Thursday, August 21, 2014

MINDFULNESS


I bet you thought I had disappeared from Blog Land, but I’m back, at least for today. Although, I haven’t managed to post here with any regularity, I’m hopeful that I can return with something new. Checking email, Facebook, on-line banking, all the things that keep me tied to the computer, are taking up too many precious hours. I’d much rather be spending it with family and friends or writing poems and stories and taking photographs. Because I’m still discovering many wonderful people, new places and things, I would like to share them with you. While I figure out what I will post here in the future, I’ll leave you with something I shared in writing class.



MINDFULNESS, THE WORK OF A LIFETIME

Writing lists and lists
Making notes about notes
Leaving the notes behind
One day you let the world go by
You forget to take the pictures
There’s a note unread on your desk
To finish that poem you started last summer
Too late for your last doctor's appointment
Too early for the next one

Timing!

Maybe, all we have are days upon days
Not scheduled on a calendar
Driving down the road
Walking in the grass
Through the trees
Under the stars
Living, learning, loving
Where it doesn’t matter
When you get there

 MSW


Thursday, April 24, 2014

CARRY A POEM IN YOUR POCKET DAY





Many years ago, I found this poem by James Hearst in an old magazine. I copied and framed it, and around this time of year, I like to share it with some friends. On this National Carry A Poem In Your Pocket Day, I’ll be carrying this one. It is like an old friend that speaks of spring and hope and faith and of course the glorious Forsythia.



FORSYTHIA

You said, take a few dry

sticks, cut the ends slantwise

to let in water, stick them

in the old silver cup on the

dresser in the spare room and

wait for the touch of Easter.

But a cold wave protected the

snow, and the sap’s pulse beat

so low underground I felt no

answer in myself except silence.

You said, winter breaks out in

flowers for the faithful and

today when I opened the door

the dry sticks spoke in little

yellow stars and I thought

of you.


By James Hearst