Ellen Porter
10/23/07
Autumn Once Again

Autumn once again
morning hiding the color of leaves
in weathered darkness.

I have seen the golds and reds
in passing
a daylight’s gift
catching breath where awe is found.

It isn’t that I don’t love color
but that this brilliant display
foretells winter white.

I would just as well
stay with green
stop the procession of the seasons
and roll eternally in summer’s grass


Ellen Porter
11/02/07
Erie Sky

At dawn the clouds
bloomed carnation red
tearing the sky into
ribbons of flame.

No sailors to warn.


Ellen Porter
11/16/07
I Dream of Safe Haven

I wander in the mountains
my eyes blessed with
columbine, shooting stars
and glaciers. Bowls carved
by ice, granite smooth.
I am without companion
and my heart beats like
the woodpecker’s
knocking; my breath comes,
fashioning my nose and throat
for high windy struggle.

My spirit is ready to make
these mountains home.
Here I do not search for God:
the Beloved is with me.
How I long for Her even as She
walks by my side.
My Friend and I,
(I am fully consumed),
trek these mountains
bride and bride
laughing in the alpine sheen
of unbegotten light.


Ellen Porter
11/14/07
No Moon

Out my closed window
no moon.
Dying draws near
and without my Beloved
around my shoulders
I tremble.

I do not ask to
keep death waiting,
I merely beg
my gracious Friend
to stay with me
to stray with me on the mountain
these moonless nights.


Ellen Porter
12/09/07
Sacred Days

Eight sacred days
I have not jangled the outside door.

I watch the school children
donning their snow suits

bouncing with exuberance
slinking up and down the stairs.

I remember that winter exhilaration
starting with fingers turned blue

ending with tears of defrosting pain
and then hot chocolate.

Fifty years in flight
barely recognizing the

metamorphosis of one season to the next.
The struggle of school work, or professional prestige,

even the rapid scattering of play.
And now, confined by disease

I can only watch and remember.
Memories stored within my

trembling muscles.
Winter inside and out.


Ellen Porter
12/04/07
The Possibility of Prostitution

Early morning hours
keep magic of words
hovering from my pen
onto precious blue-lined paper.

I must be careful,
soulfully careful,
not to tarnish that time
with hopes of published glory.

Not by a person
promising success;
she will become owner of my
silent time.
Not by packets of poems
given as gift to friends.
Not by slips, rejecting
my verse for ink, printed
in elite journals.

I must withdraw my attention
from the sweetness of the world.
Four o’clock comes early
and must own my soul
for safe-keeping.


Ellen Porter
12/12/07
Twenty Years and Love is Left

Twenty years I’ve lived with cancer
I’ve lived, sometimes forgetting,
sometimes fighting it with all I’m worth—
which isn’t much at times.

And now, this year, the battle subsides
I relax into dying.

Love is left:
for the four I live with,
for my struggling community.

Love is left
for the day care children
for the electrician speaking pain,
searching for prayers.

Love is left
painfully
for my dearest friend.

And with the elders
who have one foot passed already to the
brilliant, great unknown
I wonder what will happen next
what will happen when I plant
both feet and my soul across to heaven.

And so each day, morning and evening
I pray for Margaret and Joanne
the eldest of our old ones.
I do not worry for them,
I tag along where they lead.
And love is all.