Creek: a concept my eyes skim across like a too-familiar word. Brown thing, wet thing. I almost walk past the thing, but blue on brown catches my eye, catches my breath— there is sky on the water, and a fish is breaking free of clouds, his silver belly its own sun. He jumps, splashes, shatters creek, shatters sky.
Such a great prompt...elevating the mundane, the seen but unseen, the unsung heroes all around?? I love the way your last lines captured so well the gorgeous way in which water mirrors sky, and so can shatter, mirror-like.
My muse for this was unexpected: a big, fat housefly that somehow made its way inside. Because of your prompt, it caused me to see it. See it differently, yes, but really see it.
I love this poem so much . . . which makes me worried that maybe I'll have to look with kindness upon the next housefly I see, rather than chasing him about with a swatter! What have you done, Keith!? Seriously, though I really enjoyed reading this poem and was especially taken by the line "You, a fraction of my size, cause me to shrink." So much big, bold, ouchy, and liberating truth in that line.
Well, it's all your fault, my friend...egging me on to write about a thing whose particularity I'd never stopped to appreciate ; ) ...I'm so glad you enjoyed reading it. I'm still ducking in here as the fly takes occasional passes that graze my head. I'm waiting for it to slow down enough that I can shoo (or take) it outside. We'll see how long we both last!
Thanks, Karri :)) - the fly was still at it this morning, but has now disappeared, which means I will probably find its remains at some point around some window sill, sigh.
Keith this is an amazing poem and a powerful journey of looking deeper into something that can be so irritating. Instead of reacting in the same way to the constant buzz... something shifts, reflections sting, new insight arrives... and then "who am I to break you, to take you for anything but the miracle and masterful survivor you are?" Thanks for the journey.
Thanks, Julie - yes, and I credit Lisa for the prompt, or I likely would have just reacted the same way I have hundreds of terrible times to that buzz. It's amazing how it shifted my "relationship" to this fly.
I can’t decide if this poem is action/adventure, comedy, drama, or something in between — but it’s great! “I hear you so hard” and “my slow, simple eyes” made me LOL, literally.
I really struggle with the empathy I have for insects and spiders, knowing that they're just following their nature and trying to survive, and wanting to teach my children to be mindful of the way they think about creatures they may find annoying or frightening, while also being unable to deal with most of them in my home/proximity and inevitably killing many of them (the ones I'm too afraid to pick up or capture in a cup to transport outside - which is honestly most of them). This poem was amusing but also too real. 😅
Confession is good for the soul, or so I hear! And, I can relate so much to this, speaking of relatable. I have a feeling even early humans may have found flies and other insects to be pesky, but we modern folk have also been conditioned to think we can exterminate with impunity. I aspire to be less murderous, but I've got a long way to go.
Keith, this is amazing. Your ability to take a housefly, a creature most of us would as soon vanish, and so empathetically and insightfully describe and depict is brilliant. You are a fine writer!
Thank you, Larry! My empathy for the fly is probably offset by the murderous rage I felt as it continued to bomb around my bedroom late last night. Aspiration exceeds reality, once again (sigh).
Somehow when I read "Ever" it made sense to me (laughing) - I took it as a form of affirmation, like we all aspire beyond what reality allows. I appreciate this, too...and it's an excellent question, Larry. So much gets left to the Great Mystery.
I recently had my first real conversation with someone I've only bumped into a few times before at parties. She was delightful and a great storyteller, and inspired my poem for this prompt. Interestingly, she herself could be viewed as something that was previously just conceptual to me, or as Lisa put it, someone "whose particularity [I] have never paused to appreciate." She was always just part of my other friend's vast and featureless "pickleball family" before, lol. Now she is someone I badly want to get to know!
Rebekah, love these lessons. Each a deeper wonder, then the crescendo..."letting life bloom into shapes unintended, unblessed, even unwise." And the finale..."There is wonder in the letting."
Y'all are gonna send me back to my college Tumblr days and I'm just going to be commenting "staaaahhhhpp" under everything because I love it so much and I can't figure out what else to say about it. 😂 I love how you framed these big little lessons and summed them up with such beautiful last lines. The very last one stanza, especially - I want that on my wall or as a tattoo or *some*thing.
"We ride the track of that which we already know. To hop out takes muscle, and sometimes premeditation." This is me. All too content to just go along with what's happening even when I know that change needs to happen.
