|
Details |
Karen Ruff Poem
My computer-- disassembled
is a maze of cables, drives
chips and ports--an array
of connections, silver solderings,
twisting wires.
But when the satiny case
is latched in place
coils and cables disappear.
The smallest particle of matter
is not an atom, but a byte--
a particle of magic that combines
and multiplies unseen
inside the blinking box.
Creation occurs inside my computer--
friends, family rest behind the pressing
of selected keys. Words and faces
form; smiles and frowns
become feelings.
Attraction becomes addiction.
Inside my computer
merchants buy and sell--
musicians sing,
artists train pictures into pixels,
poets recollect emotion in tranquillity.
Inside my computer
dreams are imagined into reality--
inventions, hopes, ideas are born
and nurtured into happenings.
Strangers share a table, touch
hands across the world.
Inside my computer
the pulse of human hearts
waxes and wanes
as people fall in and out
of love.
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Karen Ruff Poem
Rocking Chair
(The Autistic Child)
Born with walls constructed in her mind,
She keeps the world and all its threat at bay,
Inside her rocking chair day after day,
A month, a year, an hour, no sense of time
Just rocking, rocking all her life away.
Christmas comes and presents pile around
Her chair; she sees the paper, shining, colors bright;
She reaches for the red, the blue, the white.
She revels in the crumpling paper sound--
Just rocking, rocking in her endless night.
The family gathers for the festive meal,
She will not leave her chair, her treasured place,
The never-ceasing motion of her private race.
She’s rocking in her solitary reel,
An empty stare on her unchanging face.
But what is this, her sister’s gentle hand
A soft, accepted touch , a simple smile,
“I want to sit with you a little while”--
Contact made without seeming to demand
They rock together—a stationary mile.
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Karen Ruff Poem
Love's Fashion Model
Darling, May i dress you
In alphabetic Bytes that Mold
and caress your Manly form?
May i drape you in a Fantasy
made of Words and Nature's imagery?
We would wander thru a quiet cove
where turtle doves could make a melody
and i would find a sandy bank
and weave myrtle leaves and flowers
around your neck, into your hair.
Around your waist I'll thread some tender vines
strewn with apple blossoms sweet;
and with subtle sage plucked from the water's edge
I'll dress your thighs and slender legs.
Across your chest a sash of fiddle ferns
will make your grab complete.
And then I'll lie beside you in the quiet
afternoon; the breeze will bless the stirring
of our passion and the sun will keep us warm.
There the birds will be our serenade, the bubbling
creek their instrument. And with myself...I'll cover
you...where' ere the flowers have not done.
May I drape you with a fantasy
Made of words and nature's imagery.....
Darling....may I ...un-dress you....
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Karen Ruff Poem
The cedar towered above the shingled roof,
Its tapered branches hiding squirrels and birds
until the day when Hugo swept the hills
uprooting poplars, whipping wind-wilted
leaves against the parlor window.
The cedar fell, its prodigious bulk
flattened against the sodden earth.
For years it lay along the gravel drive.
The neighbor though we ought to cut
the cedar into pieces--use the oval slabs
for stepping stones or perhaps for firewood.
The gard'ner groaned and said it was a nuisance.
One summer day we thought to drag it off
to slice away the limbs, the falling needles.
But the honeysuckle had wound around the trunk
as if to say how much it was not in the way.
A chameleon slithered, dark against the trunk,
a ground sparrow squawked and fluttered in alarm
while chipmunks hurried to guard a nut-filled hole.
We put the chain-saw in the shed
and planted flowers in the tangled roots.
A cedar tree, after all, is indestructible...
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Karen Ruff Poem
dandelion child
simply trusting
eyes wide - open
ready to accept and
give: a powder - puff
to scatter seeds
of virgin love
c
h
a
i
n
s
.
o
f
.
c s
o t
nn e
e m
c s
t .
ing y
o
u ght
r u e
. a r
l
.
t
o
. . .m . . .i . . .n . . .e . . .
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Karen Ruff Poem
My heart is in the Adirondacks
And day by day i drink the courage
captured in these mountain heights.
The trail winds across the slope where bramble
lies like Tangled Truth--Blending Berries and Briars
--Bold challenges for hungry wanderers.
