Fishing

I don’t fish in the actual sense, but I have been thinking about poetry and fishing for the last few days, and this morning I read something about how poetry is both art and craft, both inspiration and work.  Sometimes, it’s like the fish are just jumping out of the water, waiting for me to hold out my net and catch them.  I love it when that happens.  Sometimes I have to have two nets available to be catching them all as they rain past.  It’s important not to get too attached to every fish I catch in this manner.  Some are real stinkers, but occasionally I can catch a nice rainbow trout this way.

But more often than not, I just have to show up at the river, day after day, with my fishing rod, and sit there in the hot sun or under a shady tree, and wait and wait and wait.  Lots of times, I’ll hook an old boot or funny piece of wood.  Most of these things I’ll toss back, but some of them I can use.  It’s particularly rewarding to catch a beautiful fish this way–the wait and the work of it makes it especially satisfying.

When I first started writing poetry as a teenager, I didn’t have time for revising or perfecting.  I ended up throwing away most of that stuff when I reached my twenties.  Then I got into a phase where I didn’t believe anything was truly good until it had been worked over and wrangled repeatedly.  I sucked the life out of many a good poem that way.

I think sometimes really good poems do just drop out of the sky with little need for change.  Most of the poems I write need a little more tweaking, though.  During those times when they’re just jumping out of the lake, I need to just write it down like dictation without thinking about whether this is the perfect word, or whether the sounds work together or the rhythm is compelling.  Then, when the rush and whoosh is done, I can go back and see what I have, and organize it into a more complete form.

The other night, half a poem jumped out at me that way.  Had I not been on my way to an appointment, perhaps it would be complete, but now that I’ve lost the moment, I need to go back and sit by the river with this one, wait for inspiration to strike on the next line.

 

Gratitude List:
1.  Milkweed everywhere
2.  Quiet mornings
3.  Super moon, though it does cause some sleeping difficulty
4.  How inspiration strikes
5.  Crafting

May we walk in Beauty!

Power

After nearly two full days without electricity, I want to make all five point on my Gratitude List something about the wonders of electricity and how grateful I am for running water and lights at the flip of a switch.  Part of me, however, is a little embarrassed, a little chagrined with myself, for my dependence on this wonder of the modern world.  Why is it so hard to manage?  Of course, there’s always the anxiety over spoiled food–because we’re so dependent on electricity, we end up with quite a lot of time and money invested in the contents of our refrigerators.  I have a friend who has made the transition away from the use of a refrigerator.  I’m not entirely sure how exactly she manages it, but it does seem like a good choice.  Refrigerators and freezers are real energy hogs.

But aside from the fridge, why does loss of power throw me for such a loop?  I go to bed at dark, instead of staying up later than my body thinks I should.  That’s not a bad thing.  We carried buckets of water from the kiddie pool up to the bathroom so we could flush the toilet.  We had filled the kiddie pool the day before the power died–how lucky was that?  The buckets were heavy.  And it took a lot of trips over the two days we were without power.  So who am I to grumble about carrying water upstairs to my bathroom when women in many places of the world are walking often a mile or more, perhaps twice a day, likely with a baby on their backs or children at their ankles, to get the small amount of water that their family will use for the day.

So now the power is back on.  I am back to wasting electricity and water.  One of the privileges of living in a wealthy nation is that we take our waste for granted and forget that we are wasting.  Perhaps I can use this experience to give me practice, to help me live more mindfully, with more awareness, so that I can be more conservative of Earth’s precious resources, so that next time the power goes out it will be a minor inconvenience rather than a serious frustration.

 

Gratitude List:
1.  Those clouds in the evenings after the storms, bunches hanging low into the magenta of the sunset.
2.  The way the shining, fresh-washed blue sky shone out between those clouds, like Mary’s robe.
3.  The Ganesha cloud I saw yesterday morning, looking for all the world like the jolly elephant god riding the winds across the sky.
4.  A day of really moving in to my classroom, beginning to feel myself in the space.
5.  All the power available to me, in so many ways.  May I not take it for granted.

May we walk in Beauty!

Big Hearts

Gratitude List:

1.  Collegiality.  Sharing ideas.
2.  Snail Mail
3.  Is that a rain cloud?
4.  A cool morning for harvest
5.  Your good heart.  You know, we may be in completely different worlds when it comes to politics or to religion.  We might find very little to agree on when it comes to the issues that are thrown to us to fight about.  But when it comes down to it, I believe in your good heart.  I trust your essential connection to love and goodness.  I want to be worthy of your trust as well.

May we walk in Beauty.

After Prayer

More a reflection than a poem, this somehow still wanted appear in poetic form:

Prayer is the raw material,
the stuff
the starting point.

Where shall I take it then?

When the quiet,
the intention,
have built
into a swirling ball of light.

When the web hums
with prayer,
like orb-weaver’s web
when she shakes it
in the morning sun.

The time comes
when prayer must be shaped,
molded into form and action.

