A woman ironing

She expressed again

what others have known..

the ironing chore found

quietly calming

 bringing sometimes

 bliss to a day..
What is behind this
 smoothing of wrinkles 

which serves such
 wellbeing and peace..?

Perhaps we find here 

in striking resemblance
an old story..
night becomes day

martha becomes mary
as our wrinkles 
are pressed..

With thanks to Bette
her example and sevice
and for this new
ironingboard parable...!

PhotOEMs

photos and poems

a sought for marriage

perhaps a gestalt..

exercising

eye and ear

brings more dimensions

hearing the photo

seeing the poem..

a variety of

Synesthesia...?

Widening

is there
more to see
out there midst those
lonely rocks and snow..?
artists of vision
find much more..
Van Gogh's rocks and trees
pulsate color and form..
our narrower focus
reveals cold winter pain..
by widening
may we find heat
vibrating the stillness
somewhere between..
thereby we locate
where compassion lies
the joy the light
real beauty's home...

("Our task must be to free ourselves
by widening our circle of compassion
to embrace all living creatures and
the whole of nature and its beauty."
--Albert Einstein)

  

a Seed

so small

yet with unfolding

possibilities as

a cyprus a redwood..

similarity with storied

chicken and egg..

some say

the vast universe 

simply a seed

one more example..

an ovoid shape

with energy flow..

not excluding ourselves

clothed in our

magnetic shells..

might we all

stay home

seeing all 

right here...?

Gestalt

/ge'SHtalt/

"An organized whole

that is perceived 

as more than

the sum of

its parts.."

the lordly elephant

is that whole

with all of

those strange parts..

do parts perceive

their life subsumed..?

and of our body

and parts

brother elephant is

our model..

but what of our

body as part..?

or the elephant

as part..?

how strange those

whole elephants
must be

up there...!

"The fundamental "formula" of Gestalt theory might be expressed in this way,” Max Wertheimer wrote. "There are wholes, the behaviour of which is not determined by that of their individual elements, but where the part-processes are themselves determined by the intrinsic nature of the whole. It is the hope of Gestalt theory to determine the nature of such wholes" (1924).

decorated

we wake

each day

to decorate..

she saw the

moment

the brief flare..

decorations lit

two candles

one flame..

there and gone

returning to

the day
lingering glow
and the rose...

The I am Connections

These Connections
join our I
to our me..
standing alone
me multiplies with 
colors and pain..
I alone is
blinding light..
Connections make
a homeplace:
light and color
with pain
and joy...

(prompted by the following...)

Call Me by My True Names by Thich Nhat Hanh

Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to
Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain is like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

Thich Nhat Hanh

This poem I remember often in my attempt to make sense of this world..Mae...

undecorated

I shone with you today,
felt it, as if
I were seared
into the tender
flesh of the crease
at your scruff.
There, where
sensation
resonated
straight
from your heart
in the
space
of a
moment,
before it became
coloured.

(This from Victoria on Hello Poetry...)

thanks to Charles C

The motif of birth in a cave is . . . very ancient. This symbol is associated particularly with the winter solstice, when the sun has traveled to its farthest point away from the tilted earth and the light is in the nadir of the abyss. That is the date of the birth of the god Mithra, who is lord of light. He was born—we recall that his mother is the Earth—holding a rock-hewn weapon in his hand. Mithra was the principle competitor with Christianity, in the period of the first three centuries. The Christmas date was placed on December twenty-fifth, which was the solstice time, in order to compete with The Lord of Light, Mithra. No one really knows when Christ was born. It was settled on December twenty-fifth for mythological, not historical, reason.

Joseph Campbell, Thou Art That, p. 65

Joseph's Light

a lonely figure

in silence appears

each Christmas year..

might we make his

 place more secure..?

recall his namesake

in Egypt's deep past..

Joseph the Viceroy
with many travails

observes a descent

with ascent foreseen..
let us then imagine

 this newer Joseph

in silent watch 
pondering his name.. 

with swift recognition
of the ancient Formula

which eternally repeats:

our many steps down
 are concealed within
 that One step up..
 energy so flows 
hidden messianic
 Light...

Christmas Tree

one pine tree

resplendent in symmetry

another year at home

 her snowbound slope..

apparently not destined

 not this year

for light display

with sacrifice death..

roots still grounded

and a treetop pointing

to bright starlight above..

 through a sturdy trunk

 rooted sparks do flow 

upward..rejoining
 the glow..

