Showing posts with label Happy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Happy. Show all posts
Thursday, November 18, 2010
j?A! M!t(hE//'.....
...had to be there.....
There are some things which are too good for words.....
For to me it might be a triple shot of espresso,
Black and tan no sugar no cream,
Kissing the air and catching my nostrils.
Could be the amazing view
From my daughters grandmothers kitchen window
That looks past the empty country hi way
And out to a patchwork green field filled with mono chromatic bovine
Shrouded with an early morn' mystic topped with golden gilded clouds
And angelic shafts of light cutting through the mist, giving ride to arabesque
Evapo Ray shun.....
The quiet beauty of the morning enchants me
And offers escape to a tolkin imagined shire
Where I wait with baited breath hoping to catch a glimpse of Iroquois on horse back
Or majestic bison diffusing this veil of vapor.
Truth be told I half expected a Celt of yore to materialize
And he traverses alone and stoic,
The remnant of some long lost and forgotten war
Where he waged battles in the name of stolen love and lost rites.
I can see him in his musty garb and damp boots as he, crossing the dew slicked asphalt
Ascends the stairs to the sun room only to stare at me as pained as the glass in the frame, with cryptic eyes he would ask in his ancient and glorious tongue for a cup of coffee and a warm hearth by which he might warm his bones as he has traversed many miles and has many more to go and i can say that i ought to have welcomed him in with. A hearty embrace and invite him to share his tale...
..............he spun a yarn as I sat captivated,
And told of far away lands,
Of francs and english alike that he vanquished with his own two hands.
With a far away look he told of a brook
That he explored when he was just a lad and how when still young
He left kin and kith in search of glory abroad.
He moaned out a dirge that spoke of maidens fine and fair with
Skin of silk and long flowing hair
That reminded him of his brothers cousins golden mare.
Long into the night he spoke of the plight
That plagued his brothers back there
And although he loved to roam he missed the loam and felt his wife calling him
To come home.. Come home... All you who are weary come home..
Tenderly earnestly you know your being called all you sinners come
Home......
Yep..... Too bad some things are too good for words.....
...had to be there.....
There are some things which are too good for words.....
For to me it might be a triple shot of espresso,
Black and tan no sugar no cream,
Kissing the air and catching my nostrils.
Could be the amazing view
From my daughters grandmothers kitchen window
That looks past the empty country hi way
And out to a patchwork green field filled with mono chromatic bovine
Shrouded with an early morn' mystic topped with golden gilded clouds
And angelic shafts of light cutting through the mist, giving ride to arabesque
Evapo Ray shun.....
The quiet beauty of the morning enchants me
And offers escape to a tolkin imagined shire
Where I wait with baited breath hoping to catch a glimpse of Iroquois on horse back
Or majestic bison diffusing this veil of vapor.
Truth be told I half expected a Celt of yore to materialize
And he traverses alone and stoic,
The remnant of some long lost and forgotten war
Where he waged battles in the name of stolen love and lost rites.
I can see him in his musty garb and damp boots as he, crossing the dew slicked asphalt
Ascends the stairs to the sun room only to stare at me as pained as the glass in the frame, with cryptic eyes he would ask in his ancient and glorious tongue for a cup of coffee and a warm hearth by which he might warm his bones as he has traversed many miles and has many more to go and i can say that i ought to have welcomed him in with. A hearty embrace and invite him to share his tale...
..............he spun a yarn as I sat captivated,
And told of far away lands,
Of francs and english alike that he vanquished with his own two hands.
With a far away look he told of a brook
That he explored when he was just a lad and how when still young
He left kin and kith in search of glory abroad.
He moaned out a dirge that spoke of maidens fine and fair with
Skin of silk and long flowing hair
That reminded him of his brothers cousins golden mare.
Long into the night he spoke of the plight
That plagued his brothers back there
And although he loved to roam he missed the loam and felt his wife calling him
To come home.. Come home... All you who are weary come home..
Tenderly earnestly you know your being called all you sinners come
Home......
Yep..... Too bad some things are too good for words.....
Of Sky and Sea
I could lay no longer in my temporary home of canvas,
Straining
To hear the chorus of
Songbirds
Under the squawk of the giant crow
Standing guard over our campsite.
I felt in the morning darkness for my sneakers and
Sweatshirt,
And I made my escape,
Finding
It miraculous that the others weren’t awakened
By the noisy zippered door.
I followed the path to the beach, my steps quick and
Eager
To greet the horizon at dawn,
Eager
To leave a fresh set of footprints
Upon the virgin sand.
I climbed the rocks to gaze into pools that just last
Night
Were covered by salty surf,
Pondering
Ebb and flow more than the creatures it left behind.
Something called me on to higher ground, where the incoming
Tide
Pounded the rock beneath me,
Sending
Its spray up to touch my face.
I stood alone, yet far from loneliness, with
Sky
And sea and thought so
Vast
They overwhelmed me. I belonged there,
In that moment.
I carry that place with me, visiting it often in my
Mind.
When the world crowds in and suddenly seems too
Small,
I remember sea and sky, and endless thought.
Where I am alone and not afraid.
Where I stand tall in the face of vastness,
And I am happy.
-rk
I could lay no longer in my temporary home of canvas,
Straining
To hear the chorus of
Songbirds
Under the squawk of the giant crow
Standing guard over our campsite.
I felt in the morning darkness for my sneakers and
Sweatshirt,
And I made my escape,
Finding
It miraculous that the others weren’t awakened
By the noisy zippered door.
I followed the path to the beach, my steps quick and
Eager
To greet the horizon at dawn,
Eager
To leave a fresh set of footprints
Upon the virgin sand.
I climbed the rocks to gaze into pools that just last
Night
Were covered by salty surf,
Pondering
Ebb and flow more than the creatures it left behind.
