Sabbath on the Page, Winter {a #poem}

Writing comes from listening, so I’ve taken quiet steps outside away from the loud  to hear better. Eyes open this time  to see AND hear–this– the delicate drops of fuchsia,  ballerinas fluttering like so many upside-down firecrackers, fragile, full of beauty dropping feathery tendrils to the silent air.

“In the beginning” begs the existence of a dot, the endpoint of a line referencing time and movement, like an ant on the Golden Gate Bridge. If there is time (now) and movement (how?) why do we shun this guess the size of a galaxy, turn from the possibility of a God placing us just…

I thought I had tomorrow-more than one, like petalsfrom an infinite flowerheld in my hand.I thought I had tomorrowfoolishly thinking the chanceswould arise in infinite numberrolling in like wavesagain and again on the shore.But the words-writ at my feet,stayed there, washing awaylike silken sand,crumbling in liquid lines–the words I never said.I meant to say “Thank…

birds top right and center….from our deck   jlc   The chickadees chatter and chirrup “a cheep, cheep chick-a-dee-dee!” bullying for position on the fence post. There’s an argument about breakfast and who goes first and “hey, no cuts!” Doesn’t matter there’s an over-spilling feeder full of seeds– all the birds are hungry. It’s a change-of-weather morning…

The first poems I ever saved are from Mrs. Appy’s Ninth grade English class in a folder labeled simply ‘Poetry.’ 50 years later I can’t for the life of me locate it but I can see its contents–the ditto ink is faded but still quite legible. There are selections by Richard Brautigan and e.e.cummings, of course,…