 

Gratitude List:
1. Watching my children sleep, curled like seeds or sprawled on their backs, one leg cocked like they are about to leap off in the dance or a fencing match.  Or half curled, like they’re mid-stride in a marathon.  One is still in the exact same position I left him in last night.  The other has been moving about in his sleep.
2. The current roadside triumvirate of day lily, Queen Anne’s lace, and chicory peeking like a blue eye among them.
3. Those who care for the children.  People who foster children in need of loving homes, who take that belief that they are all our children into loving action.
4. Gathering, harvesting, filing, preparing–all these ideas for the coming work of the fall.
5. “Song of Peace,” the words set to the tune of Finlandia.

May we walk in Beauty!

Make it all a Prayer

(tanka)

make it all a prayer
each motion, each thought, each step
feel the connection
that silver strand that pulls you
to the heart of another

Gratitude List:
1. Those planets snuggled up to the moon at dusk yesterday.  Any of my star-folk friends know who they were?
2. Making art with my RVRGRL and my Animalboy.  In the time of the beginning, there was a cave. . .
3. Yesterday someone I love anointed my head with oil.  We were thinking more of protecting the crown chakra than of the 23rd Psalm, but I think it was kind of the same thing.  I was tenderly shepherded.
4. Reading about reading.  To say that preparing for teaching in the fall is a stimulating experience is an understatement of vast proportions.  I love to feel The Teacher re-waking within me.
5. How have I not yet had a gratitude dedicated to tomatoes?  Summertime tomatoes!  Red ones!  Pink ones!  Stripey ones!  Golden sunshiny yellow ones!  Deep purple and indigo ones!  Wintry grocery store tomatoes taste like styrofoam and sawdust and the people who pick them are not given fair wages or healthy living conditions–don’t eat them; please, don’t eat them.  Summertime tomatoes are luscious and wonderful, and they’re usually harvested by your local adorable farmer.

May we walk in Beauty!

Summer Morning Tanka

the first is the crow
then mourning dove on a wire
sparrow tremolo
a dog barks up the hollow
and the day is beginning

Gratitude List:
1. Morning yoga practice.  It’s very short, but a few balance poses in the morning make me feel balanced all day.
2. Putting a plan into action
3. Making new friends
4. Feedback
5. Research

May we walk in Beauty!

Season of Orange

Gratitude List:

1. Jon Weaver-Kreider, who tends the milkweed
2. Monarch in the milkweed.  I’m sure it must have been a female, there to lay as many eggs as monarchly possible.  Please, I want to live in a world where this is cause for gentle seasonal joy rather than a wild, fretful hope.
3. Refining the systems
4. Laughter
5. Day lilies–Ah!  This is the season of orange: monarchs and lilies.

May we walk in Beauty!

Fragments of a Letter I have been Meaning to Write

I
We handed you our trust, that egg,
so gently cradled in our palms,
our fingers making a cage to hold it
until we could be certain it was safe
in your own careful hands,
in the nest of your own heart.

II
I am thinking about freedom,
how you are free to do whatever you choose,
and how you are never truly free of consequence.
You may think you act alone,
but everything reverberates,
everything resonates.
It all ripples outward.

The tremors of one selfish choice
can grow into a quake that shakes a village.

So too must the good ones grow,
like instruments in an orchestra
building the sound together,
until a great and mighty
river of sound transports us.

III
You chose shame for shame.
So that will not be the name
I choose for this poem.
You chose the clothes you would wear for this one,
and soon enough the world will see your costume.
I will witness, but I can offer you nothing
but small pity, perhaps, for what broke you first.

IV
These angry squirrels gnaw and chase,
racing through my brain,
but I will not let them make me choose to hate.
I will not let them make me choose to hate.

 

Gratitude List:
1. The hope that good acts will grow and reverberate as surely as acts of cruelty and selfishness
2. Harvest, beautiful and lush and nourishing
3. How quickly the body can mend
4. Worms, down there under the soil, doing their work
5. Waking up to the clucking of the cuckoo in the bosque

May we all walk in Beauty

Pebbles

Wear today loosely,
like your grandmother’s shawl
or a hat that keeps blowing away in the breezes.

Wear it gently,
and hold it like you hold a kite
the moment before you release it to wind.

Walk through these hours
the way you waded through the creek
or up and down the beach that day,
picking up smooth and shiny pebbles,
pocketing them for later.

Tiny stones of moments
to sift through your fingers,
testing their weight
and feeling their coolness,
to place in a tray on the table.

This one, you’ll say.
This.  And this.

 

Gratitude List:
1. Naps
2. A Fabulous farm crew
3. Memories of winter
4. Echoes of laughter
5. Remembering and looking forward

May we walk in Beauty!

Holy Words

Gratitude List:
1.  That holy, sacred thing that happened yesterday morning: courageous and honest words, then words of encouragement, words of blessing.  And the music!
2.  The word Hunh!  Or Huh!  Maybe Hngh!  It’s brassy.  It’s final.  It’s defiant.  And it makes good percussion.
3.  Spontaneous drumming circle
4.  The talent show–organized and run entirely by the children
5.  Change and permanence.

May we walk in Beauty!