Connective Tissue
Tag: poetic living
Tread Lightly
be kind creation
smile on your birding friend
glimpse the miracle
Snowy Owl. Plum Island MA 1/25/2020. Atlantic Ocean.
I hesitated to post my photos of my snowy owl trip since the owl photos are a bit blurry. But hell people, it is a Snowy Owl! And my first encounter. But certainly not the last.
This bird is down right stunning, majestic, gorgeous, and oh so patient. I watched the wind ruffling her feathers, her ever alert, keen sense of hearing, and her head turning to see the four corners of the tundrous field for close to an hour. She flew but never far away. She glided as a seaplane hovering the waters.
My heart skipped beats as I encountered this regal bird. I will talk of this for years to come. I thank you for being part of this monumental day. I left the island with a skip in my step. And hope.
Field notes to those wanting to take part in life’s sacred dance. Please remember to tread lightly. Earth’s preciousness is a gift we should treasure and never take for granted.
The Poet’s House – Spring
Translucence
follows suit
of gray doves -gone.
Hope circles, in the sky
orbit
sharp green blades
that lie low
in soil, kneaded
with nimble thoughts
to sprout joy.
It is not spring in Massachusetts. It is spring in Jeanne’s attic, where all such things are stored.
Watercolor Dreams
I am a landscape
to dwell in flowing color
the fog mirrored drama.
Sun lighted shadow
brightens thickest forest glen
butterfly petals.
The Poet’s House -Winter
Leaden footed winter.
Lumbering elephantine.
—
A pieced poverty of color
the house close-mouthed.
Silvery shards,
a fence frosted, still erect.
Leaden footprints of anticipation,
the tulips and daffodils quilled.
(I found a black and white print of “The Poet’s House” in a second-hand book. Artist unknown. I added seasonal color. This is winter.)
Creation
My Morning Mind
I am scribbling away, trying to keep up with my thoughts.
The coffee was brewing and the aroma had me thinking this morning. Again. Stuck in a corner with piled papers around my feet. Shuffling through them, I came across a Steinbeck quote. Lessons on love and hate.
My mind wanders as I watch the clouds prepare a bath of snowflakes. “What constitutes hate? And does an ideal love overcome our failure to understand others? Is there a moral love?”
“There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you — of kindness and consideration and respect — not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.“ -Steinbeck
Why am I bogged down with such heaviness? What relief exists? The heavens resemble our hearts and yet clouds obscure the view. The heart is buried. The soul is grieved. Is it I, we, or you?
I have danced secretly in ugly love. I being the selfish person begging for comfort. I have lived in that grave. Today I dream. I long to release myself from the grip of fear. To taste the sweet water of grace. And gift you the same power of hope.
—–
Mind you, not every day is clobbered with words. I am learning to laugh. Tell me a joke. I listen well enough.
Happy writing ✍🏼 J🖤🤍📬
Broken Beauty
Went White
Unbroken Circle
(From about a year ago. Oh, how time can change our attitude.)
When boredom sets in
I grind the wheel,
sharpen the blade.
A slice into misery
cleanses the soul of food gone bad.
Cold showers only waken the dead.
Random good thoughts spill
like what is the bird thinking
perched outside my window?
I find myself wishing to set sail
and dream of doing,
while I remove my wings so frail.
It is a slow morning
that i watch the old dog pant
as the embroiled sun bakes the ground.
Did I sell my soul too
afraid to drink the water
and recoil at the company in town?