The first peace, which is the most important, is that which comes within the souls of people when they realize their relationship, their oneness, with the universe and all its powers, and when they realize that at the center of the universe dwells Wakan-Taka (the Great Spirit), and that this center is really everywhere, it is within each of us.

This is the real peace, and the others are but reflections of this. The second peace is that which is made between two individuals, and the third is that which is made between two nations. But above all you should understand that there can never be peace between nations until there is known that true peace, which, as I have often said, is within the souls of men.

Black Elk - Oglala Sioux

A fire Flickers

cold and snow

without..

fireplace flickers

within..

hot coals stimulate

rising flames with

tips we notice

do not locate...

Imagination

our marching time

holds sway today

and wraps a gift

given long ago..

especially harsh

life's departures now..

the gift unopened

except for children

and artists few..

we await unwrapping

startled to find

separations and strangeness

sudden dancing

in a time

renewed...

Extended Calendar

that linear time
our watches portray
long labored to measure
our history
our transports
our rents
and our stress..
this servant will not
of course
die this Friday..
but may begin
a humble recognition
of its residence
through all ages
within a more unbounded
joyous yet fearful
home..

Slivers

days of tears

with this darkness..

our reasoning blunted..

repetitions..

layers out there

and within..

beginnings now

Slivers of light...?

Trace

where one stands

light moment confronting..

the encounter takes root

advice is to hesitate

right there..

the moment contains

pieces of necessity

these forever lost

by walking on..

Preserving the Trace...

Transport

those daily excursions

travels so necessary

point A to point B
are there grooves

long before emplaced..?

then finding ourselves
in pleasant surprise
driver as passenger
awaking in dream..

finding new vision

this more en-lightened

 Transport...?

grasping Emily

her poems

pierce us 

to our core..

we must surrender

to her choice

of words..

a wrong word

she despairs

 to malaria compares..

perhaps a way inside

enter her two doors..

watch these

switch and intertwine..

heaven/hell

soul/society

light/slant

morning/night..

find ourselves on the  /

 still..
as we wrestle
are we grasping for an
 Emily Ungraspable..?

(preparing for an
Emily Dickinson
discussion..)

feathers

hope

she said is

the thing with feathers

perched and singing

without words..

 words must surely

be deeply hidden

within that song..

can we locate

another perch..?

and ask the feather

what are your words

and your song..?

the words we find

it's shape does bind..

here are the

sharp connectors and barbs..

barbules and hooklets

all of these

to hold a feather form..

and what of a song..?

a central shaft with ending quill

guides nutrition and light..

sacred texts penned

and that majestic flight..

hope extends...

(with appreciation for 
Emily Dickinson's
poem)

Hope     

Hope is the thing with feathers 

That perches in the soul, 

And sings the tune--without the words, 

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard; 

And sore must be the storm 

That could abash the little bird 

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land, 

And on the strangest sea; 

Yet, never, in extremity, 

It asked a crumb of me.

Whim...!

a question
is posed..
touted as
most pressing as
our century unfolds:
Who am I..?

a phrase and cliche
proposes to reply
through the back door:
those talking-points
sometimes official
often serve to accuse..

the accuser
points to those points..
derides the masking
of original I am..
sad choice to repeat
health to reveal..

those points have
not just arrived..
dogmas of old
others brand new..
a sage once prescribed:
self-reliance on

Whim...!

The sage is RW Emerson in "Self-Reliance."  :)

Patience

this morning

this title introduced

through some separate

synchronous readings..

the question right now

how might patience

assist with this poem..

might it be

better to stop

stop writing just now

allow some gestation

some quiet perhaps..

resume in minutes,

or hours or months..?

hesitation quite brief 

and rough writing began..

still the end
that distant goal

an insistent completion

seemed to delay
blocking the flow..

did a fear arise

prompted by 

a finish out there..

that this poem will

never find ending..?

will likely end

as discard and refuse..

a walk.. reliable antidote.. 

there does seem

in those sometimes

an effortless flow..
other times 
impatience a mooring

so patience might grow..?

