Tag Archive | earthweal

a fragment of a dream, caught in the morning light

and I am reminded again of who I am,
what I see when I look up at the night sky,
the scent of the earth in spring–

I feel the summer lingering,
long days of sun and sand
and the salty taste I carry
through days that follow me in rhythm
with the waves–

I see the sharpness of blue sky
behind black branches,
a playground of white snow
that culminates in hot chocolate,
logs burning,
the inside warming the outer—

I have been uprooted and transplanted
so many times that nowhere is home–
everything is temporary–
I’m always expecting to move on–

but I remember looking up
through the shade of oak trees,
the roses in my mother’s garden,
lilacs filled with butterflies—

the rust and gold of autumn
singing beneath my feet

For the earthweal challenge, a song of earth-praise from 2019. How far away that seems now. But I am still thinking of my mother.

Invocation of the Trees

wishes s

Have mercy on us
we who are poor in spirit
we who are never satisfied
we who strive to possess everything

We who are poor in spirit
bless us and teach us
we who strive to possess everything
fill us as vessels with the breath of stars

Bless us and teach us
cleanse and heal our weary hearts
fill us as vessels with the breath of stars
attach our roots with grace and truth

Cleanse and heal our weary hearts
quench our hunger with light
attach our roots with grace and truth
you who honor both heavens and earth

Quench our hunger with light
we who are never satisfied
you who honor both heavens and earth
have mercy on us

two trees s

I’m reblogging this poem from 2018 for earthweal’s “mentors” prompt, adding some tree art from the archives as well.

winter forest 2 4 x 6 text comma

I’ve written about trees almost as often as birds and the sea.  All good and wise teachers.  But trees (starting with the Tree of Life) both anchor and reach toward the cosmic why.

trees across summary comp

more birds

after adrian s

The morning wakes without rain,
a shimmer of green
appearing from the silhouettes
of the trees scattered between
buildings.  Silence floats
off the glossy reflections
of the windows
holding the rising sun.

I look for Crow flashing
black feathers as he calls
from somewhere I can’t see.
His voice bounces off
the brick and I imagine
he raises his sharp beak,
laughing as he follows
my eyes searching  for the sound.

I have not asked him to speak–
he does not wait for invitations—
I do not for an instant believe
he is without purpose here
on this clear morning calling me
as usual to attention.  Do you
pretend you know me?

he asks, and what can I reply?

How can you ever pretend
to know another when
you cannot even see who
this person is that you carry
with you all the time?
Who is this being that you call
yourself?  What
is their true name?

Another piece of art inspired by Nina–her joyful birds, above.  For the poem, I used a prompt posted awhile ago by Miz Quickly, in which you take lines from a poem and write them every few lines on a piece of paper and fill in the spaces between with your own words.

after adrian close up s

As Jane told me recently, it’s hard to find a poem of mine that doesn’t talk about birds.  I used lines from an Adrian C. Louis poem “Magpie in Margaritaville”, which I found in the wonderful Tupelo Press book “Native Voices”.  I couldn’t find a link to the poem online, but you can read about the poet, a member of the Paiute Tribe, here.

Also linking to earthweal, open link weekend.

premises

premises s

karma
waits disguised
in the afterglow

good
or bad
doesn’t always fit

constructing
new fates
with old formulas

dice
thrown divided
and then multiplied

ready
or not
the sun rises

take
your chance
and wing it

always
answer why
with why not

when
asked to
explain say yes

pause
leave room
for something else

My collage, inspired by Nina’s recent painting, above, is not at all what I intended to do.  Not even close.  I feel like this is a good metaphor for life, the way my life is, anyway, now and for as long as I can remember it.  Nothing is as it appears, even in its imagining.

And what is the point of my poem?  Does it have or need one?  I’m not sure, but it travels in a kind of parallel to my train of thought these days also.  As David Byrne said so aptly, maybe it’s time we stopped trying to make sense out of the nonsensical.  Aim as truly as you can and see what happens.

Earthweal asks this week if our poetry can be sufficient for the world we live in.  How do we define “enough” of anything? Everything seems to be both too little and at the same time too much.

We want definitive answers when there are always only more questions to ask.  There’s no guidebook, no map. It’s a circle, not a line. There’s no way of knowing or controlling where the things we begin will end. We can only do our best to say what we think needs to be said, do what we think needs to be done, and be good listeners and caretakers to the world.