Saturday, October 3, 2015
All is flux, ever moving/changing.
In a hundred years...all new people.
This poem made me want to disappear
utterly. What power words have... ~Marion
We are given the trees so we can know
what God looks like. And rivers
so we might understand Him. We are allowed
women so we can get into bed with the Lord,
however partial and momentary that is.
The passion, and then we are single again
while the dark goes on. He lived
in the Massachusetts woods for two years.
Went out naked among the summer pines
at midnight when the moon would allow it.
He watched the aspens when the afternoon breeze
was at them. And listened to rain
on the butternut tree near his window.
But when he finally left, they did not care.
The difficult garden he was midwife to
was indifferent. The eight wild birds
he fed through both winters, when the snow
was starving them, forgot him immediately.
And the three women he ate of and entered
utterly then and before, who were his New World
as immensity and landfall, are now only friends
or dead. What we are given is taken away,
but we manage to keep it secretly.
We lose everything, but make harvest
of the consequence it was to us. Memory
builds this kingdom from the fragments
and approximation. We are gleaners who fill
the barn for the winter that comes on.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
I Am From
By Mary Mace
I am from Louisiana to Tennessee,
from late nights outside with the stars dancing in the sky.
I am from warm family rooms and my mother's
I am from Marion and Ray
from artwork to literature.
I am from 'Fancy Nancy' to 'Why Are You So Grumpy',
"be aggressive" to "mama's always right".
I am from the sweet smell of cookies and the love
that came with them.
I am from family and church,
from colors as loud as bull horns.
I am from hugs and kisses,
from goodnight stories.
I am from love as strong as metal.
My only granddaughter, Mary Mace, wrote this poem for a homework assignment last week. She's 11. I read it and cried like a baby. We often read the same books to discuss them. (I also have my oldest grandson's college sophomore reading list that I'm reading along with). Not to mention all those wonderful 'Fancy Nancy' books by Jane O'Connor that I sent her since she was a year old...which my daughter read to her over and over. She loves her family, reading, writing, books, playing volleyball (hence the "be aggressive") on her school team and learning.
She is the greatest poem I've ever written.
Saturday, September 19, 2015
AN OLD WOMAN’S PAINTING
By Lynn Emanuel
Scrape the sun from the wall of the sky.
Cast the great nets of autumn over the houses.
Even the throat of the lily is a dangerous inlet.
Let the world stand wearily on the stoop of the jail
of the world and the light of the mind, that small lamp,
pearl of shine, let the night come to it, as iron filings to a magnet,
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Hummingbirds at one of my feeders...
Charms of hummingbirds
floating like dandelions---
Summer's last goodbye.
September 27: RARE Full Blood Moon, Lunar Eclipse, Super Harvest Moon! The next one is in 2033. Don't think I'll be here for that one.
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
I never told this story here before, but my Mama's famous banana pudding is so good that my older sister's son proposed to his wife with a bowl of it. He put some in a square Tupperware container and with that candy lettering you buy at the grocery store in the cake mix aisle, wrote "Will You Marry Me?" Of course, she said yes...then ate the banana pudding and the proposal.
Well, this book of short essays by Rick Bragg is overflowing with Southern stories way better than mine. I'm only about 20 pages in and haven't stop wiping my eyes from crying tears of sadness and laughter. It's that kind of read. As Dolly Parton said in "Steel Magnolias": laughter through tears is my favorite emotion...
Saturday, September 12, 2015
Zinnias fading on this breezy, humidless, gorgeous day.
Cannas blooming wildly...again. Such a faithful flower...
Rose being Rose...
By Wendy Videlock
They are fleeting.
They are fragile.
They’ll surprise you.
They’ll remind you
that they aren’t
and they are you.
OLDER, YOUNGER, BOTH
By Joyce Sutphen
I feel older, younger, both
at once. Every time I win,
I lose. Every time I count,
I forget and must begin again.
I must begin again, and again I
must begin. Every time I lose,
I win and must begin again.
Everything I plan must wait, and
having to wait has made me old, and
the older I get, the more I wait, and everything
I’m waiting for has already been planned.
I feel sadder, wiser, neither
together. Everything is almost
true, and almost true is everywhere.
I feel sadder, wiser, neither at once.
I end in beginning, in ending I find
that beginning is the first thing to do.
I stop when I start, but my heart keeps on beating,
so I must go on starting in spite of the stopping.
I must stop my stopping and start to start—
I can end at the beginning or begin at the end.
I feel older, younger, both at once.
“Older, Younger, Both” from Coming Back to the Body by Joyce Sutphen. © 2000 by Joyce Sutphen.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
This Is the Dream
by Olav Hauge
This is the dream we carry through the world
that something fantastic will happen
that it has to happen
that time will open by itself
that doors shall open by themselves
that the heart will find itself open
that mountain springs will jump up
that the dream will open by itself
that we one early morning
will slip into a harbor
that we have never known.
YOU MUST READ THIS:
"Olav Hauge was born in 1908 in Ulvik and he died there eighty-six years later. As a younger son in in a traditional Norwegian family, he received virtually no land. The older brother got the main farm, and Olav lived all his life on what he could produce from 3 acres of ground. During his late 20's, he spent some time in a mental institution. At 65, he married the Norwegian artist Bodil Cappelen, whom he met at one of his rare poetry readings. He settled into married life very well, and the house cheered up considerably. He died in the old way; no real evidence of disease was present. He simply did not eat for ten days, and so he died. People who attended his funeral, which took place down in the valley where he had been baptized as a child, describe a service full of feeling and gratitude. A horse-drawn wagon carried his body back up the mountain after the service. Everyone noticed a small colt that ran happily alongside its mother and the coffin all the way."
From the Preface by Robert Bly in "The Dream We Carry" by Olav H. Hauge.
I highly recommend this book. The poetry is amazingly touching.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Monday, September 7, 2015
A Charm of Hummingbirds at one of my feeders...
A favorite poem I collaged onto a composition book journal.
Two of my Blythe dolls.
By Keith Waldrop
The wind dying, I find a city deserted, except for crowds of
people moving and standing.
Those standing resemble stories, like stones, coal from the
death of plants, bricks in the shape of teeth.
I begin now to write down all the places I have not been—
starting with the most distant.
I build houses that I will not inhabit.
Keith Waldrop, "Poet" from Analogies of Escape. Copyright © 1997 by Keith Waldrop.