Writing a poem today was a struggle, which may be evident. Usually I just throw out whatever comes into my head, only feeling the need for slight changes. But this one came out awkward, the cadence and message lost. I’m blaming this on the dreariness and demands of the day. All the creatures were feeling it.
Java even told Shy to “Talk to the paw.”
A place of
Not a place
To the floor
What could be
It amazes me when I read “real” poetry. How someone can take a few words and so completely sum up what’s whispering and buzzing around my ears.
On Terry Windling’s blog post “Wild Daffodils”
she wrote, “Art pokes upward through the leaf mulch of our dreams, of our souls, reaching for the lights.”
I love that image “leaf mulch of our dreams” — how our dreams nourish our art — and nourish us.
I encourage you to read as many of Terry’s posts as you have time for. Her images of spring and growth and healing and acceptance express so well what I (and maybe you?) have been feeling in this season of life.
Another poem I read recently called “When Death Comes”
, by Mary Oliver made me smile. I know, it’s about death but it’s really about life. Toward the end of the poem Mary Oliver writes:
“When it’s over, I want to say; all my life
I was a bride married to amazement,
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.”
“A bride married to amazement”
— yes, I’d like to be able to say that too.