cedar has chosen this desolate place,
preferring solitude to the comfort of leaf dwellers.

Facing towards morning, his back to the sun,
tree has taken on the shape of awakening.

Shadows beneath his feet root him to sorrow's dark
soil while nourishing joyful branches.

His leaves, brushed by early breezes, remain loyal
to upright limbs of amber and obsidian.

He has tasted the freedom of nonattachment,
yet still blushes crimson with sunset.

In the vast mind of sky, he is laughing Buddha,
steadfast in the face of time's bright wind.

Savoring the still after storm,
the only sounds: raindrops on stone,
a few peeps from plovers
sheltering under wing.

Above, the clouds release their gloom
in fragrant downpour, leave tentative
smiles to cover sun, moist
folds in verdant pasture.

The stillness will not last
nor will the musky scent of soil,
air fresh as orange blossom; soon,
day's symphony will start again,

willows weeping softly while wind
bows her head to nudge dead leaves
along the way of wary travelers.
Air grimaces at the return of dust,

the smoke and rot of daily living.
Algae grow anew in tide pools,
sunflower faces wizened
by the heat of unmuzzled sun.

With a breath of freshly fallen rain,
ripe moon filled my window.
Evening brushed a shoulder
in intimate greeting as I leaned
into the wind.

Sleep, the reluctant virgin--
no dream lovers would find me
in their bed, no dreams
would catch me in oblique webs.

I was prepared to fly with owls
to find my night vision.
Surrendering to the lunar pull,
my crown formed a funnel
for unshadowed light.

I bathed in moon's clarity
until her cool view unfettered
my mind and opened windows
into the dreamless.

Still hungry to reach beyond habit,
I called on wolves and satyrs
for the nature of things; wise
voices called back and together
we howled at the moon.

Fierce desert cools its heels,
waiting for earth to roll
away from sun and reveal
her darker side.

Sky dons his celestine cloak;
sage and juniper shed jade
dresses in favor of black,
more formal for evening.

Crickets and cicadas
begin their nightly dance
while shadows steal kisses
from sandstone mesas.

In this dry-as-bone valley,
rain is a distant recollection;
only wind carries memories
of moisture to patient boulders.

Coyotes sing siren songs to moon;
earth tends her midnight garden,
then waves blue corn tassels
welcoming dawn.

You can lose your way,
even here among the poplars
and cool riverbanks,
especially if you don't know
what you're looking for.
You can wander mindless
through dead marigolds--

once quick-living tributes
to the unexplained,
to that force of nature
that bends us almost to breaking,
to that place
where you will stand in awe
or terror. You can follow
me through the garden,
past red-tipped peonies,
songbirds flattering
juicy trumpets, star-shaped
tributes to God's pale hand.
Or you can rest on nature's
laurels, sit awhile, enjoying
the freedom of not knowing
where you are.

Carol Alena Aronoff, Ph.D., psychologist and writer, co-authored Practical Buddhism: The Kagyu Path and published Compassionate Healing: Eastern Perspectives. Her poems have appeared in Comstock Review, Potpourri, Poetic Realm, Poetica, Mindprints, Dream Fantasy International, Beginnings, Hawaii Island Journal, In Our Own Words, Theater of the Mind, Animals in Poetry, From the Web, Heartlodge, Tiger's Eye and Out of Line. She received a prize in the Common Ground spiritual poetry contest and is a Pushcart Prize nominee. Her chapbook, Cornsilk, was published by Indian Heritage Council in 2004; her illustrated poetry book, The Nature of Music, and an expanded, illustrated Cornsilk were published by Pelican Pond in 2006. Her Soup Made the Moon Weep was published by Pelican Pond in 2007. Currently, Carol Aronoff resides in a rural area of Hawaii--working her land, meditating in nature and writing.