Big Bang

we all came

science does say

from a dot

a pinpoint

expanding

to all this..

but where is

that dot..?

if we say

where we live 

in our 3D

preposterous it seems..

if we say

in higher dimension

in our 4D

there would be

no space for us

no time or locality..

so we try once more

not 3D not 4D

but in between..

our universe

that dot is

 local in no locality...?

three Vantages

we start early

peering around..

the desk and chair

a solid nightstand

tire pressures

wheels always round..

 much later moments

a fleeting glimpse

from deepened despair..?

the edge of a shore

the evening twilight

definite something more..

then at last

we reclaim our past

this new vantage

a clearing light

immersed and within..

yet not entirely

our own...

the Ladder

these rungs..

on which rung

does one stand in

this morning sun..?

the bottom rung

seems firmly planted

in this shopping season..

black friday entry

frenzied desires propel

our seasonal excess..

season is dark with

light saving they say..

where is it saved..?

in bright windows

in smiles and trees..?

and we might ask

finding two faces

on this lower rung..

what faces are there 
in that rung above...?

the Square

a simple shape

a foundation

our stability 

our confident strength..

but ask we must

ask how sufficient

for our lives in

these disturbing years..

is now our time

is our honored square

more dependable

in a new light..?

dare we let go 

disconnect those corners

allow the four lines

to drift as they may..?

one mae become bold

more solid

more dark..

another fades to

a slim beam of light..

the other two

lack decision right now

end up comfortably

somewhere between..

then we notice

we cannot distinguish

which line dark

and which light..

 seeming becomings

before our eye..

 is our square

strong as before...?

Christmas Quiet

a quiet christmas

we expect this year..

travelers not arriving

just the holiday..

season shouts elsewhere..

a red poinsettia 

will be sufficient tree..

a seeming culmination

of early bells

an annual football

a brown dog

cats and icicles.. 

city lights and coastline

from a mountaintop.. 

excitement on those mornings

ribbons fleeting use..

these few memories

fill our quiet now..

but in reflection 

this quiet has not

only now occurred..

with gratitude we see

our treasured

 christmas quiet has 

through many years

endured...

blessing and curse

in this 2012 year

elevating consciousness

our illusive challenge..

 an evolution signpost 

on a circuitous road..

reaching this marker

finding new directions

depends on awareness..

locating our place

right here and right now..

worthy guides there are

who tell us

we are perched

on a precarious ledge

between light and shade..

other names suffice

for this place

might we say

blessing and curse aka.. (?)

then our guides say..

don't curse the shade

don't curse the curse.. 

a startling discovery

to be made

in each her own way..

at last she absorbs

the sought for blessing 

during a frightening search..

all along disguised

 as the accursed curse... (?)

Dispositions

we each
have our own
dispositions..
leaning we say
mostly one way..
one relishes variety
another finds home
in sparser places..
in those
high thin clouds
afar and away..

evolution now
seems to demand
that one and another
plan for travel..
recognizing at last
that one and another
are found deep within..
hastening then
to become the other
then with joy
return again...

Choices

we seem

on rising each morning

to plan our day

to choose best paths

for reaching 

each evening..

then we listen

as the wise ones say

our histories are

is not was..

time really eludes

maps with paths 

drawn before morning..

how then

might we choose..?

recognize the paradox

is this our real

and glorious

choice...?

Manassas

a foreboding
photograph
startles to memory
our war's beginning..
 this named entanglement
darkened and dampened
 the frivolity
the expected brevity
of our war with ourselves..
a blood soaked becoming 
of machinery and death..

the foreground a
cannon on wheels
replicated in the distance
and we assume
again and again..
these engines of conflict
dominate a distant
'tho insistent background..
the sun's
fiery reflection on
an expectant treeline..
coupled with sky
turbulent and echoing 
the cannon's 
forthright entrance 
with purpose unmasked..

this our battle of
separation for reunion
a Manassas pattern
oft repeated through
all of these
our rebirthing years..
flanking and horses
surprise encircling
a wall of stone..
agony and sorrow
the fever of war..
all to reframe
then to restate
 our collective.. sacred
 I Am... 

(Thanks to Lucy for the photo
and challenge...!)

Associations

imaginations

when left adrift

sometimes

lose a grounding

essential to health..

how might these

far flung meanderings 

be grasped
and tempered within..?

when we Associate..

delightful similarities found

but differences also..

unities spring forth

somehow easing 

anxieties of living..

stress retreats

and released health

trickles in...