Re-creation

she listens properly to herself
she breathes deeply and digs deep into years of dull memories
she bears witness to her own earth spirit and to sacred writing
her reverent acts of a re-creation of self

Sunday Whirl 1

Wordling again.  Writing with the Sunday Whirl this afternoon.
I used all the words in some form.  Happy Sunday!

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Nourishment

under pecan tree
nourishment offered wildlife
a bowl of water

Water for wildlife

I hope bees, fig wasp, rabbits, squirrels, birds, and cats visit the
water bowl during these hot Georgia days.  Doing my part to keep
us all hydrated on my little piece of Gaia.

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Onyx

I kept you because
Black cats are least adopted 
My onyx of love

Piper or the Little Girl

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Still

eleven years, gone
still think of you when I see
purple hydrangea

front yard May 2018 2

My late husband planted almost all the shrubs in my yard.  I think of him with deep gratitude when they bloom.

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Unripe

my unripe ideas
promises of future joy
like still green berries

My backyard May, 2018 2

Photo of green blueberries in my backyard.  I’m looking forward to future harvests of berries and ideas.

Posted in Blueberries, Photography, Poetry, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Confession

her boat traversed the channel
and aligned with the sand

her plan was to inject her confession
treat them to a torrid tale

she stepped ashore, checked her sect dress
and walked to the sanctuary

_______________________________________________
Writing again this rainy Sunday morning with
the Sunday Whirl.  The words today are check,
inject, sect, dress, confess, treat, tale, torrid,
traverse, sand, channel, align.  Brenda’s choice
of words almost always brings me to a story poem.
So much fun!

Posted in Poet, Poetry, Story Poem | Tagged , , | 9 Comments

The Stranger

she thought she heard his old truck
drive over the hill and park

certain now because her shy, devil cat
growled, slow and low

she turned the light switch
on and off

snatched her cloth bundle of
bread, strips of bacon, boiled eggs, wild plums

covered in new moon darkness, she handed
the bundle to the stranger, standing in the road

Image result for wild plum photos to use for blogsImage result for dark road photos to use for blogs

______________________________________________________
Another wordle written with The Sunday Whirl.
The words this week are switch, stranger, bread, devil,
on, shy, drive, off, snatches, growl, strips, light.  I used
all of them.

Posted in Poet, Poetry | Tagged , , , | 20 Comments

She’s Rattled

Writing with the Sunday Whirl this morning.  The words are bare, birds, crescendo, rattle, shatter, teeth, honey, blue, gravity, edges, blood, electrify.  I used them all.  I hope I’ve not forgotten how to post in WordPress.  It has been a long time.

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She’s Rattled

her bare teeth draw blood
the wounds blue at the edges

the taste is honey
electrified by the moment

the crescendo of bird’s song
shatters the silence of dawn

rattled, she allows
gravity to close the lid.

 

 

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I Remember


I Remember

I remember the man wiping
his face and tear filled eyes.

I remember his life-long work
for justice

and his work to ensure
we do not forget.

He’d want us to remember
how it started with an election.

Simon Wiesenthal,
we have not forgotten.

 

It is Father’s Day and I’m thinking of my dad and the flash backs he had about World War II. I was born a few years after the war ended. It is hard to know the energy that passes forward to a new born child, but I sense that echoes of energy do pass through generations. I know World War II had a great impact on all our lives, even if we weren’t yet born.

I’m also thinking today about another man horrifically touched by World War II. His name was Simon Wiesenthal. 

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Encircled

Encircled

surprise in the pines
fruit and flowers cover the ground
surrounding Ganesh

Cedar Hill was a retreat center established by a couple of Catholic nuns in Dawsonville, Georgia.  The book club I belong to was started at Cedar Hill.

The first time I walked the trail through the woods there, I was surprised and delighted to see a statue of Ganesh with beautiful flowers and fruit covering the ground around it.

Some years later the nuns left for other places and work in the world.  Cedar Hill then became an education center dedicated to sustainable living, and is now closed.

Along with other people and places, I miss Cedar Hill.

Posted in Art, Essay, Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 13 Comments