Reading Henry Nouwen and Watching Tomatoes Grow

We're already having 80 degree days down here in the swamps! I have tomatoes on all three of my plants and my lettuce, swiss chard and spinach is ready to be picked. I plan on having 3 crops of tomatoes this year.

After spending over $600 at the vet on my kitty, Catfish, he's finally home and better. He had sand in his kidneys and bladder. If you feed your animals dry food from any major 'box' store, it's full of sand. The poor cat had to be catherized 5 times, then have an enema. He was one UNhappy camper when we finally got to bring him home, but he's better, eating prescription catfood and taking antibiotics. It's no easy task getting a pill down a cat's throat, let me tell you. LOL! I hope to be up and running at home soon. Catfish ruined my budget for a while.

Thank you all for your kind words. I've missed you all!! And now for some of my favorite quotes by Henri Nouwen, (Henri Nouwen, Born January 24, 1932 – Died September 21, 1996) a Dutch-born Catholic priest and writer who authored 40 books about spirituality.

Love & Blessings,
Marion


"Forgiveness is the name of love practiced among people who love poorly. The hard truth is that all people love poorly. We need to forgive and be forgiven every day, every hour increasinly. That is the great work of love among the fellowship of the weak that is the human family." — Henri J.M. Nouwen


**********

"Dear God,
I am so afraid to open my clenched fists!
Who will I be when I have nothing left to hold on to?
Who will I be when I stand before you with empty hands?
Please help me to gradually open my hands
and to discover that I am not what I own,
but what you want to give me.
And what you want to give me is love,
unconditional, everlasting love.
Amen." — Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Only Necessary Thing: Living a Prayerful Life)

**********

The soul of the artist cannot remain hidden."
— Henri J.M. Nouwen

**********

Two Poems of Ryokan

The woods are filled with color here: yellow vining flowers, Dogwoods, Azaleas, Iris's and wildflowers. Ms. Spring is here. My heart is heavy for the people of Japan who are experiencing such monumental tragedy that I can't even imagine it. They are in my thoughts and prayers.

A beautiful tree blooming in the woods across the street.

*********************

"When spring arrives
From every tree tip
Flowers will bloom,
But those children
Who fell with last autumn’s leaves
Will never return."

~Ryōkan Taigu(1758–1831), a Zen Buddhist monk and poet who lived in Japan.


*********************

"I watch people in the world
Throw away their lives lusting after things,
Never able to satisfy their desires,
Falling into deeper despair
And torturing themselves.
Even if they get what they want
How long will they be able to enjoy it?
For one heavenly pleasure
They suffer ten torments of hell,
Binding themselves more firmly to the grindstone.
Such people are like monkeys
Frantically grasping for the moon in the water
And then falling into a whirlpool.
How endlessly those caught up in the floating world suffer.
Despite myself, I fret over them all night
And cannot staunch my flow of tears." ~Ryōkan Taigu

The Longings of Women by Marge Piercy

The Longings of Women
By Marge Piercy

The longings of women:
butterflies beating against
ceilings painted blue like sky;
flies buzzing and thumping their heads
against the pane to get out.
They die and are swept off
in a feather duster.

The hopes of women are pinned
after cyanide by rows
labeled in Latin
the fragile wings fading.
The keeper speaks with melancholy
of how beautiful they were
as if he had not killed them.

The anger of women runs like small
brown ants you step on,
swarming in cracks in the pavement,
marching in long queues
through the foundation and inside,
nameless, for our names
are not yet our own.

Be we are many and hungry
and our teeth though small are sharp.
If we move together
there is no wall we cannot erode
dust-grain by speck, and the lion
when he lies down is prey
to the army of ants.

From: "My Mother's Body", page 95

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Well, I can now post photos on my blog, but I'm having trouble commenting on the blogs of others. So I'm reading all of my regulars, but have been unable to comment on most for some reason. I just wanted to let y'all know. I'm here and reading!!!

We've had major storms here for the past few days, flash floods and high winds so I've had my computer off and unplugged. My yard is a mess, but we didn't have any wind damage, thank God. My cats have drug up 3 baby Copperhead snakes the past few weeks and one live crawfish. LOL! I may have to call Billy the Exterminator (from the tv show) who is good friends with my nephew in Bossier City if it keeps up. We've seldom had poisonous snakes around here and I'm worried where the baby-mama is living!! I'll keep y'all posted on the reptile situation.

I have to say that Marge Piercy is one of my very favorite poets and this book above is a favorite, a real treasure overflowing with fabulous poems! Support poets and buy poetry!!

Love & Blessings,
Marion

Dragonfly by Ed Pilolla

My BFF, Annie, gave me this book and it's awesome, just awesome, and not just because I love the title either. She and I had a fun-filled, fabulous visit for the four days she was here. I'll be blogging about it later...I'm still recuperating from all of our exciting, excellent adventures. :-)

Here is where you can find Ed’s Blog. I highly recommend that you buy the book. And here's one of my many favorite poems in the book:

Favorite Mug
By Ed Pilolla

Your day is like your favorite mug.
You fill it with the necessary stuff
to survive in this world.
Those days
let me be the seasoning.
Other days I get to fill it with your favorite brew
as well as mine,
vanilla and chai leaves and
inside jokes
and a dollop of raw honesty
and honey.

