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.”
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.
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
winter winds play
the brown marcescent leaves
music of rain sticks
Fine memories dwell here.
I can almost hear them
when I close my eyes.
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 is my current action plan
autumn assists me
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
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
If I told you the one thing
you must do for abounding opportunities,
would you do it?
Could you do it?
Like yourself.