This is exceptional Rebekah! What a gift to be open to someone whom you have circled around and then have a deeper conversation with. I love how you describe your exchange through the use of the app on her phone relating to the real birds around her. And the limitation of such apps! Your ending is beautiful!:
"There is wonder in
relaxing your hands,
in letting life bloom into
shapes unintended, unblessed,
even unwise.
There is wonder in the letting."
You have a special and precious connection to Earth and nature. Thank you for sharing it with us!
I love the motif of wonder hiding in the mundane, the every day and ordinary. The mall, the siding, the return to the familiar species of flora and fauna...and the fact that this conversation was had with someone you'd seen but never explored with. There really is wonder in the letting.
I took the prompt to my front yard, where we have a willow tree that my husband planted several years ago - it is the focal point of our little property and serves as a beautiful backdrop for pictures and even my daughter's wedding last fall. My late mother-in-law had this little face that she had out in her garden and my hubby put it on the tree a few years ago - now it is a part of it!
Your long and graceful branches rustle in the gentlest of breezes
And on a clear day sunlight dances with the shadows beneath them.
You are sweeping rather than weeping,
A magnificent sentinel of the landscape.
Your towering height belies your mere 12 years.
Although, in willow tree terms, you are approaching middle age.
The whimsical face on your trunk suggests this older countenance,
And indicates that you could impart much wisdom to those who seek it:
“During the winds of the storm, be strong enough to bend,
Though you may lose a few branches, your roots remain anchored.”
I love this poem, Karri, and I truly love willows, even with the mischief they can cause with water and sewer lines, tanks, foundations and sidwalks. I am offcially adopting the term "sweeping Willows". I so enjoy how the wise Willow and the wise and insightful Karri connect in this lovely poem. The trees and we are blessed to have you here!
This is a delight, Larry. You really capture and contrast the particularities of felines and canines, but then bring them together as manifestations of the divine, holding us steady with the same grace-filled "pair" of eyes.
Larry what a wondrous ode to your dog! Yes there is something about their eyes! "eyes of wisdom listening more attentively than many kindreds of my species." "wide eyes staring into my soul from some ancient mystery so far away." Yes deep looking, with incredible love.
I understand, A. When we moved to N.H. from Vermont to N.H. in 1992, we put Charlie, our 17 year old black lab, in the ground on a knoll above the creek on our property. I still miss my long time hiking and running companion.
I can feel this! Especially living in a rural area, I think we often just tune out the world around us as backdrop and background noise. I especially love that the fish's "silver belly" was "its own sun!"
This list of snippets etched is such a cool format, Chuck. Life as a montage of memories etched. It feels really intimate as I read it, like you're letting us into a special place (thank you).
This is poignant, A. Especially the question you pose at the end. The conflict between wanting it gone and your empathy for all the life it contains is beautiful. Wishing you peace with those peaches. <3
I can relate to this A. Thoughts that I have as well regarding the nature around me. Even the thought of owning the land, sends me into a spin. Whose land is it really? It is very humbling, bringing me into the question, how can I be the best steward here? And again I am humbled for it does not come from my mind, for nature is really the teacher.
I love this, A — the simple wish to replace one kind of tree with another, and all the questions and hesitations tied up in that, compounding & becoming more existential the longer you wait. I hate the thought of displacing birds and other critters (but especially birds lol) with my work around my property. Usually I can reconcile it if it’s outside of the nesting season, but even then it can be ouchy.
I tried to comfort myself that I'll be replacing it with two new habitats that will continue to grow, but then I thought it's likely that the same birds won't want or be able to nest in a different type of tree, so I am resigned to the fact that I probably won't feel great about it either way, and I'll just try to minimize the damage.
Oh I feel this one too! For the same reason - we have a bush/tree entangled in a wild rosebush out back and if we cut it down/clean it out, there are bound to be creatures who lose their home! Such a distressing concept!
It's definitely much more distressing than I would've thought when I first casually mentioned I'd want to get rid of it. But I love that we both wrote about trees! I have a special affection for certain trees, and there used to be a gorgeous willow behind my aunt's house that I was reminded of when I read your poem.
This is magnificient, A. I love the questions you pose, and the one you leave us with:
"And is it worse,
do you think,
that I will replace
the evergreen
with peach trees?"
In a non-dualistic world, the responses to those insightful questions are layered and multi-faceted. I truly love how the poems shows a piece of who you are--someone who thinks about the consequences of actions, who worries about the displacement of beings and creatures even though other neccessities may require it, and who has empathy, compassion and a recognition of our interlation with the universe. Among other things, I believe that A. stands for Amazing! Which you and your poetry are!
