Turbulent Times

no one at the helm
in a deadly storm

winds blowing
this and that way

emotions churning
I can’t breathe

once witnessed
turbulent times can’t be unseen

Poem and art by Sabra Bowers

Oliver’s Toad

This morning I delighted in a single line of poetry from Mary Oliver’s Toad.  Can’t exactly say why it thrilled me, other than my love of storytelling, maybe.  The line transported me to a place and time of imagination; where I remembered Einstein once said, “Imagination is everything.”  Oliver’s line of poetry that sparked and delighted me:  “I was walking by.  He was sitting there.”

 

To Move

Not called to move
Prefer stillness
And looking within

I seek solitude and silence
Although
The world is never silent

Neither are my thoughts
They often ramble
To the past or future

Am I an antenna
For thoughts
Moving in the now?

 

I wrote this poem at a workshop given by John Fox of Poetic Medicine.
His prompt was – to move.  I left the workshop at first break that day.
I was already feeling the call to social distance and honored my knowing
that I wanted to be in another place, alone.  

Slays My Heart

A poem I won’t forget; it slays my heart every time I read it.  The poet is Laura Gilpin and the poem is The Two-Headed Calf.  

I’m sure growing up on a farm adds to my love of this poem because I see the pasture, the stars, the moon, the orchard, and feel the wind in the grasses.  I see in my heart the cow and her calf.  I feel their body heat, hear their breathing, and smell their cowness.  I hear the sounds of the night; for the night is not silent.

The Two-Headed Calf  by Laura Gilpin

Tomorrow, when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother.  It is a perfect 
summer evening: the moon rising over
the orchard; the wind in the grasses.
And as he stares into the sky,
there are twice as many stars as usual.

Photo by Lawrence at Unsplash

Rain Sticks

winter winds play
the brown marcescent leaves
music of rain sticks

Fine Memories

Fine memories dwell here.
I can almost hear them
when I close my eyes.

Blue Bird of Happiness

May the blue bird of happiness grace your life.
May the water element do its good work.
May the world be whole again.

Words and Painting by Sabra Bowers.

Waiting

waiting is my current action plan
autumn assists me

Surprise

it was a surprise
to find the gate open

giving entry to the rutted road
I’d not walked since my youth

we meandered the yards around
the abandoned farmhouse and barns

my friend wanted to try the doors
I was hesitant
we weren’t supposed to be there

the door opened, another surprise
the rooms still held memories

my friend snapped a photo of me
in the yard of tall grass

later she wrote a poem
about my journey that day

she framed the poem and photo
and gave me a beloved memory

 

 

 

Altars

the photos sit on table tops
outside offices in corporate halls

altars to dead men, executives
who died tragically, too soon

it takes a shutting down of heart to ignore
the subtle energy drain of these altars

Yes, portraits of the dead have
their historical value and place

but it is macabre, I say, to
encounter them everyday at work