Tag Archives: poetry

One Woman, Two Foxes and The Blades of Grass

It really happened this way
I saw a fox
Running free and wild
I saw a fox no longer alive, so very dead

All in one day

I glanced out my window full of green trees dappled in sun
The grass, the leaves, all aglow
While writing a note to a dear someone
In russets and gold with some black on its tail full of flow
That foxy one just sauntered on by, casual and slow,
doing a foxtrot for sure, on her slow run

fox run

I gasped in delight and watched her go
Across the stream, up on the hill, here at Holy Hill
I was granted this glimpse, this gift and Oh!
The beauty of this beast
My first sight of wild fox while sitting still

It makes me cry, it does still
And I know why

In the morn we are born
In the eve we wither and die
We are fragile and fleeting
Like the blades of grass

It doesn’t matter our mass
Our brilliance of mind, stature,
Wealth, talent or form
We all only, only have this day

In the afternoon, much later on this same day, I took a stroll
On a new path, one unexplored and full of grass
I saw some large stones covered in moss
An old well, or trough?

The gray, the green, the flowers, the bees,
The sound of the wind
Moving in the breeze
I wandered over to get a better view
And then I cried and gasped and had to jump back

My fox, not the earlier one,
Once seen, she felt like mine, was lying there so gone
With flies in her eyes
All of Mother Nature’s bugs in and out and about
Her tail, brown and black, swollen and full
No more to play and glide across my window
No more to jump and run, gently or swiftly,
In the rain or in the sun
No more yipping and yapping or joy of catching the hare
With her wildness laid bare, she was now sadly, free of care

All in One day—it happened this way
The Joy, the Sorrow, the Delight and the Fright
I long, I long, with all my might
To see the fox, my fox, again running by on the slope

Perhaps on the morrow
With my heart laid bare
Across the stream, as if in a dream
If I’m lucky and there’s some measure
Of dew and hope

And I’m granted another day
As a blade of grass, as a woman, sitting still by the window sill
I hope to be granted this view and this gift
If, from the Holy One, yet another moment or day
Is given me to borrow

©By Nicole Barchilon Frank, October 1, 2015, 17th of Tishri, 5776

Ode to Ethan on this, his day of birth, January 20th

while you swam inside me
we called you Mowgli
we watched and waited for you
as you leapt and turned under
the surface of my being
and we welcomed you
with delight and love

18 Years ago, Ethan came into the world. This is him with his father's hands.
birthing you was not so
gentle, easy or graceful
but you yourself have been and are
gentle, easy, graceful
and more, so much, much more
now as you leap and fall
from silks unfolding, as you race
around the court and aim yourself
at the ball or the sound on the piano keys
I wonder can I marvel any more
than I already and constantly do
at who you are

Ethan and his Mommy, summer of 1997
there is no limit to wonder
when you open your heart
and you stretch me further
and more all the time
you nourish everything parched or worn
in me with your warmth
your kindness, your devotion
and your essence

Ethan and his Mommy's Trike
May the face of Holiness
continue to shine on you, through
you, and around you and may you
feel the presence of Holiness
like you feel my love, both
are yours forever and both
come from the same place where you
also come from

Ethan's baby Quilt, made by Nicole Barchilon Frank

Swim and leap about my
youngest sprout
I’m so, so glad you are here
I want to shout it out
Yay for Ethan, Yay for Ethan
Yay for You!

My big boy!
My big boy!



This poem was originally written on Ethan’s 17th birthday last year. Today, he is 18! I’m off to the store to get the raspberries for his birthday breakfast crêpes, that recipe will be coming soon!

Witch Hunt

photo by Francesca Woodman, of Blessed memory.
photo by Francesca Woodman, of Blessed memory.

So I am caught I see
etween what I am
nd should be.

There is nowhere to hide.
The woods
are no longer big enough.
I emerge from sanctuary to
discover Superhighway.

There is no need to burn me.
The tarred roads are hot enough.
They singe my soul
and consume my roots.

There is no escape
and nowhere to escape to.
I am burning up now.
Watch me become


©Nicole Barchilon age 18, 1982

Climate Changes

Atlas Mountains: Oukmaiden, Morocco, one mile from my Uncle BB's home, April 9, 2013, photo by Nicole Barchilon Frank
Atlas Mountains: Oukmaiden, Morocco, one mile from my Uncle BB’s home, April 9, 2013, photo by Nicole Barchilon Frank

There is no comfort in the geologic record.”

We are the whimsy of Gd’s blink.

I may feel the warmth and roundness of my children’s bodies.
I may feel my husband’s tongue deep inside me and all around me.
I may feel the sunset in the singing of my blood.

I cannot know when I will die, or when my children shall.
I can love every day.
I can make mistakes over and over and over again.
I can complain,
and I do.

The clock ticks
marking what?


who is counting the seconds,
who can count them?

When will I know I’ve arrived?

Is there anything more than my attempts at connection?
I’m listening.
I’m here.

I’m comforted by his touch
by the sunset
by the taste of peaches
by the roses
bubble baths
my cat’s rough tongue

and my fountain pen.

Poem inspired by BBC report on the random and “unsurvivable” (for human life now) climate changes of this planet’s history. The reporter ended with the quote that starts the poem. © Nicole Barchilon Frank, 4 Av 5759, July 18, 1999

La Pêche

Peaches from Neukom Family Farm
Peaches from Neukom Family Farm

Sounds like pehhsssssh
long and soft on the “s”
also means fish
pêcher = to fish

your peaches have hooked the sun
they swim in my mouth
Heaven encountered
by buds on my tongue
I hold this warm ball of sunshine
and the aroma swims up and dives deep
into the valleys of my being

this peach/pêche
fruit of a mother tree
tended by you
pruned of what is old
or twisted, broken or no longer of use

rainwater and dew blessed
river to cloud to drops descending down
rivulets running down, down to roots
tickled and caressed
by small creatures and many legged ones
speaking the language
of the earth and singing songs
in a language only the roots and leaves
know the secret of

top to bottom, soil enriched by your
sweat and your love
this peach has hooked the
sun who is only about 94.4 million miles away
no distance really
this peach has heard the melody of the planets
in its brown, twisting, dancing deep roots

This Neukom Family peach/pêche
is a treasure beyond measure
essentially enlivening and ennobling
the Creation and the Creator

I’m swimming in a Holy River, peachy
thanks to you, co-worker with the
Holy One, Creator of La Pêche

I’m colored completely in a soft peach light
curled up and held eternally in a mesh and web of delight
Peachy thanks to you!

© Nicole Barchilon Frank