Lisa I love your poem. And those moments when something "catches my eye, catches my breath." Where I have to stop and drop into the moment. You captured that so beautifully. Thank you!
.
When I enter the portal of a moment,
curiosity hijacks me, upstaging any trivial thoughts.
I love this fanciful celebration of the wonder and awe you find in the "subtle majestic beauties of the ordinary." And I love the days when mind, heart and spirit open enough to allow me to take in the miracles like you have here. Thanks for sharing this beauty here, Julie.
Such a great prompt...elevating the mundane, the seen but unseen, the unsung heroes all around?? I love the way your last lines captured so well the gorgeous way in which water mirrors sky, and so can shatter, mirror-like.
My muse for this was unexpected: a big, fat housefly that somehow made its way inside. Because of your prompt, it caused me to see it. See it differently, yes, but really see it.
Here's what came of it:
You sneak in below the radar,
your whine barely sticking
to the slippery slope of
my semi-consciousness.
You again, I think without thinking.
And by you again, I don’t mean you
specifically, but rather
you as in your kind,
the whole filthy lot of you,
who
I have, hundreds of terrible times,
automatically, cocksuredly, emphatically
othered,
pronouncing you worthless
at best. Accordingly, I immediately,
righteously, zealously reach
for anything,
anything at all I might
wield as a cudgel to bludgeon
you into silent oblivion.
I hear you so hard, it matches
the throb of my own fury, but
my slow, simple eyes cannot
lock you down as you zig,
zag, weave, loop, and plunge,
dizzying me with your ace pilot
derring-do. How I loathe you
as I chase behind,
winded and waiting
for you to land.
You, a fraction of my size,
cause me to shrink. Never have I
felt quite as small as
as I do watching you watch me –
so many of me -
through your compound eyes,
lunging, flailing, failing
to flatten you. Is that glee
I detect in your buzz?
If so, rightly so.
250 million years of cunning (and counting)
who am I to break you, to take you
for anything but the miracle and
masterful survivor you are?
I love this poem so much . . . which makes me worried that maybe I'll have to look with kindness upon the next housefly I see, rather than chasing him about with a swatter! What have you done, Keith!? Seriously, though I really enjoyed reading this poem and was especially taken by the line "You, a fraction of my size, cause me to shrink." So much big, bold, ouchy, and liberating truth in that line.
Well, it's all your fault, my friend...egging me on to write about a thing whose particularity I'd never stopped to appreciate ; ) ...I'm so glad you enjoyed reading it. I'm still ducking in here as the fly takes occasional passes that graze my head. I'm waiting for it to slow down enough that I can shoo (or take) it outside. We'll see how long we both last!
I do believe you did detect glee in that buzz, lol! A masterful ode to those pesky flies!
Thanks, Karri :)) - the fly was still at it this morning, but has now disappeared, which means I will probably find its remains at some point around some window sill, sigh.
Keith this is an amazing poem and a powerful journey of looking deeper into something that can be so irritating. Instead of reacting in the same way to the constant buzz... something shifts, reflections sting, new insight arrives... and then "who am I to break you, to take you for anything but the miracle and masterful survivor you are?" Thanks for the journey.
Thanks, Julie - yes, and I credit Lisa for the prompt, or I likely would have just reacted the same way I have hundreds of terrible times to that buzz. It's amazing how it shifted my "relationship" to this fly.
I can’t decide if this poem is action/adventure, comedy, drama, or something in between — but it’s great! “I hear you so hard” and “my slow, simple eyes” made me LOL, literally.
Thanks, Rebekah...genre remains a mystery to me, too, and/but I'm glad it landed with some laughter for you!
I can hear them laff at me when I take a swipe and knock my coffee cup over instead.
I was knocking over everything in sight when in the thick of it...cups, books, houseplants. It was a certified disaster zone in here.
I really struggle with the empathy I have for insects and spiders, knowing that they're just following their nature and trying to survive, and wanting to teach my children to be mindful of the way they think about creatures they may find annoying or frightening, while also being unable to deal with most of them in my home/proximity and inevitably killing many of them (the ones I'm too afraid to pick up or capture in a cup to transport outside - which is honestly most of them). This poem was amusing but also too real. 😅
Confession is good for the soul, or so I hear! And, I can relate so much to this, speaking of relatable. I have a feeling even early humans may have found flies and other insects to be pesky, but we modern folk have also been conditioned to think we can exterminate with impunity. I aspire to be less murderous, but I've got a long way to go.
