1. The sturdy little oak on the corner of Water and James Streets in Lancaster.
2. Nag champa
3. Looking for the patterns. Dendritic agate.
4. Milk beans and rice.
5. That interview with Barry Manilow on NPR this morning. I could hear the wonder creep into his voice when he talked about making music. After 4 decades. And he was humble.
Namaste.
It’s early (-ish) morning, my early-riser 3yo is up, the chickens have not been fed, and I am off to work in a couple of hours. It’s been a few days since I have written a poem. Maybe I’ll diddle something onto the page, just to keep up the energy of it. I want to try another glosa soon, but that will take more time than I have at the moment.
These last few days I have been obsessively reading a book written by a dear friend. She inspires me to not let it all go by without some work at capturing and interpreting it, making it my own, feeling out the meaning.
If I have learned anything through the process of writing a poem-a-day last month, it is that often the moments when I think I am just tossing off a little bit of nothing into the air, often those moments are the ones when some little bit of magic happens. Perhaps not the glossy, well-formed show-dog things, but I’m a fan of the open heart of the mutt myself. (Though I am eager to train up a few of these little mutts from the past month and see how well they do in the ring.)
I feel a little lost without an external poetry prompt. . .
I keep forgetting to mention how your smile made my heart dance
on that grey day last winter
I keep forgetting to tell you how, when you said curtain,
I felt scales fall from my eyes
I keep forgetting my name
I keep forgetting the steps of the dance you showed me
I keep forgetting the words to that song
I keep forgetting whether or not I have already written this poem,
it has been so many days in my heart
1. The 30 bridge seems to be totally free of construction blockages. How long has it been? One year? Ten? Here’s to Bridges!
2. Words. Isn’t it amazing that a series of aural bits strung together can signify something that can create meaning that both you and I understand? And then we can translate that into visual symbols? And build whole philosophical concepts and relationships around them? Hmm, #1 was also about bridges. . .
3. Goldfinch Farm Customers. They’re the greatest. I love the people who buy our produce–community. Umm, bridges.
4. Salmon burgers.
5. Beads.
Namaste.
1. Old Blue Eyes, and I don’t mean Frank Sinatra. . .
2. The Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds Catalog: pure art
3. Ears. Sometimes my brain doesn’t work, or my words are thunky, but I’ve got ears.
4. Corralling the clutter.
5. Toffee with coffee.
Namaste
1. Choral Music
2. Scrabble. Sorry, Mom. 3:)
3. Sharing knowledge and wisdom
4. The ability to travel at least via book and photo and internet–to see all the wondrous and amazing places that exist on the planet.
5. Every day dawns.
Namaste.
Nine Stones
I gathered nine white stones when I went
to the sea, that windy threshold where sky meets
water meets land, and all is transmuted
by the fire of the sun. Nine stones.
One for each of the dogwood trees,
gracious guardians at the entrance
to our own threshold.
One for the toad to grasp
as she sits in contemplation
under the litter of leaves.
One to place
between the clasped hands
of the lovers in their whirling dance.
One to rest at the bee-door
to guide them home from honeying.
One for wildness and courage,
to be the lion’s heart,
the spirit of the wood.
One for the wren
whose story overflows
and trickles over house and fields.
One to place at the cave’s door,
to carry as we walk within.
And one for the falcon
to clutch in her claws,
when she stands in the sky
and sees that singular task
among all that lies in the fields.
Gratitude List:
1. Insomniac child finally fell asleep again at 4. I counted backward from 100 for him. Need to remember that one.
2. Tannenbaum so lovely and the magic of nostalgia for small children: “I remember this ornament!”
3. Loving cat who licks my ears and tickles my chin.
4. Advent. Waiting for the light. Hush. Stillness.
5. Mist.
Namaste.
Poem-A-Day is officially over, but the poems don’t know that. This one is a little silly, perhaps.
HUNKERED
Hunkered is perhaps the perfect word
to describe that red-tailed hawk in the walnut tree
surrounded by peevish crows
itching for a fight.
Hunched and hunkered.
1. The boys playing together happily. (Thanks, Sandra, for the new Legos!)
2. A shift in the work: today poem-a-day becomes Prepare the Chapbook. Yay, editing!
3. Winter vegetables.
4. Good neighbors.
5. Not giving up even when you think it’s hopeless–see sweet Darius Donkey, below. He was supposed to become a horse, but his proportions were all wrong. I was going to throw him away, but Barbara said I should at least put in the stuffing and see what happens. I love Darius.
Poem-A-Day Prompt 30: Write about Milk. This is the last prompt of the month. I might take off a day or two before I get back into a poem-a-day groove, this time with my own prompts, perhaps.
Somewhere in the world, the milk is falling,
raining in great drops from benevolent heaven.
Cup your hands into a bowl.
Feel it splatter into your palms
and trickle through your fingers.
Wash your face in it.
Splash it over your eyes and you will see again.
Anoint your forehead and see further.
Pour it into the gaping wounds
where the frenzied creatures
of habit and risk, of anxiety and anger and hate
have gnawed at your insides.
Drink it in great gulps
and feel it soothe your weary voice.
Take it in, breathe it,
bathe in it.
Then lie back like a new babe,
and let it dribble from the corners of your mouth.
There will always be enough.
1. Jon Weaver-Kreider–he could be number one on every gratitude list I write.
2. The purposeful flap of that eagle over the farm and up the ridge yesterday.
3. Chipotle hot sauce on scrambled eggs.
4. Winsomeness. Isn’t that a great word?
5. Feathers
Namaste.
Mockingbird Chronicles 