Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Good Morning Wind!

Through the open window
The breeze comes in to greet me
Its cool touch is welcome
Eyes closed
It kisses my skin hello
Surrounding my senses
Bringing me the gift
Of early morning scents
Clear, cleansing, awakening
Good Morning Wind.
I inhale.
A swish answers, on exhale.
Poor souls, those who forget
To open their windows.


In the writing circle today we focused on description and for some reason, skin came to my mind. The first prompt was a green tomato, the second was simply choosing a person we felt like describing. As always, the writing in the group astounds me and I'm humbled by my fellow writers. Little snipits of their writing really stuck with me, to me. Here's some skin off what I wrote today:

Green as a Granny Smith
Smooth as split pea soup
Skin, balloon tight
It's surface, a shiny happy face.
Hard as a nine-months pregnant belly, packed with potential.
Green tomato


Grandma Flo was a Peach
I ran my finger across the back of her hand.
Her skin was like peach skin, velvet soft, only a thin layer that if pressed too hard, could easily peel away.
Ripe with age, her sweet flesh gives beneath my touch, tender.
Sun spots blotch like bruised fruit.
A long life on the vine has drained her juices, leaving wrinkles where fullness used to be.
The only thing plump that remains
Is her heart
Plump heart- still as strong as a peach seed- solid in love,
Even as the body surrounding it
wanes away with time

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Listen Inside

Been in a poem-ish mood lately... this one, written during a Portland Women's Writing Circle, was innspired by a Rumi poem about the deep listening, specifically; "the beauty of your separation".

Listen Inside

Listen to your solitude
Hear its daily hum, edging along your skin
Vibrating the heart drum

Listen with intent
Past the buzz in the fear of being alone
There is music there, inside you-
Accompanying you, a duet for your one life

Listen to your solitude
And find yourself there
Beyond the sigh of breath
A quiet orchestra
In your solitary soul
For your strum, for your lead
You: the conductor of your loneliness

Listen with the intent to hear
Your spirit
And it will sing
A lullaby of connection.

On Witch's Thanksgiving

On Witch's Thanksgiving
When day and night are of equal length, balance holds my thoughts.
On Witch's Thanksgiving
A full moon will shine on ripe harvests below, coven basking in her glow
Leaves will fall to quilt our mother, grounds growing colder
Earth stands for a moment in equity, ubiquitous female
On Witch's Thanksgiving
The Autumnal Equinox
I will pay homage to both sides
The yin and the yang, the dark and the light, fire and water, joy and sorrow
How brief this balance
Will be
Before we are set swirling once again on a titled world
Living a skewed existence
On Witch's Thanksgiving
Things hold still- suspended, peaceful
Before the Fall.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The Color of Impatience

If Jealousy is green, what color would impatience be?
Red- Fiery. Hot. Agitated mobility.
Black - Black is done. And when you've reached impatience you're already done. Every drop of patience has either drained or evaporated, already departed.
But maybe black for emptiness, because patience was never there in the first place. Just its lack -it's absence- defines the whole of the other.
I am impatient.
Impatience wears jeans because they hardly wrinkle.
Impatience puts too much Frizz-ease in her hair because she doesn't take the time to tame it.
Impatience had two cups of coffee, not the four she desired...
Al dente pasta, wet paint, typo's... these curses follow in the wake of impatience.
But all you get is the wake because impatience doesn't wait around to introduce herself.
So, it turns out, impatience is blue.
Sowing the seed, not watching it bloom and grow
Mixing ingredients, never letting them stew
Making snap judgments - not sitting and getting to know
Missing so much, as impatience is bound to do,
She is bound to be blue.