birthday soon
leaves begin their autumn dress
eager wind rushes to receive
only in dreams, summer remains
—Neil, 2021
As many of you know, my dear friend and fellow blogger, Neil Reid, left us last November. Today would have been his 78th birthday. In honor of his kind heart and beautiful writing, I’d like to share with you two poems that will be in our poetry collection coming out next spring. The first one I wrote in honor of Neil, and the second is a favorite poem of his. He had a way of stringing together many different ideas to make you understand a deep truth. The photo above is of his beloved dragon statue which made it’s way to me. It’s magical, like him.
I miss him so much.
If you have a favorite Neil memory, please share it. Or, if his writing is new to you, read more and let me know what you think.
farewell
you are my moose
four legs rooted in soil
stars dancing in dark pupils
sniffing for ripe plums
running from wolves
you hand me threads
wrapped around words
unraveling big pills
not wooden, real live boy
feet kissing earth
you turn toward light
living moss-covered verbs
bowls of ocean water
melt like sugar does
children need sunlight
you wanted Neverland
stories told under willows
hunger turned into warmth
forgetting ancient lost faces
harvest moon dancing
you call me mother
as in honey comb
solid tree branches
bend into dream blossoms
nests, fragile eggs
you remain soft bear
flowing tidal kindness
snuggling soft memories
chocolate cake, closed eyes
embrace salty breath
you return home
tail, fin, gills, scales
shyness turned into galaxies
unafraid of unknown shapes
love is a bucket
we keep filling
forever
—Bridgette
tell me words
when I can’t quite see you. unclear. obstructed.
cluttered by stray thought. sound but no sight.
although more than an arm’s length away. or,
maybe it’s just smoke. fine bits of something
recently burnt. a particulate suspended mass.
describe smoke
when I called, you came to me. only a few steps
measured away, but it meant you had to get up,
get out of bed. something in the dark looked
awry. my height marked in pencil, ascending
on the doorway jam. yours by a calming hand.
describe mother
she was always there. more than anyone. her.
feeder of stray cats, any cats. hands that held
no threats, not to anyone. a gingham dress.
always. at least my always. memory bigger
than me. mother of mother.
describe Janet
you come from out of the ground. you come
from mountaintops. you come from high and
grey and green and white and dark, clouds we
say. one drop at a time still makes an ocean
to waiting watchful acolytes. thirst. we drink.
describe water
check mark all of the above. a first beginning,
eagerly. tell me all the stars. tell me all the
worlds. tell me about me and about you. I’m
all ears. I’ll bring the old cooking pot.
describe everything
you come from the ground when I call. you answer thirst.
you bake bread. I comb your hair. cat’s asleep on the bed.
you are rolling brown grass hills. my hand knows the curves.
you are a bowl of soup. you are inside when outside is rain.
describe loving
—Neil
You’ll forever be my water, Neil. Happy Birthday.
Bridgette Tales 