I will gently blow on your day
when it's too hot,
cup my hands to share in this warmth
and fill it with spirits along the way.
Never will I leave your mug
on the countertop with coffee grounds
at the bottom for days.

Don't judge me by my propensity to blast Van Halen
or how I casually enter the bathroom
to brush my teeth while you're peeing
and not pick up on that unhappy look on your face.
Judge me instead by how I thread my fingers through the handle
of your day,
lift the rim of your world to my lips
and drink in your story.

From: "Dragonfly" by Ed Pilolla, page 10

The Falcon to the Falconer by Jonathan Steffen

The Falcon To The Falconer

By Jonathan Steffen

Unleash me from your hand
and I will lance the light for you.
I'll cut a swordblade on the wind
and pennant it with flight for you,
to signal I am yours
if you will free me to be true to you.

Unleash me from your hand
and I will mock the sky for you.
I'll pull the anger from the air
and make the breezes sigh for you,
to show that I am yours
if you will free me to be true to you.

Unleash me from your hand
and I will jewel it bright for you.
I'll hunt the treasures of the wind
And pluck them into sight for you,
to show that I am yours
If you will free me to be true to you.

O, cast me from your hand
that I may show my love for you
and throw me to the wind
that I may know my need for you.
All darkness on your hand,
I'm hooded, pinned, and held by you,
O, give me back my wings
that they may bring me back to you.

Some Questions You Might Ask by Mary Oliver

Some Questions You Might Ask
By Mary Oliver

Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
the wings of a moth in the beak of an owl?
Who has it, and who doesn't?
I keep looking around me.
The face of the moose is as sad
as the face of Jesus.
The swan opens her white wings slowly.
In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness.
One question leads to another.
Does it have a shape? Like an iceberg?
Like the eye of a hummingbird?
Does it have one lung, like the snake and the scallop?
Why should I have it, and not the anteater
who loves her children?
Why should I have it, and not the camel?
Come to think of it, what about maple trees?
What about the blue iris?
What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight?
What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves?
What about the grass?

_____________________

Still having issues with blogger.  I have to post fast and run or it kicks me offline. 

xoxo,
Marion

The Attic by Raymond Carver

The Attic

By Raymond Carver

Her brain is an attic where things

were stored over the years.

From time to time her face appears

in the little window near the top of the house.

The sad face of someone who has been locked up

and forgotten about.

From:  "A New Path to the Waterfall" by Raymond Carver

The Dragonfly By Louise Bogan

The Dragonfly
By Louise Bogan

You are made of almost nothing
But of enough
To be great eyes
And diaphanous double vans;
To be ceaseless movement,
Unending hunger
Grappling love.

Link between water and air,
Earth repels you.
Light touches you only to shift into iridescence
Upon your body and wings.

Twice-born, predator,
You split into the heat.
Swift beyond calculation or capture
You dart into the shadow
Which consumes you.

You rocket into the day.
But at last, when the wind flattens the grasses,
For you, the design and purpose stop.

And you fall
With the other husks of summer.

Love by Roy Croft

I found this poem I'd copied into a battered old notebook I've had since my freshman year in high school.  It's still a favorite and perfect for Valentine's Day.  I'm still in love with love.  For all my wonderful friends here in Blog land!!!!  xoxo  ~Marion

LOVE

By Roy Croft

I love you not only for what you are,

But for what I am when I am with you.

I love you, not only for what

You have made of yourself,

But for what you are making of me.

I love you for the part of me that you bring out;

I love you for putting your hand

Into my heaped-up heart and passing over

All the foolish, weak things that you can't help

Dimly seeing there,

And for drawing out into the light

All the beautiful belongings that no one else had looked

Quite far enough to find

I love you because you are helping me to make

Of the lumber of my life not a tavern

But a temple.

Out of the works of my every day

Not a reproach but a song.

I love you because you have done

more than any creed could have done

to make me good.

And more than any fate could have done

to make me happy.

You have done it without a touch,

Without a word, without a sign.

You have done it

by being yourself.

Perhaps that is what

Being a friend means,

After all.

My Heart by Kim Addonizio

<> 

My Heart
by Kim Addonizio

That Mississippi chicken shack.
That initial-scarred tabletop,
that tiny little dance floor to the left of the band.
That kiosk at the mall selling caramels and kitsch.
That tollbooth with its white-plastic-gloved worker
handing you your change.
That phone booth with the receiver ripped out.
That dressing room in the fetish boutique,
those curtains and mirrors.
That funhouse, that horror, that soundtrack of screams.
That putti-filled heaven raining gilt from the ceiling.
That haven for truckers, that bottomless cup.
That biome. That wilderness preserve.
That landing strip with no runway lights
where you are aiming your plane,
imagining a voice in the tower,
imagining a tower.

========================================

A rare ice storm yesterday.  

Today the woods are made of melting glass, 

shimmering in the morning sunlight.

I am happy.

~Marion

Please forgive the fucked-up formatting.  Still having issues.  :-(