Duchenne Lines (January 19, 2024)

Duchenne lines are the marked signs of genuine happiness

And little sparks like comets shoot across her eyes 

Her smile squeezes them moon-shaped

She’s showing off her happiness beside the one who brought it out in her

Though, not being a first-time bride, there is a first time glow about her

For the widow who is twice blessed, 

having put herself aside to be nursemaid through the end times

is deserving to be blessed

This is her happiness: her crown of vitality that now nourishes her countenance

She has been watered by the sweetness of new love in bloom

And new life has poured into her roots

A bloom that has come out in winter is more striking

It’s rare, and I’ve never seen it before

I have been in this case— gobsmacked 

But this look of love is very beautifying

It has done something to her countenance that is new

She reached contentment first, but God granted her happiness

It was the gift given for the completion of her first vow: 

to God and to her husband.

And once it was fulfilled, she was set at large in her own field

To become who she was and is on her own.

She made strides and grew into herself 

She brought her talents out and delved them

She took trips and helped parents

She saw their two children married and settled

Then, she was again alone, but contented.

And somewhere along the dusky road of grief and letting go

The sun rose and it was golden

Duchenne lines are the marked signs of genuine happiness

And she has them.

Fall Wind Blows written by Nina Ricci

The fall wind shakes the nonsense out of trees

And blows the ne’er-do-wells into hiding 

It upheaves the musks of earth that turn the leaves colorful

And it’s an early sign to wildlife to make their houses sturdy

Like spring, the high breeze shakes leaves 

and builds a roaring voice that rouses the inner man to fear God 

pushing the calloused feelings to the surface and standing hairs on end

It’s intensity builds to a climax like a gripping sermon 

And releases its wrath like a come-along grip— 

All the vessels relax and the playful leaves circle around the ground 

chasing each other like silly squirrels

Dancing to a halt in the dirt

From the porch rails, I watch the ground 

listening for signs of life in the forest 

wondering if it’s alright to breathe 

because it feels like the air has been sucked out of the world

And I’m left standing on an empty planet

In these vacuous moments, time slows down like a walk on the moon

And like a shaken snow globe, the glitter falls till there’s no motion at all

I believe I could right the wrongs if the world stopped like it does after the fall wind blows

There’s a depth of no motion, and a profound “pause” that makes me wonder if people keep time in Heaven?

I rest on my laurels in the great sea of peace that has spread across the world  

When— a rustle behind me in an appointed tree starts the tickle that begins its coarse 

running through the forest like mischief building speed

—Like the wrist flick that strikes the whip

Another fall wind blows

“Fall Wind Blows” ©2023 Nina Ricci Music, All Rights Reserved

Hands

Insomuch as I have lived,
Always I have spied
Hands of different sizes
Resting at each human’s side

Respecting hands flat on the heart
And hands stretched out to greet
Hands at work and hands at play
Kissed hands so sweet

Throughout the working places
In houses big and small
Though the hand be a small member,
It helps us one and all.

The carpenter’s hands are strong, gnarled, and rough
The nails of his hands are cracked
And every line within the palm suggests the artist’s craft

The preacher’s hands are pale,
The knuckles: white as snow
From the weary task of directing poor sinner’s
In the way that they should go
The musician is a wonderment.
His hands so nimble and full of grace
But carpals only last so long,
Arthritis takes their place

God’s Hands are the most captivating to me,
They can’t be seen, or touched, or tangibly felt
Yet they are in our midst every moment

I feel them in life’s hurricane’s eye:
They are the mainstay.

When my life is naught but bad dreams, 
Loose seams, and unraveling schemes,
His Hands are in the starry sky,
I may see them on moonbeams

A touch here or there
Is not how God works:
His fingers sift through all of us as
Sand, the oceans course

And my hands are young
My fingers, long, supple and strong
But I know not how my own strength will last
Nor how long

I only hope God will grant me grace
And give my fingers strength
To hold another’s hand,
And to fold my hands in thanks.
                     
©2013

Whispers From The Engineer

It was a train ride and I held the brakes                     

I turned the nozzle, I scoped the lines                                   

I turned the curves and pounded time                                   

As we shuttled past the railroad stakes                     

The engine ground, the piston pined

And whined within its steely gates

I counted stocky wind-turbines

Flailing at us from a ways away

I shut an eye, the other fluttered

Signs were bland and very vague

Little ladies talked and tittered

Men read pamphlets children played

Droning, droning ever forward

In the milky, sleepy dull

The coals cried dry and wispy whimpers

In the cistern’s muggy lull

I watched a light show from my window

It was the train light’s flashing X’s

I was dazzled then my vexes

Faded black and faded slow

I went where most people go

I didn’t know anything anymore

But they did, all the rest on board

They saw us heading past the shore

We danced on tight ropes not ballast

I knew nothing of our waltz

I tell you it was not my fault!

I was not conscious of our stance

I felt a rush that woke me up

A siren squealed and jarred me

My heart burned hot, my blood caught fire

I cast the light upon the water

  

I could see the end I could hear them wail

They clutched their children by them

They prayed to God to save their lives,

I prayed to God He’d hear them

The water caught us, cold and fast

We stayed afloat on perilous pillows

We were blindfolded under steaming billows

And sunk into the watery pasture

Pleas and calls drowned out forever

They departed to eternal stations

Save me, I was carried on the waters

By a Hand with expectations

Where the locomotive sank

I now return to squat

Bowing towards the wreckage,

Stooping on the dock

Whispering rueful sentiments

Mixing my tears with the ocean’s salt

They’ll not hear but I wish to tell them “Sorry”

For, in truth, it was my fault