The great white pine leans low in mountain wind--
but lifts its top again--the living hiding place
of antelope and bear--and little things
the birds and scurriers finding safety
in the needled limbs.
The contradictions here abound,
The breathless height amid hollow crevices,
The stillness--absence of humanity--amid
a cacophony of Nature's jumbled cries;
the barren rock 'tween rooted evergreens;
the toxic elder hiding almond scented mushrooms;
the dying elm that shades the sprouting oak;
The tumultuous roar of naked storms
Belied in the quiet tumble of mountain streams.
All these things--these contradictions
do but mirror the tortured passion
in my breast. Nor in the madding cities
or steepled churches hiding frightened people--
nor yet, in tenuous arms of would be lovers--
do i find peace. But only here--
where trembling deer dip cautiously
into the water's edge; squirrels scold
in unquiet trees, and wild turkeys
strut unfrightened across the wind-bare
rocks. Here--on a mossy bank--
where the current curves in gurgling smiles
around the jutting stones; here
in the flickering welcome of mountain shadows
the human spirit finds release.
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Karen Ruff Poem
Abalone Song
The ocean tossed an empty shell,
A swirled coil of pearly emptiness
glowing softly on the shifting sand.
What creatures lived and loved--secured deep
inside the silky walls of abalone?
What torrent tore the creature's heart
and ripped it from its shell to die
alone?
Or did it simply crawl away
Unseen, abandoned.
Does it live somewhere else
Without a home?
The ocean left a hollow song,
A sadness rolling soft and low
For those who choose to hear.
I hold the shell against my ear
And feel the somber tone--a moan
that fills the emptied abalone--
Not a cry of creature--moved on, outgrown--
But empty echos carried on the sea,
Anguished groans of souls whose hearts
have been disowned.
I hear the broken tears of one I know
Who night by night must weep alone.
I hold his hungry spirit in the empty shell
And wish it were his hand I held.
I struggle to caress his heart with words
Knowing that the meager offering of my pen
Will never fill the empty chamber;
Perhaps a lighter note will soften
The somber tones of the Abalone
A note that says you have a friend
a quiet one with a willing pen
Who understands and cares.
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Karen Ruff Poem
(my mind hath looked
upon the speaking face of earth and heaven
as her prime teacher......[Wordsworth])
I saw two butterflies wrapped in silent passion,
Her heart-shaped wings splayed flat against the sill
Her torso throbbing in anticipation...
Himself, hovering gently to hold her still.
I saw their sleek brown bodies tightly pressed,
His feet clinging to her lest the wind
Tear him away. I saw the shadows rest
Around them and the midday sun descend,
And still they lay outside my window pane...
I wondered why it is that we must rush
And why my timid touches are but vain
And useless gestures, why he must always crush
The urgings. Nature’s children seem to know
That love is best when cherished soft and slow
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Karen Ruff Poem
Written upon the contemplation of---a bell pepper prior to
chopping it up for stew
Flat white seeds cluster
Like ants on a candy cane
hiding the secret
of millions of unborn
pepper plants.
Slowly we blossom,
explode around our center,
dangling like Christmas balls
green against green.
The story of our lives lies
within us,
tucked in a safe with no key,
Nature's treasure chest.
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Karen Ruff Poem
from Uncle Tom's Cabin (See notes for story background)
The long night was not long enough;
The new master and his hired men
Soon will come; the river rages,
The water glistens in the morning sun.
The boat is tethered at the other side,
but water beats against the wharf
And ice blocks bob as if on ocean tide.
The child sleeps. I can but wait,
For merchants traveling to and fro
Will need to reach Kentucky’s shore;
I dare not rest when freedom is so close.
But hark! The men are in the street;
I fear one saw me in the window—
I hear the pound of booted feet.
Lord, help me, they will not take my only babe;
With the river, I’ll take my chance—
No thought. Ice bobs and sinks beneath the waves,
I leap without a backward glance.
The ice seems not so slippery
I leap and leap and leap again
God gives me purchase—we will be free!
The last frozen block sinks beneath
My numbéd feet. I toss my child to the ground
And lunge—gripping grass midst mud and sleet,
The river roars behind, a deafening sound.
But o’er my head—an open hand,
A heav’n sent soul, my babe held in his arms—
A chance at freedom in an angry land.
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
|
|