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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781504028585 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | The Permanent Press |
| Publication date: | 03/01/2016 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 92 |
| File size: | 146 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
As the Crow Flies
By Judith Shepard
The Permanent Press
Copyright © 1984 Judith ShepardAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5040-2858-5
CHAPTER 1
Part One
AS THE CROW FLIES
As the crow flies
so too, my thoughts
where the sound of blue
and the touch of plum
nest.
Back to the best of the best
of
summer days that
lie with the scent of honeysuckle
and the grass on the old baseball diamond
held young bodies
listening
to the sound of river splashes
over
round white stones.
My life stretches out
unwinding like a shiny yellow ribbon.
Now I wind it about my hand
to see how far I went and where.
Part Two
THE BACKYARD
The backyard
was
a mysterious thing
full of petals.
Silky and velvet
they promised sweet nectar
to sip
delicately.
I could lay down
on green grass
smell it deeply
chew one slender stalk
while spying the solitary bleeding heart
mysterious and passionate
at the end of
the garden path.
The lilac bushes
higher than high
roses and phlox
surrounded me
and I was four
or seven.
There were bushes with
white berries to
pop
under your thumb.
Bushes with red berries
to split with your fingernails and
discover their hidden black seeds
nestled inside
sleeping.
An occasional blossomed eccentric
knowing it's special
peered
between the commoners
with majestic indifference.
Once I saw
a hummingbird
blue like a robin's egg
so small
so perfect
I thought I had
dreamt it.
Roses grew in pink
profusion
up the lattice work.
Wearing them
in my hair
at the Fourth of July parade
I didn't win a ribbon but
thought
I was beautiful.
Those days I was
an innocent dewdrop
a fresh faced daisy
watching my Grandmother
in her blue coolie hat
digging with patient fingers
tenderly
touching
her garden.
Those days have
drifted pass
as swift as wind
carried aloft into
the corner of
my mind
Now I watch this
cool white world and
wait for Spring
eager to find my own
bleeding heart
in the corner of
my garden.
MEMORY
A house with
a front porch
and a hammock
to dream in
as the bees buzz
before the call to supper.
Across the street the
ring of horseshoes
the smell of biscuits
baking.
He comes across
the street, smiling
with thining hair and
holes in the elbows of his sweater.
These are the
memories I
taste
as clearly as I
feel myself
now.
THE MUSEUM
Early memories
sifted through and savored
extrapolated from a misty landscape and
caught
to be encased in gilded cages,
hung from branches
so I
can see them
taste them
hear, smell, and touch them.
A museum of my past
and I
the doorman with the only key.
Memories picked not just for joy
but some from
pain
loneliness
confusion.
Laughing ones, encased in ripples,
responding to nudges and grubby, childish fingers.
Others cast long shadows
full of mystery and
strange movements,
flickering with an insistent light.
My hanging, gilded cages,
arranged
like some ancient, Babylonian garden.
More real than my present
safer than
my future.
Empty spaces in which to place the
newly caught and
music of the sirens
to guide me there.
IN THE BACK OF MY MIND
In the back of
my mind
sits
a woman
loved by me
rocking
enigmatically,
smiling
with clear
green eyes.
Now
she sings me
to sleep
at night
in the corners of
my dreams.
SPACES
Spaces
holding promises
to fill
whetting my brow
moistening my lips.
Magic gardens
lavender hued
papery ferns to
peer under.
A cliff cave
with Indian spirits
and red clay
entry
blocked.
Later year spaces
dictated by other
needs,
insistent.
I like my own spaces
to be filled
with
a man
a rage
a dream.
THE SEARCH
Core hollowed
vacuum
pulling me in
filling myself with
myself
Childlike needs
never
letting me forget
Wooly thoughts flitting
fumbling through ancient
corridors.
Afternoon shadows
display their calling cards
while I
wander tentatively
up the attic steps
to search in old boxes
finger the remnants
imbue with magic
old shapes and forms
Searching for the nameless
listening for no sound
Later to polish family
napkin rings until
the silver warms
my face.
Part Three
SIFTING
Thoughts as
soft as
cat's feet,
spirits with
strange shapes and sighs
elusive
summoned
sifted.
Eyes closed
mood indigo of
waiting
hollows round and sensuous
fully expectant.
Waiting
curious
to see which shape
misty and mauve
spirals up
wistfully
to be captured
at last.
BENIGN THOUGHTS/RAVISHED IN THE NIGHT
Benign thoughts/ravished in the night
with the wind howling
down a long, black chimney
turning frightful and
fearful.
Repose flees/as limitations
knock
against an empty head.
The flapping of wings
hovers
over waking dreams.
Now/I gaze
on a frosted landscape.
Memory inspired
I search for symmetry
a select sign
a channel opening up
a cleansing of the
confinements of my mind
as swirling waters rush
to meet the silent, waiting sea.
THE AIR LIES/THIN
The air lies
thin
leavened and parsimonious
unwilling to share with me.
Where is the pregnant sky of winter
with its promise of soft,
fat snowflakes?
I need to taste it
to shovel it hungrily into
my open mouth
assuaging my stinginess.
