this prison that claims
me feels a lot like life.
death is close. breathing
into me. this life is death.
on dark days I would rather
death be still closer.
if the sands were truly
running out, would I struggle?
if life shortened would I feel
the same? or would I fight
break bars, break time
to live in the moment.
*About the photo: The leaves of Live Oaks fall in spring as the new leaves push the prior season’s leaves off the trees. These were an amazing pile of color and contrast which entranced me.
Higgs Boson particle discovered.
But I tell you I found it years ago.
The God Particle is hidden in small things
where eternity is distilled for all to view.
No large particle Hadron Colliders were required to find
this treasure of obscurity. It’s right out in the open
Can scientists only confirm with evidence
what I confirm with my heart?
Blossoms sweep the ground.
Charleston’s Magnolia Gardens in the spring will take your breath away. This is from a few years ago.
Have you seen
how the grasses grow
among the rocks?
Shadows cast across the weathered boards.
Temporary, transient, they seem to bar a path.
But are more permeable than time.
Poetry, Scribblings & Thoughts has been nominated for A Thought Provoking Blog Award by Anne over at A word or two.
Anne writes lovely precise poetry whose words pierce and linger. Perfect for reading and reflection.
The rules to this award are:
1. Thank the person who nominated you.
Thank you Anne for the nomination and thank you for allowing me to find your inspirations in poetry.
2. Post the image on your blog.
3. Share seven things about yourself.
- I’m a frustrated scientist who can’t understand physics. It’s true. I love the “why” but can’t do the math, so I remain unschooled in the calculus, and hateful of algebra.
- I once drank beer and shot pool with former U.S. Poet Laureate, Billy Collins whose wry poems wound and heal. And wrote him a tribute poem, which I cannot find. (Maybe now, just now, writing this…I remember one other place to look?)
- I’d love to fly like a bird. My family had a plane and I learned to take off and land, but not much more–got too interested in boys.
- I’m a birdwatcher. Loving my feathered friends, whom I watch as they swoop, flit and soar outside my windows. When the hawk kills, I’m excited and repulsed at the same time.
- As a singer, I’m a wanna be. I studied voice and was too afraid to try for a performance career, and now wonder if I could have done it. I still love to sing. And have found freedom in letting my voice free. And in my career as a marketing consultant, have benefited from all the years of voice lessons-I can pitch an idea with the best of them.
- Because I’m somewhat narcissistic, I dream of being in the spotlight (see my revelation above–and you’ll understand why.)
- The mountains of western North Carolina are my spiritual home. I breathe easier there. Feel more free and more myself when I can smell the must of the decaying leaves in the damp woods.
Favourite day would be: A day spent on a nature walk in the mountains followed by dinner that I prepare and serve with luscious wines to my dearest friends and a few new-comers–just to keep us off balance–and during which we have lovely conversation that veers from spiritual topics to those of science.
4. Pass the award to five blogs you enjoy.
The water calls.
I walk the streets in densest night.
The moon creates dawn before the advent of the sun.
A pathway to heaven lies on the water,
As I walk, it beckons.
There’s a drumbeat.
I’m pulled by the fullness of the moon
and urged by the lapping of the harbor.
An insistent rhythm of
African drum tones
In an ancient pattern
Bass tone alternates with song tone
male and female. A timeless thrum.
Treasures lie in my path.
A baby shoe by seawall’s edge
empty and wet with dew as if the baby
had jumped over into life
and a primal baptism.
Sprinkles of oyster and mussel shells
glow in the moonlight.
A red ribbon. A manmade river of blood
drizzles the pavement.
Now I hear the silent city
as it accompanies
the drumming of my soul,
and the song of the moon.
Many years ago, I wrote the progenitor of this poem when at dawn on a full moon, I walked along Charleston’s High Battery and found these objects. The entire walk was a journey of many miles, in just a few short steps. The poem formed itself then and have gone through several reworkings. The photo illustration is one I created to accompany the poem.