Keith, this is amazing. Your ability to take a housefly, a creature most of us would as soon vanish, and so empathetically and insightfully describe and depict is brilliant. You are a fine writer!
Thank you, Larry! My empathy for the fly is probably offset by the murderous rage I felt as it continued to bomb around my bedroom late last night. Aspiration exceeds reality, once again (sigh).
Not sure how that word showed up, but what I meant to type was "I hear you and I wonder how our aspiraitons shape our realities that are to come?"
Somehow when I read "Ever" it made sense to me (laughing) - I took it as a form of affirmation, like we all aspire beyond what reality allows. I appreciate this, too...and it's an excellent question, Larry. So much gets left to the Great Mystery.
I recently had my first real conversation with someone I've only bumped into a few times before at parties. She was delightful and a great storyteller, and inspired my poem for this prompt. Interestingly, she herself could be viewed as something that was previously just conceptual to me, or as Lisa put it, someone "whose particularity [I] have never paused to appreciate." She was always just part of my other friend's vast and featureless "pickleball family" before, lol. Now she is someone I badly want to get to know!
.
Lesson No. 1:
.
She asked her phone to ID
effervescent bird song
heard outside a mall
in Texas, the hot floor
of America. It was stirring, exotic.
She wanted to box the sound,
or at least the feeling,
and bring it back to her forest
at the ceiling.
.
Her phone the Zen teacher
named an everyday bird
from her feeders,
the cozy, chattering
house finch.
You have more wonder
than you can hold,
right here.
.
Lesson No. 2:
.
Texas bluebonnets
are actually just
old friend lupine,
but in boundless fields.
When the familiar
stretches its legs and we
stretch our minds to
relearn, there is wonder.
.
Lesson No. 3:
.
Wherever she roamed,
no matter how complex the chorus,
her phone kept returning
the same two birds.
We ride the track
of what we already know.
To hop out takes muscle,
and sometimes premeditation.
Install those updates.
.
Lesson No. 4:
.
Her part-time housemates
the woodpeckers were
waiting for her, proud to
show off their new digs
in her bark-colored siding.
She was happy to see them,
ready for her walls to
tap and squawk as they
do every year from
first arrowleaf to last lupine.
.
There is wonder in
relaxing your hands,
in letting life bloom into
shapes unintended, unblessed,
even unwise.
There is wonder in the letting.
Rebekah, love these lessons. Each a deeper wonder, then the crescendo..."letting life bloom into shapes unintended, unblessed, even unwise." And the finale..."There is wonder in the letting."
Y'all are gonna send me back to my college Tumblr days and I'm just going to be commenting "staaaahhhhpp" under everything because I love it so much and I can't figure out what else to say about it. 😂 I love how you framed these big little lessons and summed them up with such beautiful last lines. The very last one stanza, especially - I want that on my wall or as a tattoo or *some*thing.
Haha stahhhhhhpppp! You’re the best, A — thank you for these reflections and for making me laugh!
"We ride the track of that which we already know. To hop out takes muscle, and sometimes premeditation." This is me. All too content to just go along with what's happening even when I know that change needs to happen.
This is exceptional Rebekah! What a gift to be open to someone whom you have circled around and then have a deeper conversation with. I love how you describe your exchange through the use of the app on her phone relating to the real birds around her. And the limitation of such apps! Your ending is beautiful!:
"There is wonder in
relaxing your hands,
in letting life bloom into
shapes unintended, unblessed,
even unwise.
There is wonder in the letting."
You have a special and precious connection to Earth and nature. Thank you for sharing it with us!
Thank you so much, Larry!
I love the motif of wonder hiding in the mundane, the every day and ordinary. The mall, the siding, the return to the familiar species of flora and fauna...and the fact that this conversation was had with someone you'd seen but never explored with. There really is wonder in the letting.
I took the prompt to my front yard, where we have a willow tree that my husband planted several years ago - it is the focal point of our little property and serves as a beautiful backdrop for pictures and even my daughter's wedding last fall. My late mother-in-law had this little face that she had out in her garden and my hubby put it on the tree a few years ago - now it is a part of it!
Your long and graceful branches rustle in the gentlest of breezes
And on a clear day sunlight dances with the shadows beneath them.
You are sweeping rather than weeping,
A magnificent sentinel of the landscape.
Your towering height belies your mere 12 years.
Although, in willow tree terms, you are approaching middle age.
The whimsical face on your trunk suggests this older countenance,
And indicates that you could impart much wisdom to those who seek it:
“During the winds of the storm, be strong enough to bend,
Though you may lose a few branches, your roots remain anchored.”
