Space Sheep

Sometimes we need a bouquet

All In

constellations of rounded pebbles

dot the ground in color,

while birds alight on the ruin next door

and our cat crouches on the roof

wishing he could fly

some days, the clouds speak

in whispers,

other days in puffy pictures

or bold headlines

heralding storms ahead

there is peace

in the prospect before us,

in everyday recountings

in which scents, sounds,

stories abound

such moments stretch

into a panorama

including every tiny detail

of life happenings

in a glance

our minds relax

from making meaning

or assigning significance

and simply take it all in,

as natural as breath

Eliel Fionn

3/22/24

As Ever We Are

Sorrow and joy
hold hands
across
puddle leaps
and fallen deeps

like love is
every ending
ever begun
when we first
clasped eyes…

Across the years
where you once lived,
hearts ache
in awe
that ever you were

or any of us,
from thought
to feeling, to any breath
that ever made us
ourselves at all

see how miracles
recognize
miracles
as kin
to marvel

no one else
ever born
is you or me
the way we were
ourselves together

and this
every human knows
by heart,
this great gift,
this tender sorrow

we may pretend
life doesn’t end,
or ignore for a time
how sacred
every soul

but inside,
deeper than marrow,
we know
how much
of love is loss

and this we accept
with every breath
even while
we intend
to forget

yet, we love on
in our imperfect ways,
tempered by grief, amazed
by the resolute beat
of our hearts

and someday
we embrace
every sorrow
as the dearest loves
they are, we are

Eliel Fionn
10/20/23

Sometimes there is longing

for something, someone,

somewhere

you never met

except

to know it’s missing

beyond

the reach of a hand,

a wonder of mind,

the memory of a heart

without words to convey

what is lost

yet now and then a glimpse

deep inside the eyes,

a child’s laugh,

or the way the moonlight

reflects on water

in silent awe

for a moment, that pain

lessens, and you try

to catch, to hold

that brief fullness

as if it were tangible

as time

or as human hearts

that knew

the forever ocean of love,

always carrying you

home, no matter

how far you drift

The longing

for something, someone,

somewhere, in you

is in me too,

this shared missing,

connection in kind

becoming

waves of compassion

in an ocean of understanding

for this

unwordable longing,

in you, in me, in us

Eliel Fionn 7/29/23

If I were to tell you

the story of yourself,

from the first idea of you,

the birthing breath of you,

through every day after

If I were to recount

the every thought of you,

the ocean of emotion,

each act and expression

of your mind, your body

If I were to say the name

of your every sensation, creation,

the words you strung in pearls

across the years,

the essential art of you

If I were to play

the notes you sang

or strummed or tapped,

each song you recognized

or danced to in delight

If I were to describe

the great heart of you,

those souls

you met and cherished,

embraced or rejected

If I were to tell you

that the breath of you,

from the most joyful

to the most sorrowful,

was sacred

As were your failures

and successes,

paths that turned

and twisted, all

that you discovered or lost

If I were to remind you

that you were more

than all the stories

of your life,

beyond your time here

Would you remember

in an eternity of days,

the deep down

dearest

you always were?

If you were to tell me

the story of yourself,

let it be vaster

than the stars, and finer

than sand from the sea

Eliel Fionn  7/17/23

In Full Profound

Each day, a concert among the trees,
cicadas, birds, frogs, and bees,
a chirping, croaking, humming chorus,
a veritable sound thesaurus

And art, by nature’s palette painted,
with every color she’s acquainted,
etched in flower, bush, and creature
displaying every detailed feature

Sweet scents to delight any nose
of flowers resting in sun repose,
a smorgasbord of other smells
at which the nose sometimes rebels

The taste of crisp apple morning air
brings us into bold aware
of every breath that fills our senses
and helps us live without pretenses

Touch the earth in full profound
of flavors, scent, sight, and sound,
textures complex, smooth, or rough,
you’ll find abundantly enough

But civilization comes crashing in
with cars honking in the daily din,
things to do and shop and buy
underneath the cerulean sky

Then pause to see, to breathe, and feel,
to touch, to smell in fond appeal,
for senses, no matter what or where,
are gifts in which we all can share

Eliel Fionn 7/8/23

Treasure Tree

In the meadow, tall and free,

I saw a gnarled treasure tree,

its bark held pockets of moss and more

gifts not found in town or store,

latticed lichen, bugs, each beak

of tiny birds nestled wing to cheek

And by its roots, as was its habit,

a snoozing, brown, bespeckled rabbit,

that promptly raised its sleeping head

and gazed without an ounce of dread,

then slowly hopped away from me,

to lounge at another side of the tree

Against the trunk I leaned full length,

the tree, it lent to me its strength,

and also several curious ants

(I had to brush them off my pants)

I sighed as I stood bark to cheek

and let down fall my heavy week

The week, it landed on springy grass

along with each alack, alas,

right next to a bunch of yellow flowers,

upon which bees hummed for hours,

about nectar, honey, sun and rain,

while I started to feel myself again

I stood in the sunshine at my leisure,

then thanked the tree for every treasure,

though it ran no errands, paid no bill,

had no obligations to fulfill,

simply by standing and being a tree

it gave peace and solace to more than me

Eliel Fionn 2/23/23

Roots

We don’t want

to talk about

those people,

the ones that came

before

It was hard,

being poor,

the war, the work

that chapped the hands

and curved the back

Why remember

the unpleasantness

of their struggles,

when you can focus

on now

But see how my roots

still entwine me,

the fearful folk who fled

their home ground,

unwelcome there

I am bound

by ideas unconscious

but carried

carried into the future

by them, by me

Their blood still pulses

in my veins, they

keep me alive

through every hard

loss

They are the salt

in my blood

that savors me

flavors me,

their sweat, their tears

I am from those

who came before,

though I never knew them-

gone long before

I ever became

I am full

of generations,

even of their joy

in knowing

I carry them still

Eliel Fionn 12/29/23

Found

I found a poem

in the garden

between the watering can

and a row of peas

where the sun

lay glistening

I found a poem

in the park

down the curve

of a slide

and the glee

of a child

I found a poem

under the covers

where my feet

reached past

our warmth

and felt the cold

I found a poem

in my head

but didn’t write

it down,

and then

I forgot every line

But even that

was a poem,

the empty space

that every rhyme

ultimately

disappears into

 2/5/23