Category: photography
-
Poem-sword in one hand, packing tape in the other, recycling bin in my third hand and tissues in my fourth. (For the dust. It makes me sneeze.) My fifth hand is clutching a steaming mug and my sixth hand is wasting time on Facebook. My seventh and eighth hands are clasped in some kind of prayer,…
-
That May the peonies were my countdown— I knew they would bloom when she did. That heady hot spring of unfurling expectation, of watching marching ants making their incredible journeys across Planet Peony while I marked the days. Oh, the heaviness in my ankles, the humidity, the wonder of my belly swelling like a bud…
-
Like star charts inside my brain extending to the edges of me; electricity— constellations conducting current, leaping synaptic gaps to link thought to action in my dark interior
-
Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn, a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter. If your mind isn’t clouded by unnecessary things, this is the best season of your life. – Wu Men, 12c Chinese poet (transl: S. Mitchell)
-
Every time I travel I am energized and struck by new possibilities. As the plane begins its descent, I wiggle in my seat and think: I could live here (or there or there). The world brims with sparkling promise, the way ocean waves shimmer and dance all the way to the blurry far off horizon…
-
To pray you open your whole self To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon To one whole voice that is you. – from “Eagle Poem,” by Joy Harjo
-
That voice Sinking into my gut like a spire into a low sky it walks with me, or used to— maybe that’s why I learned to walk so fast, shins burning hot uphill, it always beat me… until I learned not to hear.
-
Another 7×7 poem (seven lines, seven syllables per line.) This one inspired by endings—of seasons, of eras. Marcescence Sometimes we hold on too hard; cling to what should be released— old, winter-worn, transparent from time and weather, rattled, beaten, tattered— it’s hard to let the familiar fall away, let new growth emerge Note: Marcescence is…
-
I haven’t had time to write this week, but I walked in the (last?) snow of the season. The sky was flat and bright, like an impossibly bright light table. I forgot my sunglasses and found myself squinting. There was a hush, so quiet, it seemed like a Sunday morning. But the birds were singing…
-
This is the first blog post I’ve written straight into the chute without a little polishing. I’m frazzled. I’m moving. I’m selling a house I lived in for almost 2 decades, a house I had a wonderful family life in. I’ve been packing up and purging and sorting for months now. And now it’s almost…
eeo 