Needing to replenish
myself
I wander from one space to
another place
aware of my grey
withering
finding no joy as
the hours tick away
inexorably
the air still and slender
as a blade of grass.
Later
some semblance of
balance
a renewal
blood coursing through my veins,
thankful that I breathe
knowing that I have
added to
not
subtracted from.
I watch the soft
shadows fall
upon
another day
guided by the
sounds of night and
drink in the cool, crisp air.
NIGHTSNOW
Medieval blanket of snow
spread with fervor
by wintry spirits
while
black faced sheep
look on
wooly and resonant with baas.
The wind slides down the chimney
seeking corners,
branches brush each other
intimately
while the sky darkens on
command.
Finger frosting window panes
feathery brushpaints
to be traced
blueprints for
one pure thought.
to be held carefully
as the winter night
descends.
JOTTING
To long for an hour
caressing it as gently as
a lover's back,
taking it in
sun and soft breeze.
I have stolen this
time hungrily
pursued it with
abandon.
Daydreams drop me on clouds
Nature orchestrates for me her
grandest sounds.
A cricket joins in
unable to resist,
chirping with a maestro's confidence.
Leaves whisper to me
their secrets shared.
Strange
that what I wanted
was
this,
a few jottings
eyes to watch
ears to hear
scratches on a page
feather inks
for only
my eyes.
Part Four
BLACK BIRDS, SHIMMERING
A blanket of black birds
shimmering
spreading out over the yard
shadowing,
massive displays of
awesome flutterings and
shrill sipped cries.
On cue
they rise again as one
sweeping themselves into
the sky
tremulous
beating
shrieking fluttering feathers
pulling up and
fanning out
over a small town at twilight
shadowing its breath.
UNTITLED
Autumn days birth
September nights.
A prescient coolness
pushes
petals off slender stems.
Minds wander off to
think of
death
and snow.
TAPESTRY
Color cloaked
abundant autumn
celebrating riots of color
crisp fires and flames
passionhued and urgent,
Tapestry treed
woven majestic with kingly tints
embossed in splendor,
reaching splendid.
Around each corner
a still life vibrating
shimmers of trees
a cradled desert mirage
of reds and golds
Byzantium boldness.
Leaves sparkle and dance before they fall
to lie upon the ground
passion spent, but still
remembered
while tree trunks are sleeved in somber colors
waiting to become silhouettes
against the winter white.
SIGNPOSTS
A swallow skims the ground
belly almost touching
each blade of grass
satanic shape,
exuding joy and freedom.
Robins hop like
pogo sticks
along the yard.
They line up
one by one along the garden posts.
Proscribed spaces
dictate my relationships.
Unaware
I place them
all along the weathered fence.
INCHWORM AND I
I saw an
inchworm
hanging by a
slender thread
from a nearby maple tree.
Worms make me feel squeamish
but he looked so
vulnerable.
Working so hard
at his
little task,
I felt a common kinship.
I even thought him
rather cute
slender, rosy
green
soft.
EARLY MORNING/ROLLS IN GENTLY
Early morning
rolls in gently
off the back
of night.
A bob white
swells his breast
over
the red raspberry bush.
A harkening
a swell of sound
a bright blue
sky morning.
THE RAM
The days slip by swift
as a swallow
swooping and soaring.
Nights a
flickering,
a dark midnight wrap.
The black ram is dying
ancient and massive, he
stands.
head down among
the trees, he
waits.
Newborns push out to
play and prance on
their first day while
the owl hoots
at the top of the spruce.
Each morning I
make a pilgrimmage to
see what has died and
what has been born.
A flower seeks the sun
while the legs tremble and
the ram comes crashing
down.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from As the Crow Flies by Judith Shepard. Copyright © 1984 Judith Shepard. Excerpted by permission of The Permanent Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
AS THE CROW FLIES,THE BACKYARD,
MEMORY,
THE MUSEUM,
IN THE BACK OF MY MIND,
SPACES,
THE SEARCH,
SIFTING,
BENIGN THOUGHTS/RAVISHED IN THE NIGHT,
THE AIR LIES/THIN,
NIGHTSNOW,
JOTTING,
BLACK BIRDS, SHIMMERING,
UNTITLED,
TAPESTRY,
SIGNPOSTS,
INCHWORM AND I,
EARLY MORNING/ROLLS IN GENTLY,
THE RAM,
THE AMENDS LETTER,
TO COLD THE NIGHT,
THE FIGHT,
THE SPACES GROW SMALLER,
SADLY SOOTHED I BREAST MY FEARS,
FROM A FAR DISTANCE,
HOLIDAY WOES,
BOUGAINVILLAEA,
CINEMA,
RED RUBBED/RAGE RAGGED,
LENNIE OKEY DOKEY,
THE HAVES AND THE HAVE NOTS,
PARTY,
SKETCHES AT THE LIBRARIAN CONVENTION,
FOUR MEN HANGING,
ON HEARING A FAMOUS TENOR,
LEBANON/GRENADA,
SILENCE,
LATELY I THINK,
A LIVING ROOM STORY,
BLOWN THROUGH BRUISED,
THE EMPTY LAWN CHAIR,
AFTERNOON INTERLUDE,
VIGIL,
A LONG, SLOW BEATING,