Im blessed with time this morning, waiting for my daughter’s mani and pedi, an hour to learn. Im behind on reading homework for an upcoming poets retreat. Myself, I use the title poet cautiously. Am i? They accepted me to join them. I might end up hiding in my room.
Claude Wilkinson leads the retreat. He has two published works, first im enjoying “Reading the Earth”. His first poem drifts, swerving off the road as i am “Driving”.
All the poems imagery is exquisite, drawing memories forward and bringing me back. Warming and calming. I forgot i am waiting.
the polished rosaries of their eyes
As generous as stained glass
What is he speaking of? Any thoughts? The answer is tagged.
So far I notice just how shallow my poems are. Barely scratching the surface. How much deeper i can dig. How much more i must be open to a far away world, entering in as Alice. Wondering meanings and discovering curiosities.
I enjoy looking at unpolished stones. I continue to see my poems. Washing away the dirt and time worn thoughts.
in reverance to some tantrum of nature
I was crazy for more marigolds