A Quiz: Who am I

I am blue-yellow, but not green
I am long and thin, but not lean
I am a wild horse, but not a mustang
I am an old reliable ford
On my good days
I am a strong force to be reckoned with

I am my mother's daughter

I am slow & fluid, but not graceful
I am a bird song in the morning,
But I no longer mourn
I am a haunting melody, without a warning
A siren searching
A Lorelei
Forsaken, but not easily forgotten
My days are numbered, but I am not

I am not my father's son

If I were furniture, I would not be a sofa or a couch,
But I could be a divan -- sprawl out on me,
But do not get too comfortable
If I were food I would be spaghetti,
The leftovers tasting better than the day before
Play with me, slurp me, but do not desert me

I was once a playful child

I am the flute song
Floating on the perfumed river
I am the weeping willow
With my roots entwined in the earth
I am serious, my intent is genuine,
Although my actions are sometimes feeble
Inexcusable or nonrenewable
They are livable, the choice was & is mine
I did the best I knew how to do
At the time

Each act forgivable or not
My expiration inevitable
Does being born feel a bit like dying
I don't remember either
yet

I fear living fully sometimes
And other times
I can be fearless
And sometimes alone
at night
I fear drowning
In embryonic fluid
Or sometimes I fly above the earth
And then I awake & forget
Who I am

Who am I
A) am I the born awaiting death
B) am I the unborn awaiting rebirth
C) both A & B
D) none of the above


By Pattra Burnetto Monroe March 2000 (revised March 2009)

A Reminder Not To Buy The Lies Of Our Life

A Reminder Not To Buy The Lies Of Our Life

We are love, not hate
Hate is just fear in disguise
Fear is meant to give us
The illusion of safety

Fear acts like a friend
But it is a trickster
Like coyote...
Both friend and foe in one skin

Howling down the thunder
When we need the rain
Howling out its hunger
Howling out its pain...

We are not coyote
We are not the rain
We are not the pain...
Yet we are

We buy our fears
We buy our lies
We bury our heads
We turn the other cheek

Only to climb back on the rug again...
We buy the deceit
We want to trust
But we are afraid to leap

What if there is no God?
What if there is no love?
What if the years the locust have eaten
Cannot be restored?

What if i die tomorrow
With my life left undone?
What if i choose,
Instead, to remember
We are always
All ways
Love?

This is a reminder
Not to buy
The lies of our life

Pattra Burnetto Monroe
August 2000

Fullmoonitis

You are not an object
Yet
You are the object of
My desire
This I can not tell
You
Fearing using you
More than the loss of
My desire
Which comes and goes
Waxes & wanes

pbm

Jigsaw Puzzle

If I could
I would
take my past
piece by puzzling piece
and put it back together
creating a scene of beauty and order
straightening out the chaos
of my mistaken beliefs
choosing love instead of hate
blue instead of grey
taking small bits of matter
that once seemed so important
random deeds scattered
across the table of my life
If I could
I would
take my past
peace
by
puzzling
peace

PBM
1996

Company in Modern Times

I gave you a cup of tea

I zapped it like a witch

I could have kept you longer

If I had boiled the water

Pattra Burnetto Monroe

Germination

lying dormant in the garden
are the seeds that have been sown

winter hides the flowers
deep within the ground

cloistered within the depression
lying dormant in the earth

are disembodied dreams
protected in a state of silence

numb and warm
are seeds awaiting germination

like the silent sleeping beauty
awakened by the prince

my loves awaken me
with patient little prods

beckoning me to surface
come sing to us they call

come fix me something to eat
laughter, rain, and sorrow

each calling for attention
each seed seeking its perfection

no matter what state
dormant or awakened

or lying buried in the ground
appearances can be deceiving

and love can still be found

Pattra Burnetto Monroe

The Visitors

The joy
you brought to me
still lingers

I'm dancing
in the
afterglow

Laughter illuminates me

Look
I've become
a wood nymph
a sea sprite

a dandelion
in a child's
breath

pbm 1991

There is Change in the Wind Part II

The wind is still blowing
and is predicted to blow
stronger, harder, longer
still
The wind is part of the change

