In Motion: Bellingham, Poetry, San Juan Islands, Ted Talks

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Sunday, May 22, 2011

Poetry: Look



Look!
Straight on
Into another’s face
You see only what
They want you to see

Familiarity brings a
Corrected angle
Light deflecting
Mirror to mirror
Boucing ‘round

Just a shimmer
Of character
Form discoveries
Peter Pan’s shadow
It needs to be nailed down

Look again!
There you are
Just another
Every peek into the eyes
Moves me closer to an explanation

“When will I see more?”
“After” you jest
Patience is needed in this game
Light exposure brings focus
Not perfection



***

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Home

This month the assignment for Artistic License was to write about HOME. It is a challenging subject for me since I am currently living with my brother, with no clear home of my own. These types of assignments lead me down a thought path of questions such as: what is home, where is home, and is home defined by me, those that live in it or both? Instead of writing about the +14 different places I’ve lived over the years, I decided to go inward, or backwards, to a moment in my childhood that is ONE definition of home to me. Here it is:

Like a hermit crab, I carry my house around. Attached to my memory enduringly fixed to the mind’s eye reminiscent of a freckle on the iris.

Such a summer day it was, the kind you record every sound and smell.
Was I 12 or 13? Was it July or August? Was it closer to one o’clock or two?

My childhood home on 9th Street. The home was empty; the family out in town, at a game, in the garden. Me? Napping atop my bed spread. Drifting into the lazy summer day.

The window wide open, yellow curtains being caressed by a breeze. A lawn mower or two run in the background. Neighborhood kids on bikes shouting commands, dogs bark for no reason. …I’m in love.

For a moment in time, one that guards my heart in crisis, the peace was seen, heard and felt- and accepted. I owned that day. I return to that day many times as only memories will allow.

This is my home…

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Poetry: Droplet

All the rain is making me think about this poem from 2010:

Sitting with a warm cup
sipping down the chamomile
looking up in awe
at the droplets drop

Abstract cutouts of dark trees
create the stage
so I can view you
descending from a silvery cloud

What of that one drop?
Where were you born?
You came from the sky
riding on a morning storm

Where do you live?
You go into the earth
watering a tree
Do you live in the tree?

Where is your home?
In the river as it
slithers back into the ocean
Do you live in the river?

Evaporated by the suns warmth
shrinking you down to mist
floating up to heaven
Are you dying or going home?

Back to the cloud you go
rising up and reborn
only to fall again
when a rain drop you become

Where do you live rain drop?
in the cloud
in the tree
in the river
...in me.