I feel really well this morning, excitedly so. I started the final Harry Potter book last night, and entranced, read into the morning, so rising was a bit of a slow, eye-opening dance, but now, I am awake and enthused. I feel so good! I suppose it is wonderful to dip into archetype and quest once in a while, deal with the "forces of darkness" with magic words and wands. Jane and I were thinking this morning that instead of attempting poetry in our time together, we should be writing a children's story, so who knows. Monday, we begin! : )
Here is my Morning Flow! Jane is in a post-workshop let-down, and could not access words, only doubt. As we know, we go between the highs and lows. Low tide today for Jane. High tide for me. We anchor in different phases of the moon.
Fog again this morning
so thick my world is the nearest trees.
Leaves stir shades of green
like hand-held puppets
in a children’s play.
In this restriction, I see the veins
in the leaves, the tiny berries
not yet plump with juice and red,
designed to entice the winter robins
to drunken revelry where they chomp
and swing from branches in haphazard flight.
This is the time of year
when to pop one blueberry is enough.
Life seen closely
is a boomerang
tossed and let go.
The seasons release,
and return.
The circles hold,
like nesting dolls.
Harry Potter
Morning tripped like a fairy
opened my eyelids
and peered like a child within.
I was up late reading
of magical lands
and so I am still there
with flying dragons,
wands and words dissolving doors,
transport in and out,
invisible cloaks.
Good must win. It always does.
There is a quest, a cup,
a girl, two boys,
one romantic, one a brother,
wisdom, pain, friends.
Always, friends.
The point is to gather
and risk with friends.
It is like when the first cell said to another, “Let’s unite
in a beat of heart”, and so it all began,
the drumming of shared pulse,
circulation,
flowers, trees,
woman, man.
“Oh when the Saints Go Marching In”
Is a mantra still with me.
I am surrounded by saints,
everyone around me so good,
even as they struggle with what it is to be human,
with robes tattered and torn,
and yet, those rips and tears are where we see the arms
and legs working, reaching, sharing.
It is where the torso divides,
lifts up and out to walk, feed, hug, wrap.
Unity comes, but first there is a complex being
striving to bring 84,000 cells
into one easy beat.
Unity: when all we saints
go marching in and out of our skins,
like the slide of trombones,
the sound of the sea,
echoing back and forth,
between shell
and ear.
Serenity
This river in me
bridged,
the
barged,
utilized in ways
I cannot see.
Locks
lift and sink,
open and close.
My heart
opens
the sea.