This is lovely. Thank you for introducing us to your sweeping willow!
Thank you! I just reread and changed the last word to anchored so I wouldn't repeat strong!
Thanks. this is good. Reminds me of us first building big things, we used to think bending was weakness, til stuff started falling down.
This is a really sweet tribute to what sounds like a very elegant willow "You are sweeping rather than weeping" - loved this line.
I love this poem, Karri, and I truly love willows, even with the mischief they can cause with water and sewer lines, tanks, foundations and sidwalks. I am offcially adopting the term "sweeping Willows". I so enjoy how the wise Willow and the wise and insightful Karri connect in this lovely poem. The trees and we are blessed to have you here!
I distinctly remember my late mother in law fussing at my hubby about the willow and making sure it wasn't too close to the house and the lines!!!
I've always loved willows. And I love the idea of a sweeping willow, rather than weeping.
Love this, reminding me of the willow tree in front of my home while in my teen years. That tree had such presence.
After reding Lisa's prompt and delightful poem, somehow these four legged furry beings came to mind.
Animal Dreams
Sunday afternoon coming home,
our elder cats casually glance my way,
quickly perceive I have nothing for them,
and sashe away.
Cool, zen like beings
return to the steady gaze out the window,
Indifference pouring from every swish and swash.
Already I miss the bounding, leaping, wild wonder
that is our grand dog,
the joyful explosion at every open door,
unbridled joy at the mere thought that
this could be that moment,
the throw the ball, take a walk,
go to the beach event
that seemingly is the sole purpose of breathing.
What does this life bring to you,
four legged delights that give and receive
In a myriad of ways that can mystify
The humans who share this planet with you.
Moments of delight where all that matters
is the next romp on the woods,
the deep sleep in a sunbeam,
covert treat dropped when no one is looking,
eyes of wisdom listening
more attentively than many kindreds of my species.
Moments of connection formed
when the world is not watching,
as close to grace as I may ever get,
wide eyes staring into my soul
from some ancient mystery so far away.
“As close to grace as I may ever get,
wide eyes staring into my soul” - ohhh I know this feeling so well! What a lovely tribute to your animal companions.
Thank you Lisa!
This is a delight, Larry. You really capture and contrast the particularities of felines and canines, but then bring them together as manifestations of the divine, holding us steady with the same grace-filled "pair" of eyes.
Thank you Keith! Your perceptive insights are better than the poem itself!
Haha! I beg to differ - I'd much rather read your poetry than my comments! And, thank you for the compliment, Larry :))
What sweet words for those four legged friends! And so true - my two little devils greet me the same if I have been gone 10 minutes or ten hours!
That is so right!
Larry what a wondrous ode to your dog! Yes there is something about their eyes! "eyes of wisdom listening more attentively than many kindreds of my species." "wide eyes staring into my soul from some ancient mystery so far away." Yes deep looking, with incredible love.
Yes, Julie, those eyes! Callie is our grand dog, and we do dog caring every chance we get!
"Indifference" 🙂
This made me miss my Charlie. She was a cat who always liked to greet me at the door with a meow, looking for attention. 🧡
I understand, A. When we moved to N.H. from Vermont to N.H. in 1992, we put Charlie, our 17 year old black lab, in the ground on a knoll above the creek on our property. I still miss my long time hiking and running companion.
I can feel this! Especially living in a rural area, I think we often just tune out the world around us as backdrop and background noise. I especially love that the fish's "silver belly" was "its own sun!"
Your poems are always such great reminders to pay attention.
Thank you so much, LeeAnn!
“Brown thing,
wet thing. I almost
walk past the thing”
Mmmm the rhythm of these words. 🤎
(your good prompt pulled sideways)
...ETCHED...
the introductory centerfold.
that 11/22/63 second bullet.
my first inhale.
The whooshy amen sound that came out of me when Karen appeared at the back of the church in her wedding dress, 42 years ago this coming christmas day.
Will's humble, nanny goat advent.
Laura's grandiose, alien-ish proclaim.
dad's cold cold forehead before they shut the lid.
9-11's full throttle.
asparagus in lime jello.
Tiny little snippets i cannot unsee.
(What's etched in your wallet?).
I laugh, thanks for that. Love, whats etched in your wallet?
A giggle
my most favoritist response.
Thank you for sharing your snippets Chuck. So many profound moments (or seconds) in vivid detail.
