Rooted in the earth,
ever reaching for the sky –
speaking nature’s truth.
Category: creativity
All I Need
All I need is a pair of pink boots,
the audacity to wear my hair
as if no one is looking,
the nonchalance to wear skirts
even on the days I plan to climb,
to adopt a no-limits, thumbs-up
attitude and smile triumphant
as if my world is a bubble
of contentment, needs met,
and no worries about
tomorrow –Â then I’d be
on top of the world.
Zen In Hand
A dear friend of mine passed away recently. She was a potter, and the gifts of her creations fill my home. This poem by Jazz J is as exquisitely crafted as Nadine’s works. I share it with you today to honour both women.
March 16, 2018. This poem emerged while studying Zen poets – mostly male, but one female poet made the syllabus.  Otagaki Rengetsu (1791–1875) became a Japanese Buddhist nun and one of the country’s most respected female artists – combining her poetry, calligraphy, and pottery.  She learned from Kyoto potters and decorated her rough and rugged bowls, cups, and other vessels with her poetry, either painted on or scored into the clay in flowing calligraphy. Orders from tea masters and others kept her very busy. This collage of found images shows both her pottery and calligraphy styles.



One
Laughter bright as
yellow dresses,
curiosity
and
endless play,
mind and spirit
constant delight –
this is a one-year-old.
(For my  youngest granddaughter.  I miss all my babies.)
A Poem’s Life
No value
have these words –
splotches on white –
no meaning
structure worthless –
two-dimensional
until eyes curious
willing to linger
invite order
add focus,
insert experience
inject emotion
paint the page
with resonance
bring a poem to life.
(A thank you to all my dear readers, whose support gives me so much encouragement and brings my words to life.)
In Darkness, Wisdom
Light fades, as do I –
with age comes redundancy,
moving with shadows,
safety in darkness –
wisdom in obscurity.
Colouring
Remember when lines meant challenge
and colouring was not confined to
parameters, but an invitation
to explore, and days spent
contemplating invited
song, and nothing
really mattered
except the
moment?
There is a place
balanced between
the bustle of doing and
the edge of non-existence
where fantasy beckons,
where aged minds, content
with past accomplishments
come to rest, to ponder –
who once again recognize
that lines hold no significance,
that colours know no limits,
that music uplifts the mind,
and that memories are places of
exploration, and the moment
is all we ever have.
Let Me Surrender
What corridor is this?
What beckoning –
wordless
sublime…
is this awakening
or does death
posture
in shadows…
my heart yearns
mourns …
to be absolved
of this strife
Let me surrender
let Grace guide
uncertain limbs
carry me…
I am ready…
Post at One Woman’s Day
An edited version of “The Spirit of Horses” has been posted on One Woman’s Day blog, a project of the Story Circle Network.
Thank you to Linda Hoye for accepting this piece.
Mountain
I navigate sharp twists,
confront rough trails,
steep slopes, swoon
at dizzying heights,
feel my frailty –
this path is for rugged,
mountain-born,
those accustomed
to the sheer immutable
force of  rock –
and yet, my lens
tells a different tale –
speaks of shadows
shifting, witnesses
mutations of colour
describes a giant
whose facade reflects
the day’s passing light,
demonstrates compassion
in earth’s stillness.