There is one more wind chime
in my garden
a small wind chime rests
in the bare branches
of our potted lilac tree

a gift to my mother
while she still lived
loved by her grandchildren
despite her binges
as they always included
a great story

"just listen," she said, "it gets better
every time I tell it!"
I miss the stories
lost in time
I don't miss the drinking
but she won't mind

The lilac tree offers the promise
of blossoms in this it's ninth year
as we haven't seen it bloom yet
it's presence offers hope

until spring it's branches hold
only the miniature bird house
and tiny buds bursting from each branch

hanging from the painted bird house
are tiny silver chimes
only three
but three is enough
to play a tune

alone
they each are silent
last night people kissed
at midnight
I wasn't there to watch
like Cinderella
I ran home before
the midnight hour

while fire works exploded
my kisses sailed on the wind
to children grown and gone
to family & friends
to loves of my past
or love that has never been
I have not always been alone

and I know how to do this
how to live my life
which occasionally
I am true too

I create a grotto full of music
songs dancing on the wind
A plastic St. Francis
watches over all
protecting the illusion

An imaginary world
with substance and beauty
as long as we believe it is real
the birds come to eat and drink
and I watch the flowers bloom

A Ferdinand savoring their scent
in her quiet sanctuary
where I can see the river
and in the early morning
hear the ocean hum to me

I watch the bulbs reach skyward
a universe hidden
inside their d n a
I invite the angels in to play
& make new friends

I shall start the new year here
in my tree house nest
by writing, brushing my teeth,
walk, work, done...
"chop wood, carry water"
a pretty acceptable plan

I shall start the new year
by putting away the past
and embracing the present
savoring the days
as they sail past
on the winds of change

Change is good
as my change purse
will attest to
a gift from my youngest
knowing how it will
make me laugh

Change is also inevitable
the only constant I know
and I am the curious type
anxious to see the unfolding

to feel the wind in my hair
and hear the girlish laughter
of my mischievous, amazingly
amusing muses
as they sail by

taunting & teasing me
whistling a tune in my ear
knowing all the while
I am tone deaf

As I greet the morning
and the new year begins
I feel a surge of gratitude
carried on the wind

Thank you, my children,
for having blessed my life
Thank you, my friends,
for all the joy you bring.

Thank you, my family
for being brave & strong.
Thank you, old lovers
for having loved me.

Thank you, wind,
for bringing me my songs.
Thank you, Angels
of Love & Light
for bringing faith to find me
when I was lost.

Thank you, God,
for all this
and more.
Amen

Days in December
Riding into the sunrise

the dawn parts the mountain
to reveal the road ahead

And I think of our
conversation this morning
in the predawn hours

and of you
a path finder, a seeker,
a road builder

and I think of our ancestors
crossing these mountains
by foot or horseback

I know you've driven
this highway
many times before
and I am closer to you

Closer than the time
I nursed your child
Or was a scolding parent
to your running wild

and you holding onto
a car bumper
by your finger tips

taught me so much
about the lengths
a woman will go to
for love

It took me less than
an hour to read the pages
of your autobiography

It took you a lifetime to live it
I wanted to laugh and cry
instead I wrote this little ode
from a greyhound bus

An ode to you and me
Day broke as we reached the summit
clouds of snow illuminated tall pines
and firs reaching skyward

Nature's reverence
The sight is
breathtaking

And sister
as I think of you
I am reminded to breath

The pass appears to be
bare and dry
yet
still a little slippery

This is good for December
and women like you or me
riding out of the night

each of us going home
into the light
Life
it's all down hill
from here


pattra burnetto monroe 1994

Country Western Haiku # 123

Lost & Found

There is no loss in heaven
It's in heaven where
everything can be found

pbm 4 December 2008