Noticing Through The Eyes of A Poet

Today is Day 15.

And today my words are taking a mini Sabbath rest here, mid-way through the series. (Yes, I know, it is  a Wednesday). But you are in for a treat. Listen to the words of one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver.  Mary amazes me and inspires me. She feeds my poetic longings with her gentle lines of noticing. And  she sees God’s world, His hand, His creation through a wonderfully unique poetic lens.

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Day 15

Sometimes I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed.

To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.

When it’s over, I want to say:  All my life I was a bride married to amazement.

—Mary Oliver

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To read the previous posts in this series, click here for a complete list of all days in “The Art Of Noticing – A 31 Day Series” . I am joining the Nester at her place where she is hosting over 1,000 writers/bloggers.

If you would like to follow along daily, subscribe at the top or the bottom of this home page.  I am on twitter and facebook if you’d like to follow along there. The journey is more fun with other noticers.

Now, ready, set, go notice. ( And I will be back tomorrow, rested and ready, with more poetry)

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Noticing – A Journey Down The Road Of Fully Seeing

Noticing

Join me in October as I participate in the 31 Days Series withThe Nester at The Nester dot com. Last year at this time I was writing daily (well almost) on words. Were you here for the series, 31 Days, A Series of Words. I may have switched it up a bit and called it 31 Days of Wonderful Words. Either way it was challenging as a writer.  It was my first year joining The Nester and other bloggers for this writing link up and challenge. And now I am designing and planning year  TWO.

In  the next few days you will hear a little more about what I have in mind. But I want to hear from YOU also. Leave a note in the comment section or send me a note on Facebook or Twitter if there is something you’d like to see me cover in a post during the 31 day journey.

But mostly I am just going with a spontaneous writing project, sharing as God reveals beauty and wonder to me. Well as spontaneous as one can be writing for thirty-one consecutive days.

I hope to mix it up quite a bit. And I promise you it is my desire to design a series which will never be boring.

 You are invited to come along on this journey.

31 days of notiing

In Which The Moon Talks Back

In Which The Moon Talks Back

So much happens by the moon’s bright light
Radiant beams
Poured holy rays on stables where Christ was born
One dark and sacred night

Entranced, we the people of the Light
Bound by grace
Poured out on moonglow
From heaven down to Earth
Thrown-out
Cast like nets, its light remarkable
When seen upon the sea

And we
Gaze skyward
Spend countless
Hours, living breathing
World without end, amen
A people
Held agasp
Struck by evening’s light
Moonstruck by a blinding power and might

Love has been made
Lovers have swayed
Drunk on the liquid earth-bound light
That drips from way on high

Dreams are dreamt, then
Swept away, by
Every phase
Of our neighbor in the sky
We count our days, wish and
Plan, mark the calendar by the wax and wane
Look out the window panes
To see a world, lit as by an ember’s glow
Mourning and in pain

The tides
A pattern that rules the sea
Rolls at the spoken word
Of that man
Up in the moon, it seems
They
Come and go when they are told

Is it not his turn?

Synchronized by the one
Whose chiseled face
Stares back at us
He’s always been a man
Faintly smiling
Like a profile on Mount Rushmore, carved
A face held hard and fast
His eyes mirroring the stars
Steady, rock of ages suspended
In a galaxy God-created

But why have we not asked him
Does he not have something wise to say
Subject of story, songs and tales
Mentioned early on
In Genesis, I’m just curious

What would he say
If he could speak, write
A story of all he’s seen
Would he whisper
A cautionary tale, did he
To our men who took Apollo there
By the light of his own
Making
Would he dare say what he has seen
Or she
Or it, the one who lit
The world so bright, continues to light us
Night after night
I suppose it is time
For the one-sided conversation of moon and man
To end

Let’s give him a turn

Dare we listen,
For once, hush so he can speak
To what his broken heart has heard
And seen

Could we stand to learn
From one who has seen a million
Sunsets
Preceding his own glowing rising

