Jean Ryan2 Comments

Lichen

Bonded to a boulder,
living on air and random rain,
a forty-year-old lichen
claims a thumbprint of space.
Centuries from now it will be
the size of a dinner plate,
will still be young
when the millennium turns–
not that age applies
to a thing designed to override death.

Maybe this doesn’t sound
like much of a life:
stuck on stone, nothing to do
but make more crust.
Or maybe it’s a thrill a minute,
living up to all that potential.

I would like to find out,
to lie on a sun-warmed rock
and give myself up,
to become with steady assurance
all I was ever meant to be.


























 

     

     

    

    Jean Ryan12 Comments

    Things I Keep From My Wife

    News of animals, their misfortunes. Hopefully she has not seen these stories. I wouldn’t know.

    Broken egg yolks. I give her the perfect yellow rounds, the slightly bigger shrimp, the cookie with more chocolate chips. I am nothing if not vigilant.

    Worry about her health, especially her asthma. My anxiety will not help her breathe.

    Worry about my own health. The little things. My body is my job, not hers.

    Silly, daily mistakes I make. Which might, at this age, cause her concern.

    My soiled childhood. This is what therapists are for, to hear the words that must be said to those will not be gutted.

    Behavior I regret, the pages of our book I want to rip out. Admission is not absolution. Instead of infecting her with these images, I offer myself now, the improved version, the best I can muster. So far.

    Jean Ryan2 Comments

    Some Days

    Some days I don’t notice the nuthatch
    climbing the cinnamon scales of a pine tree,
    or the honeybee paused
    on the edge of the birdbath, drinking.
    Some days I see only the skim
    of a hamburger wrapper floating in the bayou,
    a chain link fence studded with plastic bags,
    a still gray form in the middle of the road,
    justifying despair.
    I lose some days entirely,
    as if this world can do without me,
    as if the way back is not just a few feet away, where a lime green katydid the size of a staple is waiting for my astonishment.

    Jean Ryan6 Comments

    What Thrills Me About The Deep Red South

    Surging dolphins.

    Ospreys carrying dinner.

    Fried shrimp picnics on the banks of a bayou.

    Box turtles crossing the yard.

    Tree frogs on the window pane.

    Corn snakes in the squash.

    The size of grasshoppers.

    How tall my basil grows.

    The end of summer.

    And the Make America Green Again 

    bumper sticker I saw yesterday 

    on a car whose driver I’d pay to meet.

    Jean Ryan7 Comments

    Drones

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    When it comes to rescue—
    delivering supplies,
    mapping disasters,
    finding ways in or out—
    who would argue
    the value of drones?

    But what of the beasts
    who survive on mystery,
    whose only defense
    is distance?

    Like the snow leopard
    snaking down a mountain,
    his supple spotted back
    captured by the drone above,
    foretelling his destination,
    betraying his habits and stealth.

    I wonder if he hears
    this camera he cannot elude,
    and if knowing he’s been found
    will change him, the way a horse,
    once broken, loses a part of himself,
    and alters the world.

     

    Jean RyanLeave a comment

    Purifying Wind

    PW Wind cover Mock up

    I wish to thank D. Ellis Phelps, editor of the new anthology Purifying Wind, “an anthology of poetry to honor the vulture, many species of which are declining or in danger. Book represents the work of forty-three poets from six countries, many of whom are prize winning and Pushcart nominees. Poems enter the realm of many subjects including wonder, desire, love, aging, memoir, death and birth, and the natural world, to name a few. ”

    I am delighted to have my poem “The Natural Order” included in this inspiring collection. Here is a video of me reading the poem. You may watch others authors reading their work on the Purifying Wind page on Amazon.

     

     

     

     

     

    Jean Ryan3 Comments

    Greatness

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    Greatness

    An osprey dives over and over,
    as many times as it takes to stay alive
    and become incidentally superb.

    Driving down the road near my house
    I see them flying, a stunned fish in their claws,
    as if nothing could be more ordinary
    than a bird bringing home dinner.

    Wings or brains,
    we work with what we have.
    I can’t snatch a meal from the ocean
    at 50 miles an hour,
    but I can plant a garden,
    make stories out of thin air,
    learn the difference
    between an aspen and an alder.
    Minute by minute,
    even I can be splendid.

    Jean Ryan6 Comments

    Past Lives

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    Past Lives

    Sometimes they are not dead.
    Sometimes they just live far away,
    and even if you stopped by for a visit
    what words would persuade them
    of your betterment, the worth
    you finally achieved?
    What could they do but listen and nod,
    knowing what they know?

     

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