This list of snippets etched is such a cool format, Chuck. Life as a montage of memories etched. It feels really intimate as I read it, like you're letting us into a special place (thank you).
Your poems always pack such a punch that they often render me speechless. I'll echo Karri in thanking you for sharing your snippets with us.
What a truly beautiful, flowing and rhythmic poem. Such wonderful imagery, and these lines:
"there is sky on the water,
and a fish is breaking free
of clouds, his silver belly
its own sun. He jumps,
splashes,
shatters creek,
shatters sky."
I love how you paint this in words, allowing my mind to add to the canvas of your poem. Thank you for brightening my Sunday!
And thank you for brightening mine!
Anytime!!!!
There is an evergreen tree
in front of our home.
It is young.
In the two years we've lived here,
it has doubled in height.
.
I have wanted to remove it since
the day we moved in,
and every day that we wait to remove it,
I become more agitated,
because every day that we wait,
every moment,
there is the potential for
more life to move in,
before we cut it down.
Every day that we wait,
I watch birds flit
in and out of its branches,
and I wonder which of them
will no longer have a home
when we are finished.
Every day, I think,
"what right do I have
to uproot these beings
from their home?"
There have been enough
innocents displaced
from their homes
on the whims of others,
and the thought of
adding to that number
makes me feel like a monster.
.
And is it worse,
do you think,
that I will replace
the evergreen
with peach trees?
This is poignant, A. Especially the question you pose at the end. The conflict between wanting it gone and your empathy for all the life it contains is beautiful. Wishing you peace with those peaches. <3
I can relate to this A. Thoughts that I have as well regarding the nature around me. Even the thought of owning the land, sends me into a spin. Whose land is it really? It is very humbling, bringing me into the question, how can I be the best steward here? And again I am humbled for it does not come from my mind, for nature is really the teacher.
I love this, A — the simple wish to replace one kind of tree with another, and all the questions and hesitations tied up in that, compounding & becoming more existential the longer you wait. I hate the thought of displacing birds and other critters (but especially birds lol) with my work around my property. Usually I can reconcile it if it’s outside of the nesting season, but even then it can be ouchy.
I tried to comfort myself that I'll be replacing it with two new habitats that will continue to grow, but then I thought it's likely that the same birds won't want or be able to nest in a different type of tree, so I am resigned to the fact that I probably won't feel great about it either way, and I'll just try to minimize the damage.
Oh I feel this one too! For the same reason - we have a bush/tree entangled in a wild rosebush out back and if we cut it down/clean it out, there are bound to be creatures who lose their home! Such a distressing concept!
It's definitely much more distressing than I would've thought when I first casually mentioned I'd want to get rid of it. But I love that we both wrote about trees! I have a special affection for certain trees, and there used to be a gorgeous willow behind my aunt's house that I was reminded of when I read your poem.
This is magnificient, A. I love the questions you pose, and the one you leave us with:
"And is it worse,
do you think,
that I will replace
the evergreen
with peach trees?"
In a non-dualistic world, the responses to those insightful questions are layered and multi-faceted. I truly love how the poems shows a piece of who you are--someone who thinks about the consequences of actions, who worries about the displacement of beings and creatures even though other neccessities may require it, and who has empathy, compassion and a recognition of our interlation with the universe. Among other things, I believe that A. stands for Amazing! Which you and your poetry are!
😭 Thank you so much, Larry.
Lisa I love your poem. And those moments when something "catches my eye, catches my breath." Where I have to stop and drop into the moment. You captured that so beautifully. Thank you!
.
When I enter the portal of a moment,
curiosity hijacks me, upstaging any trivial thoughts.
No longer am I reaching and grasping
for outer definition, or an objectification.
Instead, fires of passion blaze with interest.
Sparking an inquisitiveness of innocence.
Flooding my senses with life’s intricacies
Subtle majestic beauties of the ordinary.
.
A dew drop becomes a magnifying glass
into a blade of unassuming grass.
Tree branches swaying with the wind
transform into sparkling dances of light.
Bees that flit from rose to lavender
shift into missionaries of nectar.
Fancy lacework of spider webs
turn out to be labyrinths of the mysterious.
I love this fanciful celebration of the wonder and awe you find in the "subtle majestic beauties of the ordinary." And I love the days when mind, heart and spirit open enough to allow me to take in the miracles like you have here. Thanks for sharing this beauty here, Julie.
Thank you for elevating those moments which can truly be momentous!
The dew drop as a magnifying glass! And the bees as missionaries of nectar! And labyrinths of lace work webs! 100% magic.
Thanks A.!