Monday, October 29, 2012

Weather Channel by Sheryl Crow

Weather Channel
by Sheryl Crow

Sunny morning
You can hear it
Siren's warning
There is weather on both sides
And I know it's coming
Just like before
There's a black dog
That scratches my door
He's been growling my name saying
You better get to running
Can you make it better for me
Can you make me see the light of day
Because I got no one
Who will bring me a
Big umbrella
So I'm watching the weather channel
And waiting for the storm
It's just sugar
Just a pill to make me happy
I know it may not fix the hinges
But at least the door has stopped it's creaking
I got friends
They're waiting for me to comb out my hair
Come outside and join the human race
But I don't feel so human
Can you make it better for me
Can you make me see the light of day
Because I got lab coats
Who will bring me a panacea
While I'm watching the weather channel
Waiting for the storm
You won't want me
Hanging around the birthday pony
Even though it's just a game
You know we are the same
But you're the better faker.
Enjoying some cold weather here in the swamp today and cooking gumbo.  It's interesting to watch a hurricane that's not headed for us here in the Gulf.  Those of you on the East Coast, hunker down and beware of Frankenstorm Sandy.  

This is one of my favorite songs by Sheryl Crow.  She wrote it when she was going through a bout of depression.

PS:  The word "Panacea" is one of my favorite words on earth.  So full of meaning and fun to say.  (Pronounced pan-a-see-a with emphasis on the see).

Panacea:  a remedy for all diseases or ills; a cure-all;

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Flowers are Earth's Poetry

A bee headed for my Confederate Roses this week.

Pink personified.


Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End by Mary Oliver

A 'trash tree' (Chinese Tallow) in my neighborhood all clad in yellow.

Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?
By Mary Oliver
There are things you can’t reach. But
you can reach out to them, and all day long.

The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of God.

And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier.

The snake slides away; the fish jumps, like a little lily,
out of the water and back in; the goldfinches sing
from the unreachable top of the tree.

I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.

Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around
as though with your arms open.

And thinking: maybe something will come, some
shining coil of wind,
or a few leaves from any old tree–
they are all in this too.

And now I will tell you the truth.
Everything in the world

At least, closer.

And, cordially.

Like the nibbling, tinsel-eyed fish; the unlooping snake.
Like goldfinches, little dolls of goldfluttering around the corner of the sky

of God, the blue air.
"Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter."   ~Carol Bishop Hipps

Monday, October 8, 2012

October, An Elegy by Sue Goyette

October Fairy by Amy Brown

October, An Elegy
By Sue Goyette

The whole month of October
is an elegy, a used bookstore
getting rained on.  This weather
makes me read endings first.  Partings
and farewells, the way we're baffled, startled
when happiness falls.  Let me tell you something about darkness, though,
because there's been enough about light.  But first
about the handwritten poem copied out in the back
of a Rilke translation.  It begins with beloved,
I'm tempted to tell you, or with rest,
and is written in the kind of couplets that are made
for each other, lines with stories of how they first met,
and I'm tempted to say that after I read it, light didn't matter,
nor darkness, that poetry somehow gathers
them both into one word.  O, how often we are baffled,
startled by our own happiness.  I read the poem
and kept its last three unresolved lines:  our
line break hearts.  There is a pause always around the word
heart, the history
of leaving, the small right-angled scars of loss.  Another line break
then into, a space, then the words:  like small trees.  We are made up
of small trees, limbs that reach for each other, forest
of longing, root systems of light, small blossoms of darkness
and there is a poem handwritten after pages of Rilke and, after Rilke,
how can our hearts be anything but small trees.  The book was used.  The lines
unresolved.  It was raining so I sat in the store and read
the ending first.  Here happiness falls, sometimes
the only difference between our
and hearts is a line break after a long elegy.  This is the season that begins
by ending.  The space between light
and darkness is unresolved
as the space between our hearts
and small trees.  Beloved, rest.  It's true.  I read the ending first
but I kept reading it until I got all the way back
to the beginning.
From:  "Undone" By Sue Goyette

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Saturday, October 6, 2012

Tear It Down by Jack Gilbert

Lizard eating a butterfly in my backyard.  I was following the butterfly around the yard with my camera to my eye and BAM! the lizard came out of nowhere and ate my butterfly.  Oh, what a metaphor for life.  :-)

Tear It Down
By Jack Gilbert

We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
But going back toward childhood will not help.
The village is not better than Pittsburgh.
Only Pittsburgh is more than Pittsburgh.
Rome is better than Rome in the same way the sound

of racoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. Love is not
enough. We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within the body.


I love the poet, Linda Gilbert, and Jack is her ex-husband.  (This poem is sort of a mindfuck, but I love it.)  I was reading some of her poetry online and found this poem several years ago.  It caused quite a lot of discussion when I first posted it. 


~Marion, enjoying rare, cool October weather here in the swamp on opening weekend of hunting season.