Giraffe

Giraffe

In the car, my brother and I each were the first to see the brown bear billboards advertizing the Catskill Game Farm, and then the first to see the spotted yellow giraffes at the entrance.   Who parked the car and walked us to the gate, I do not remember--just how the two giraffes grew taller the closer we got and my brother took my hand, I jumping up and down, anxious to see the striped zebras and to feed the baby deer.

Grandmother was big then, at 5' she towered over me and I had to wrinkle my nose and scrintch my eyes against the sun to see her.  We could see the baby giraffe today when she put the paint away, washed her hands, and ate, she said.  She had just painted all the signs at the gate.  How did she get way up there?  She jumped! and, silly, used a ladder.

We get crackers for the animals with pennies she gave us--two each. My brother could stand on the concrete step to reach the coin slot and turn the dial--one penny for two.  I caught them as they fell.  Stacked in our hands like decks of cards,the crackers occupied us-- we had to taste a crumb and run to catch up and then learn to feed through cages without losing our fingers.

I pouted along.  I wanted to rush to the baby animals,  let them crowd close, get scared and let grandmother rescue me.  I wanted to ride next to my brother on the red fire engine and eat cotton candy,  not walk so slow . . . but then--the Giraffes! giants!  slow in motion, necks like trees swaying, eyes serious and attached to mine--and mother hiding her child behind.

I pulled back while my brother pushed close to see the baby peeking out. Grandmother stopped my retreat by lifting me in one strong arm.  With the other she took all but one cracker from my hands and guided that one up to the mother who reached her blue tongue toward me, thick, and--eyes on mine--touched me and won me forever.  Giraffe.

(7/9/2012:  I needed a happy child poem after my recent moralizing and howling.  Enjoy the 1st picture from 1954 and the rest from 2012 in the Philadelphia Zoo.   First posted on 4/23/2012 for NaPoWriMo, I revised this prose poem for "Open Link Monday" at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads.) 

Copyright © 2012 S.L.Chast

 

 

 

The Answer

When Bob Dylan sang "the answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind"

He did not mean that it had blown away or become elusive

He meant it was really in the wind, and would land sometime

So we had to be fast and pick it up, or it would be gone again.

And when Perry Como sang "Catch a falling star, and put it in your pocket,"

He did not mean to pretend.  He meant grab a star

while it was streaming past, and hold it tight and push it far far far

down into the pocket in your jeans.  On rainy and windy days,

take it out again and the starlight will cheer you.  You've got to be fast. 

Falling stars exist and answers are flying around everywhere

I've seen some: Like, how do you stop a war?  Don't go.

How do you get rid of weapons?  Make them and then bury them

under the Algonquin pine of peace with the eagle on top.

Plant poles of positivity for doves of every color to sit and sleep.

Walk until you see the answers in the stars, and then you rest, too.

The stars are in your pockets and the answers are in the stars.

You have eyes to see, and see not.  
You have ears to hear, so listen.

This is not a hunger game. 

It is a wake up call. 

Written for NaPoWriMo on 22 April 2012 and then revised, I am posting it for "Open Link Night: Week 48 " at DVerse.  I would love your opinion of a new title--maybe "You've got to be fast" or "the answer"?  Thanks for visiting me!

Chosen for book 11/9/2013.

Most Fateful Day

A hiss echoed from its spiked tongue and you thought
That the snake had not lied to you in word and in thought? 

Watch it slide away and take the apple along too
Neither giving it to you nor to God as we thought

Your tell-tale teeth marks are in it too, along with my own!
Seeing our DNA together, the snake will guess that you thought

We’d be together in Eden or in jail and—no matter how much
We pay for it—happiness follows the ability to have thought.

But doubt is quite difficult and I liked it much better
When fate was determined and we need not have thought

About all of the options, the leaves of the trees, whether
To beat you or to love you.  I wish I had thought

This before, dear Lady, I opened my mouth to your pleases
And caresses and most seductive scatterings of thought. 

Posted for Poets United Poetry Pantry #194.

Created by using a last line from an older poem and then applying the Ghazal form.  Featured on One Night Stanza's "Read this Now" on Tuesday, September 18th, 2012.

Copyright © 2012 S.L.Chast

The Quotidian

(With a gratitude to Kathleen Norris and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

The sun rises and the sun sets

Day after day in steady pace.

Before twilight, payday is over,

And returning home, moving in prayer

The worker cooks supper, cleans it up,

Feeds the kitty and walks the pup.

During the night, visions arise

Joining day’s tasks with the sounds outside:

The owl hoots or the sirens scream

Deep sleep restores beyond the dream

And the sun rises, the sun sets.

In the morning, the worker begins again

Washing, cooking, setting up, taking down

And when joys and sorrows come around

The quotidian is the re-starting place,

The heritage and cultural grace.

The sun rises and sets and rises again.

While writing this I was listening to Call's Let the Day Begin.  It was early spring and I was adjusting to leaving my job.  I was in love with life and letting the rhythms  of the Great Tree of Romanticism flow through me.  Today, I am posting "The Quotidian" at Poets United "Poetry Pantry - #111."

  Copyright © 2012 S.L.Chast

Poem #3: The Line

Note from 4 April, 2012: I have been reading a book on navigating transitions, which has been a blessing of retirement advice and spatial imagery.  It reminds me of another favorite, The Phantom Tollbooth, as I jump to conclusions more joyfully than timidly.  Timidity just wouldn't span the gap!

The Line

I stepped over the line I once drew in the sand,

letting go of the firm jaw of resolve and the stubborn pride

of I-can-do-everything.  In this new terrain,

I am a cartographer of possibility, a Lewis and Clark 

of a new landscape.  Grace accompanied me

on the old path, and She crossed 

the boundary of certainty with me, indeed--

She challenges me to dance into the dreams

I thought beyond my reach.  She dares me 

to waltz into freedom not knowing the ley of the land.

Note from 11 June 2012: Originally posted for NaPoWriMo 2012, I am re-posting  for today's Open Link Monday at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.  I think it might need a different title, but after reading and rereading, I still trust its economy and truth.  

Copyright © 2012 S.L.Chast

Chosen for book 11/2013

Finding You

A moment, those 5 days reduced to one

open-eyed communication of "I am here."

And how lucky that was even as much as

a 4-leaf clover in a field of spring growth

before Gaea and Hestia cook supper

and we pray for fecundity.

At the same Table.  We.

Lucky moment even as much as finding forevermore

in a marriage ceremony and see-ya-later

in a breakfast roll, in a forget-me-not.

O Love, do you think? 

Originally written for NaPoWriMo on 5/2/2012, I am re-posting this poem for "Poets United: Poetry Pantry #102" where my blog(s) have just joined the roll call.  This poem leaves a lot out, but I think "I am here" and want to know, really.


Copyright © 2012 S.L.Chast