Independence to think freely, speak freely and chart a course of our own making is our right.

True.

But independence in its ultimate presence is without support from friends and opposing ideas offsetting our opinions.

We have a right to our opinions— but so does everyone else.  Independence carries a responsibility to protect other independent opinions.

This is called compromise.  I wish this for our leaders—the ability to think freely, speak freely, and honor everyone else’s freedom to do the same.

Happy 4th of July everyone

AND THE WATERS DANCED

I gave the lake a gift
After all the ones she’s given me

Parked against the barrier
I rolled the windows down

And turned full up the volume
While the cassette slowly unwound

Ancient wooden flutes and drums
Played by Indians of the South

Black haired calm ones
With true wisdom in their souls

Atlantis in the Andes with
Compassion for the chaos in the world

Sweet, chilling flute trills and a rain stick
Rippled out across the water

Shivers of joy fled across the surface as the
ancient songs united with the water

And the waters danced in such a way
That I knew my gift was welcome

The wind carried sound waves
Through the water waves

And wind smoothed fleeting patches
Drew the birds around in circles

And my heart danced not only to the music
but to the joy I brought the lake

like hearing church bells ring
when the sky is full of rainbows

7/3/2019
Gail Hoxie

THE Tiny SUBMARINE

I cannot speak of their peril—
Only of their light—

A universal breathing from
So many around the world—

And I prayed
And I checked
And I waited

For those I did not know

The excellence of leadership
All in to reach the goal

I humbly thank all involved
In so many ways

Life is richer
Because of your
Daring and your love

And though the tiny submarine
Wasn’t needed this time-

The gift is a symbol of
The danger and the teamwork

Brought into the flooded
Caves of Thailand —

Gail Hoxie
July 10, 2018

 

LAST STAR I SEE TONIGHT

I see a line of star lights
Somewhere behind my eyes
Like the little lights along
The sidewalk in the dark—
Flickering and dying
They go out
One by one
As I dive into
The twilight

I am a Portuguese Man-of-War
Without the poison
Rising through the sunlit sea
Blue-green and bubbling
To somewhere I’ve been before—
My trailing threads
Are anchored
But I am
Floating
Free.

My baby cries
And like a venetian blind
Falling to the floor
I fold back
Into my life
And hope
To see the stars
Again when sleep
Returns.

Gail Hoxie

NEARER TO THEE

Closer in perspective
Crossing crystal lines

Learning how to listen
From the center of my mind

Hearing the beat beating
In my own heart

And slowing down to see
The wide whirling all around me

Catching golden glimpses
Sweetly reaching down

Knowing that my breathing
Can be slightly, softly deepened

Assuming heightened kinship
And truly finding it

As I get nearer to Thee
And closer to me.

 

Gail Hoxie

RED MOUNTAIN

It’s light and rainy
And the warm buds have turned
The mountain into roses.

All around the scent is
Deep and fragrant
As only grass and rain can be.

I feel alive and grateful
As I remove my jacket and
Breathe it all in.

From valley to mountain
The magnificent event
Takes place…

Sun shines through the rain
And colors arc
Across the sky.

No time to take a picture
Just drink it in
And sigh.

Gail Hoxie

BEWARE OF THE HIDES OF MARCH

Lurking just beneath the warmth
A wandering Blue Breath awaits

That’s all that he has left
To blow across a springtime dream

Set amidst the newest
Sweetest, greenest grass

One last gasp of frozen power
Before the melting is complete

And the metamorphosis takes place
As cold spring water splashes ‘cross his face

Nullifying and restoring
Warmth and growth and tender shoots

Until he is allowed next fall to place his frozen foot
Inside our door, once more.

-Gail Hoxie-

LITTLE IRISH

A touch of Irish laughter even close to death
A spirit and bright outlook still strong in her last breath
Hard work, close friends and family comprised her
Pot-o’-gold

Exquisitely unselfish with self-sacrifice
Untold
She valued more the rainbow
Than what was at the end

And while we all do mourn her
Sure’n heaven’s gained a friend.

For Mom, who died August 17, 1977 – written a year after her death

As we get closer to St. Patrick’s Day, so many things return to remind me of Mom. She did a little Irish jig and loved a wee bit of whisky on Friday night after a long week’s work in the factory.

Everyone who knew her knew she could keep your secrets and poured their hearts open to her for her kind and loving advice.

She didn’t judge and truly danced to a different drummer. She gave a quarter a week at the Catholic church. And told me one day when I, in tears, shared that I had eaten a hot dog on that Friday – “Oh, darlin’,” she said, “just bless it and make it fish.” She knew I had forgotten that it was Friday and could see I was contrite. Mom was always on your side – if she loved you – not so much if you were against one of her children… Irish temper in residence.

You probably think my memories have canonized Mom, but truly, if you knew her, you’d know she had a heart’-o’-gold and a smile for every occasion.

She always bought the little white box of praties (mashed potatoe candy rolled in cinnamon) and green snakes with red eyes and harps in white and green peppermint soft candy. Everything was an opportunity for a holiday with Mom and I miss her dearly. Do they still make praties??

LILACS

If I only had the courage I would fly off with the Spring Angels

Low above the morning meadow, inhaling the sweet lilacs

And breathing out the warm breeze

To gently lay the long grass down in passing.

Some of the sweetened breezes would spread across

The meadow and curl into the waiting nostrils

Of all those who cannot fly

But stand on the periphery desiring

The same sweet things as I

If I only had the courage I would spread my wings

Across the yellow-green pastels

Like a watercolor wash with delicate punctuation

From forsythias at the foot of curving hills

To soften all the colors in those early morning hours

And anyone who dared could ride aloft

With me and touch the artistry

If I only had the courage.

Gail Hoxie, 1994

JANUARY, ALLIGATOR, MARCH

 

As an alligator sleeps, petrified by sun,

So seemingly repose the snow-gilt rocks

Along the road, brought closer to the surface

In the warming February sun.

The penetrating rays stab a mind clear of thoughts—

aware only of heat and winter going,

thoughts of fun and games in the summer sun…

Foolish February dreamer unaware
of tomorrow’s snow

Never trust an alligator.

Gail Hoxie, February 1970

 

Today 60 degrees, tomorrow 70 record-breaking degrees in Connecticut.  Enjoy the heck out of it, but don’t put away your boots.