painting by Neil Waldman
.
spotlight stars, moon, clouds
hills, mountains, coast, trees, sea, spires
energy’s reflections
Jeanne Poland's Poetry Blog
21 Nov 2017 Leave a comment
in Poetry, What sleeps below in November? Tags: clouds, coast, energy's reflections, hills, moon, mountains, painting by Neil Waldman, sea, spires, spotlight stars, trees, What sleeps below in November?
painting by Neil Waldman
.
spotlight stars, moon, clouds
hills, mountains, coast, trees, sea, spires
energy’s reflections
03 May 2014 4 Comments
in Family Tags: african violets, clouds, dining room table, ears are helmeted, heart, in-boxes beep, incognito, independence, plugged in, praise, scatterbrained, song, song of praise, surround sound, thumbnail size, tiny screens, watercolor box, Watercolor Pattern
Used to be
I had one
in-box
on the
dining room table.
It was
housed
between
the salt
and figs,
pansies
and african violets.
Now
some fifteen
in-boxes
beep
blink
and
boss me
at home
and abroad.
While I
discern
“right of way”
in car
or crosswalk.
Their icons blink
and jostle
for space
on tiny screens…
thumbnail size.
They
claim to
reach the clouds.
While,
really,
need to be plugged
into a wall
each night,
lest screens
go dark…
incognito.
They sing
and gyrate
and pull
my pockets down
’til dress
comes off
shoulder
and drags its hem
in dust.
Some won’t work
unless my ears
are helmeted
and I look
astronaut,
antenna swinging
in the air.
Most of all,
these in-boxes
take me out of balance.
They act so
all-important
as to knock me
Off my feet,
scatterbrained,
heart bleeding!
I’m turning
inside out!
Taking fifteen
in-boxes
in, to turn
to one.
I’ll send
them out
together
in a song
of grace.
A song of praise.
Out to you.
Hear the music!
Surround sound.
Take calm.
Be at ease!
22 Apr 2014 1 Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Breath inside the Breath, clouds, instantly, Kabir, legs winding around your neck, masses, Robert Bly, shrine, tiniest house of time, vegetables
Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat.
My shoulder is against yours.
You will not find me in stupas, not in the Indian shrine rooms,
nor in the synagogues, nor in cathedrals:
not in masses, nor in kirtans,
not in legs winding around your own neck,
nor in eating nothing but vegetables.
When you really look for me, you will see me instantly—
You will find me in the tiniest house of time.
Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God?
He is the breath inside the breath.
Kabir
Translated by Robert Bly
05 Apr 2014 1 Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: clouds, crows, dark geese, Early Spring in a Field, Every line of a poem as a title, field, north wind, rocks, soft mud, spruce trees, Tom Hennen, voices faint, wedge cold heart of winter
“Early Spring in the Field” by Tom Hennen from Darkness Sticks to Everything. © Copper Canyon Press, 2013.
Tom Hennen’s poem, reformatted, to show every line as a title.
The crow’s voice filtered through the walls of the farmhouse
sounds of a rusty car engine turning over
clouds on a north wind that whistles softly and cold
spruce trees planted in a line on the south side of the house weave and scrape at the air
I’ve walked to a far field to a fence line of rocks where I am surprised to see soft mud this raw day
no new tracks in the mud
desiccated grass among the rocks
a bare grove of trees in the distance
a blue sky thin as an eggshell with a crack of dark geese running through it
their voices faint and almost troubled as they disappear in a wedge that has opened at last the cold heart of winter.