Yearning

now1This was one of my first attempts at merging art and poetry.  I write what has been termed personal poetry.  This sonnet was the first poem in a series of twenty-one poems that I was determined to write.  I illustrated the first two poems of this grouping.  It’s not so easy to do, I found.  This poem was written several years ago…the mood at the time.  Poetry is a great way to manage our various moods and emotions and to help us move beyond or integrate these passing energies.

I’ve written poetry for at least thirty years.  Within that span of time, there were periods when I didn’t write poetry.  The tangles that we can get ourselves into with words.  The things we tell ourselves.  As author Byron Katie has reiterated “Is it true?”  The things we say to others–did they receive it as we intended it?  The words we hear– are they fact, theory, opinion, judgment?  How do other people’s words–the media–color your own thoughts and opinions?  Where is the truth in these tangles?

That’s why I chose the paintbrush over the pen for a few years.  No words!

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This blog has become a commingling of art and words with which I feel comfortable these days.

 

 

Walking Home

bird1I dropped my car off at the shop at 8:30 this morning.  I live within a walking distance of the auto shop, about 25 minutes.  Today is one of those pre-vernal-equinox days.  It tempts the mind to believing that it is spring.  The awakening inside is piqued and we lean towards longer, warmer days.  Those days when the bulbs burst into their flowers and we rise feeling renewed.

It’s so easy to hop into the car first thing to run errands.  Get where I want to go quickly, accomplish more things on that never-ending list.  Such a convenience.  Such an expediter.

It’s when I don’t have access to the car that I begin to really see what surrounds me.  And to discover that there are surprises in every front yard.  The wood-crafted alligator that guards the front patio.  The ornamental kale in barrels in front of the fusion food truck on the little boulevard.  The so soon crocuses, purple, yellow and white.  The Downy Woodpecker beats out his rhythm in the ancient cherry tree.  Then there’s the way the sun feels at this time of the day.  And the way the soft sunlight touches what I see.  Past the auto dealership…I’d like to be in the market for one of those jeeps…but not yet.  The spectacular vista of the mountain peeking through the low houses and buildings.

I pass a rare few people on foot and the greeting is always to “Have a nice day.”
What is it about this time of day that enlivens the sleepy soul?  What is it that makes you glad to be alive and renews optimism?  I don’t know, but I wouldn’t have experienced it if I’d been in the car, in a rush, not in the present moment.

Not to make it all glamorous.  Walking home from the mechanics on a winter’s day with snow and ice on the ground is not a picnic.  At each street corner, there is an indefinable slush puddle.  It could be deep enough to seep over your boottops.  Then the walking home is more of a survival exploit.  I find myself looking down and then out, down and then out.  I don’t see much of the scenery as the focus is not to slip and fall.  Regardless, I allow this adventure on occasion too…a test of my mettle?

All of this to say, take a walk in the morning when you have an opportunity, or make one.  See what you notice that you might have missed had you not been on foot.

And, “Have a nice day.”