It was a quiet way—
He asked if I was his—
I made no answer of the Tongue
But answer of the Eyes—
And then He bore me on
Before this mortal noise
With swiftness, as of Chariots
And distance, as of Wheels.
This World did drop away
As Acres from the feet
Of one that leaneth from Balloon
Upon an Ether street.
The Gulf behind was not,
The Continents were new—
Eternity it was before
Eternity was due.
No Seasons were to us—
It was not Night nor Morn—
But Sunrise stopped upon the place
And fastened it in Dawn.
💞
It was a quiet way by Emily Dickinson
<<
onder if writing this poem
will spill you out of me
through my fingertips
will the ink become your blood
this paper your skin
for me to touch
again and again?
—
I wonder if stretching my hands to the sky,
while standing on my tiptoes
will release your wings
so you can fly free with me
into the starry sky
discovering all the worlds we have inside?
—
I wonder if I stand as tall, and as still, as a tree
I stopped going to therapy
because I knew my therapist was right
and I wanted to keep being wrong.
I wanted to keep my bad habits
like charms on a bracelet.
I did not want to be brave.
I think I like my brain best
in a bar fight with my heart.
I think I like myself a little broken.
I’m ok if that makes me less loved.
I like poetry better than therapy anyway.
The poems never judge me
for healing wrong.
❤
Clementine von Radics
When I get old
I wonder if I will hide my stuff in weird places.
Will someone cleaning out my living space
find things like
my baptismal certificate from 1932
in a plastic Oil of Olay box
mixed with various items
like eyebrow pencils,
miscellaneous change,
and various sizes of
finger nail clippers?
Will I place a baby hair brush
in a bag wrapped in paper towels
with coffee filters
and refrigerator magnets of all sorts?
Will I hide my telephone and address book under my mattress,
and my bills under the bathroom sink?
Will I buy more shampoo than I have years left to use it all,
and put cans of soup in my entertainment center?
What will I do when i get old?
I’m sure it will be eccentric and unusual.
I’m sure it will seem totally understandable to me
when I put my socks and underwear in the bathtub
and keep my kitchen cabinets completely empty.
❤
Amy Lloyd
Don’t you wish they would stop,
all the thoughts swirling around in your head,
bees in a hive, dancers tapping their way across the stage.
I should rake the leaves in the carport, buy Christmas lights.
Was there really life on Mars? What will I cook for dinner?
I walk up the driveway, put out the garbage bins.
I should stop using plastic bags, visit my friend
whose husband just left her for the Swedish nanny.
I wish I hadn’t said Patrick’s painting looked “ominous.”
Maybe that’s why he hasn’t called.
Does the car need oil, again? There’s a hole in the ozone
the size of Texas, and everything seems to be speeding up.
Come, let’s stand by the window and look out
at the light on the field. Let’s watch how
the clouds cover the sun, and almost nothing
stirs in the grass.
❤
Thinking by Danusha Laméris
To be nobody but yourself in a world doing its best to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human being can fight. ~ E.E. Cummings
after the four Miles had come and gone
and the three tenors had paused abruptly
my two legs stopped to design some landscapes
plant a few hedged borders
build a moat
or maybe several
the forsythia’s flame had burned to the ground in minutes
I had no cake
so I sat eating a protein bar by the ocean
(Literally…
tho the sensual strength of it makes me smile)
sand, definitely, all up in my business
I lay, watching blue and white swirls
birds up high – teaching me to trust
the sun making a last stand atop the tree-line
water…well, what more do I need to say..
breathing deep
achieving serenity
smelling favorites
the erotic mixture of charcoal and meat
mixed with freshly mowed grass
I float in tune with the laughter of children
fading in and out as they just run until breathless
“An enigma wrapped in a paradox and shrouded in a conundrum” (Levi, 2008)
Impermanence is both a process of continual loss,
in which things exist and then disappear.
And it is also a process of continuous rebirth or creativity,
in which things that do not exist suddenly appear.
~ Joseph Goldstein
Paradoxical thinking is key to creativity, which comes from the capacity to entertain apparently contradictory ideas in a way that stretches the mind and opens the heart to something new. Paradox is also a way of being that’s key to wholeness, which does not mean perfection: it means embracing brokenness as an integral part of life…..To be whole I have to be able to say I am both shadow and light.
~ Parker Palmer
I sit with relief
A feeling Unfamiliar for 120 days
welcome yet Tentative
Am I out of the worst of dark?
It’s hard to tell
Hard to trust
Reside of dark
Leaves soot on the soul
Holes seared in the heart
The burning rings
Still glow around the edges
Like that day when my sister, Nancy, dropped ash on her new red skirt as we sat in the old Pontiac sharing that stolen cigarette
LONG ago I learned how to sleep,
In an old apple orchard where the wind swept by counting its money and throwing it away,
In a wind-gaunt orchard where the limbs forked out and listened or never listened at all,
In a passel of trees where the branches trapped the wind into whistling, “Who, who are you?”
I slept with my head in an elbow on a summer afternoon and there I took a sleep lesson.
There I went away saying: I know why they sleep, I know how they trap the tricky winds.
Long ago I learned how to listen to the singing wind and how to forget and how to hear the deep whine,
Slapping and lapsing under the day blue and the night stars:
Who, who are you?
Who can ever forget
listening to the wind go by
counting its money
and throwing it away?
Wind Song by Carl Sandburg
hearing the rain fall
watching birds bounce off the roof
grateful for it all
❤
haiku-kate lamberg~ ’16
This morning at C & J’s
The trees are singing welcome…
There’s wind in ‘them thar’ woods
It’s a sound I remember in my deepest parts
a sound I’ve loved all my life
Though this morning is the first one I’ve ever fully brought that thought into my center
Noticed how my soul sways with the rhythm of the leaves
Maybe the first time I’ve fully connected with how close this is to the sound of waves on the shore
Yet how completely different it is as well
How everything dances lightly with it
Responding with natural grace
How music plays in all these harmonious sounds
Like a softer version of singing bowls
How the marigolds add just the right notes when called upon
Like bobblehead backup singers in orange sequined dresses
adding all that brilliant jazz to the mix
How the cactus hold the drum beat with such steadfastness…
…Because His eye is on the sparrow…
a hawk soars over the dancing trees
a little fuzzy birdie perches atop afresh jar candle scented with summer flowers
I write poems and play songs to share with you
feeling this morning’s layered virtues moving within me
The life of this pilgrim is so incredibly blessed
I bow and give thanks to begin this new day
Amy Lloyd
September 20.2017
Matthew 6:26-34New King James Version (NKJV)
26 Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 27 Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?
28 “So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; 29 and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. 30 Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?
31 “Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33 But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.