Poet’s Corner: “Approaching Nectar” – Margaret Sullivan Waldhelm

Poet’s Corner: “Approaching Nectar” – Margaret Sullivan Waldhelm

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

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

GOOD FRIDAY

GOOD FRIDAY

On this day, I sit so still

As if I’m stalking the earth.

It is a good Friday, any way you slice it.

My eyes open and close to sunlight

And shadow-then wind and stillness.

With early clouds floating by,

 I tune in to songbirds and wait

For new colorful wings to arrive.

 Sun hits my legs, hot and burning,

 Till a breeze returns, cools me

And flips the pages of my opened book.

 Spring endures, regardless of what I believe

 On this breezy Friday before Easter.

 In a straw lined bowl on the counter,

The hardboiled eggs, dyed and arranged

 Wait to be tapped and rolled on Sunday

Uncovering the opaque white that protects

The golden prize inside.

MSW