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windy moon*                         leaking through the empty parts                         within                         how strange this mid-aged body                         still yearns for another birth                              * Cherokee moon in March: traditionally the start of the new cycle of planting

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At the Lake                        On the drive to Lake Superior, phosphorous fireflies stain the windshield.                        It is the sound of a dying star which we have thrown wishes to.                        We fall down together.                        Wild birds at the side of the road.                         In the morning, I hear the emptiness of wings cup the sky.                         It is the oriental wisdom of the dead.                         Moving through this well of gravity, we want to feel beyond what we touch.                         How the lake becomes vivid with dusk.                         We sit in the circled light of burning wood.                         Later your body is forest through which I find my way home.

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original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

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Morningtide                         Five a.m.,                         a crescent moon leans and                         pulls at my belly.                         Outside                         a bird quiets a branch                         rocking against a raven sky.                         Later,                         I will hear                         dull throbs of lovers                         behind an apartment wall                         and think it is insects straining                         against a wire-meshed screen.

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original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

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filtered through the window shades                         sun shadows fill up the room                         I close my eyes to see you better                         how our boundaries merge                         this afternoon has no end                         I empty myself into you

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original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

page fifteen
 

The Borders of Sleep                         The fog floods the air                         as if it were                         a liquid thing                         seeking its own depth.                         I am submerged,                         following the narrowly lit path home,                         unable to see                         the outline of buildings,                         the night sky, trees.                         Who can say if this is the right way?                         And where do the borders lie?                         In the morning, the air                         once again                         is clouded by that mercurial wave.                         It has invaded my sleep.                         Is there a distinction between                         the dreamer and the dream?                         The wave and the sea?                         The leaf carries the moth's absence                         wherever it goes.                         Even the sky at dawn                         is signatured by stars.

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original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

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how slowly this silvered moonlight travels                         crossing the snow-spent lawn                         such mysteries rising in the depth                         this vast night sky                         I lock the door and switch off the light                         heavy with distance and time

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original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

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The Weight of Love                         When the air at night is as warm as my skin,                         I walk transparent into your arms.                         When the air at night is wild roe,                         I feed my bones to the moon.                         When the air at night is velvet-lined,                         I want to lie in the weight of your heart.                         When the air at night is petal-scented,                         I am like the unborn smelling the stars.

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original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

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the wind tonight                         drafty through the window pane                         has winter in it                         and this heart of heart still knows                         the rime of being alone

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original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

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A Winter's Tale                         When the language of mirrors haunts the tongue,                         in the dark every mirror is a black sun.                         We are hidden in the middle of each other                         like the dwarf of myself in your eyes.                         Dark river, pewter moon rising:                         the night sky bends over the land like a lost lover.                         In the middle of a winter's night                         I have found in you a fire I can live by.

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original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

]page twenty-five
 

Before the Storm                          Before the storm broke                          the reveling of cardinals                          punctuated the thicket of gray-green sky                          with a different light                          diffusing, as well, that storm growth in me.                          This language of birds haunts my heart;                          unable to translate, I stand, transfixed                          but not removed, wondering when                          I reach the last of my days                          if I could ever be ready--                          wanting less instead of more?

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f i n i s ___________________________________________________________________

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Marjorie Buettner ______________________________________________ I have written poetry all my life and, like music, I cannot live  without one or the other.  I live in Minnesota with my husband and three  daughters.  I have a master's degree in Literature and Philosophy.  My current publication credits are:  Anthologies:  Red Moon Haiku  Anthology, (U.S.), 1998, In the Ship's Wake (U.K.), 2001, Countless  Leaves (Canada), 2001, Tundra: a collection of short verse (U.S.), 2001.   Haiku publications:  Modern Haiku, Frogpond, still (U.K.), The Heron's  Nest, Raw NerVZ (Canada), Snapshots (U.K.), and Acorn.  Tanka  Publications:  American Tanka, Hummingbird, Lynx, Tangled Hair (U.K.)  still (U.K.), and Woodpecker (Netherlands).  On-line publcations:  Lynx,  Poetry in the Light, World Haiku Review.  I have recently won First place in  the Florida State Poets Association, 2001 in the sijo form. I have received  placement in the 2001 Tanka Splendor Awards.  I have also received  Honorable Mention from Japan's 4th annual Suruga-Baika Literary Festival,  2002, Japan's Mainichi haiku contest, 2001 and Honorable Mention in the  James Hackett's British Haiku Society's 2001 contest.  I have received  Honorable Mention for tanka in still's poetry contest, 2000 and 2001 and  an Honorable Mention certificate for tanka from Japan's Society on Water  Environment, 2001.  I also write book reviews for North Stone Review,  Modern Haiku and the World Haiku Review.

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thank you Marjorie for sharing your poems __________________________________________________________________     if you have enjoyed the small selection of Marjorie's poetry presented in this third feature of profiles in stillness on dew-on-line, you may be pleased to know that you will be able to read more of this versatile poet's work in  still 4 one, still 4 four, still 5 one, and still 5 two . none of the work featured in this section has appeared in still. these editions of still are available from back editions on still's website

all featured poems copyright Marjorie Buettner 2002