Something called me on to higher ground, where the incoming
Tide
Pounded the rock beneath me,
Sending
Its spray up to touch my face.
I stood alone, yet far from loneliness, with
Sky
And sea and thought so
Vast
They overwhelmed me. I belonged there,
In that moment.
I carry that place with me, visiting it often in my
Mind.
When the world crowds in and suddenly seems too
Small,
I remember sea and sky, and endless thought.
Where I am alone and not afraid.
Where I stand tall in the face of vastness,
And I am happy.
-rk
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
November 6, 2010
Solid Ground
We look up to bare branches
in a grey sky
the last of the leaves
too weak to let go.
We know where we’re headed
We know how to brace ourselves
We don’t intend to fall
So we laugh at the empty sky
The path curves up from the river
crackle of dry leaves underfoot
and the urge to stomp
and the urge to cry out
and the holding on.
When suddenly grace find us
A riot of red leaves
shock of beauty soft as rose petals
too delicate for sound
All’s a giddy shimmer a dazzle
Yes
then the letting go
and hitting solid ground.
Solid Ground
We look up to bare branches
in a grey sky
the last of the leaves
too weak to let go.
We know where we’re headed
We know how to brace ourselves
We don’t intend to fall
So we laugh at the empty sky
The path curves up from the river
crackle of dry leaves underfoot
and the urge to stomp
and the urge to cry out
and the holding on.
When suddenly grace find us
A riot of red leaves
shock of beauty soft as rose petals
too delicate for sound
All’s a giddy shimmer a dazzle
Yes
then the letting go
and hitting solid ground.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
By Turtle Shell
This is one of the November 9 meeting's "Suddenly I understood that I am happy" poems.
------------------------------
Important.
There's a place I'm going,
Firm gray paths enclose pressing destinations,
So many of us here for similarly personal purpose,
We cluster off at rigid times in rigid places,
Not trivial meetings, nor trivial reasons,
What's here is IMPORTANT.
Crisp wind slices down a curved brick conduit,
Cold air the minorest of obstacles,
Compared to ASPIRATION it weighs naught,
It pains little, and impedes none.
Today is especially dense,
In the week's ebb and flow, today is a torrent,
Five places I must be, five tributes I must pay,
Each hand-crafted creation accepted,
Each reward: being told to craft another.
The long-term goal shines beacon bright,
I see it. I crave it. I WILL have it.
But the short-term is trying to kill me,
Obligation crushes.
Crucial were the first four meetings today,
A momentary fancy is the fifth,
Still an obligation to meet, but a light one,
On the busiest of days, I make time for fun.
I take my eyes off the horizon,
Decouple from chasing the future,
And relax into NOW.
...
The hour ends unable to account for itself,
"Time flies," they say,
I exit the brief escape, sad that it's over,
Emotionally exercised and drained,
But drained of stress as well.
The cool wind lifts my hair,
I stroll up firm gray paths between gently curved bricks,
Thoughts drift toward tomorrow's duties,
Colored by a new mood.
The day is ending and I'm going home now,
But this place is so beautiful,
I can't wait to come back tomorrow!
This is one of the November 9 meeting's "Suddenly I understood that I am happy" poems.
------------------------------
Important.
There's a place I'm going,
Firm gray paths enclose pressing destinations,
So many of us here for similarly personal purpose,
We cluster off at rigid times in rigid places,
Not trivial meetings, nor trivial reasons,
What's here is IMPORTANT.
Crisp wind slices down a curved brick conduit,
Cold air the minorest of obstacles,
Compared to ASPIRATION it weighs naught,
It pains little, and impedes none.
Today is especially dense,
In the week's ebb and flow, today is a torrent,
Five places I must be, five tributes I must pay,
Each hand-crafted creation accepted,
Each reward: being told to craft another.
The long-term goal shines beacon bright,
I see it. I crave it. I WILL have it.
But the short-term is trying to kill me,
Obligation crushes.
Crucial were the first four meetings today,
A momentary fancy is the fifth,
Still an obligation to meet, but a light one,
On the busiest of days, I make time for fun.
I take my eyes off the horizon,
Decouple from chasing the future,
And relax into NOW.
...
The hour ends unable to account for itself,
"Time flies," they say,
I exit the brief escape, sad that it's over,
Emotionally exercised and drained,
But drained of stress as well.
The cool wind lifts my hair,
I stroll up firm gray paths between gently curved bricks,
Thoughts drift toward tomorrow's duties,
Colored by a new mood.
The day is ending and I'm going home now,
But this place is so beautiful,
I can't wait to come back tomorrow!
Monday, November 8, 2010
Hi All,
Just wanted to get this poem out to you. Jane Kenyon's "The Suitor" from which we take as our prompt: "Suddenly I understood that I am happy."
Looking forward to all our responses!
Happy Weekend,
Robin
------------------------------
The Suitor
By Jane Kenyon
We lie back to back. Curtains
lift and fall,
like the chest of someone sleeping.
Wind moves the leaves of the box elder;
they show their light undersides,
turning all at once
like a school of fish.
Suddenly I understand that I am happy.
For months this feeling
has been coming closer, stopping
for short visits, like a timid suitor.
Just wanted to get this poem out to you. Jane Kenyon's "The Suitor" from which we take as our prompt: "Suddenly I understood that I am happy."
Looking forward to all our responses!
Happy Weekend,
Robin
------------------------------
The Suitor
By Jane Kenyon
We lie back to back. Curtains
lift and fall,
like the chest of someone sleeping.
Wind moves the leaves of the box elder;
they show their light undersides,
turning all at once
like a school of fish.
Suddenly I understand that I am happy.
For months this feeling
has been coming closer, stopping
for short visits, like a timid suitor.
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