Does he dare to tell his side
Or is he simply content to spend
His nights
Counting bovine jumping over stars
On their way
Leapfrogging
Child’s play really
All this talk of one who cannot talk

Or even speak to what he sees
Or is it she
Would tear a soul right in two
With words
The beauty and the beast
Of life right here
On planet Earth

Dreams are held
And he won’t tell
The prayers deposited in secret
Under his bright light

The celestial secret keeper
Holds them tight
And let’s us talk of
Wild imagined things
And dream of childish delight

All under a holy holy holy
Radiant
Moon-beamed light

Quiet yourself for a night, or two
And listen, if you dare
To what hush-toned radiant moonspeak
He’ll whisper in the pitch of night
When the moon talks back to you

Blue Moon HMM

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Joining Laura at Laura Boggess dot com

The Rookery & Scenes from A Perfectly Imperfect Life

220px-Great_Egret_strikes_for_a_Fish_-_crop The Rookery

At dusk, we remark
That they jockey for a limb
The best perch
Before dark
We invade the quiet
Curious

How do you sleep sitting up
Choose your limb
Preen your feathers
And say good night to the bird
To your left
And the one to your right

We have ruffled their feathers
Who is watching whom
The birds
They  wonder
Who takes off in a boat at night
To bird
Watch

The limb picking
Hunched  birds, silhouette of old men
Mateless, alone
Solitary silhouettes washed in shades of graying
White

We are

Pickers
Of the perfect nest
Needing rest

And solitude
Flocked together

Hunkering down

River, motor cut, we float
Gathered
This night
Stills all that ills

And we float on
Riding the wake
Of a solitary tug

Leaving the rookery

With peels of laughter

Not a bird is bothered
We all flock together

This night lit by precious
Crescent’s light
Slivery, silvery moon

To the solitary bachelors, we say
Goodnight
Two men
And a boat with their wives for
Lives

The night is young
If we are not.

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Friendship is the binocular view we trade for the solitary magnifying glass; a panoramic perspective through the looking glass of love – Shelly Miller

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When life gets lonely, call out the sisterhood. Or gather the troops. Or celebrate friendship. Sequestered away like a monk in a monastery, rapunzelled away in the tower of life, solitude can sting. And one can burrow down in the writing of life and miss the very of living of it. Nose nestled into the pages of the recording device. How nice to take big gulps from the real and the swim into the seas of living.

And months and days, and weeks and fortnights of lots of time alone, writing make one parched for real  life. We  need a splash of technicolored friendship. So I sent an invitation to celebrate friendship. And waves of words saying I want to come washed up on my little island of me, myself and I. There are debaters who like to debate any issue that comes along. And I have heard voices take sides on whether or not it is lonely to living a writing life. I believe and and yes and no and sometimes.

That discussion is for another time and place. For this is simply a looking back with joy on a gathering of friends. FIfty four years can collect friends  like life-lines, along the way. Or did they collect me. Some new, some old.  Strangers and  children. Around the banquet table living life on a rainy day. We gathered. And I am reminded of the shifts that come when we view our lives through a different lens. I, the one fascinated by perspective. Not knowing why perspective fascinates my soul.

We are hungry at the table again. The way He intended. By His very design. He purposed us for fellowship. And calling to mind and memory His gifts, the ones He gave with good pleasure.

This day, I saw joy in sets of eyes and lengths of living, lengths of hair, faces shine back at me. Sun soaked souls, happily wrinkled, we. Laughter echoed through the Bistro. And we feasted on each other and the manna of life and love.

A simple day celebrating friendship, they answered the call to come gather. My life seems like an episode of “Antiques Road Show” on a day like this. Not knowing the value in friendships that stay hidden, dormant for too long. How the value is revealed when brought out and into the open.

I asked when I invited, please bring a line or a word about friendship. And I will gather your words in one poem. Weave together the words you offer into one offering of poetry. That is in the works. As we continue living in the wake of a tidal wave of pressed memories. Pressed deep within my soul.

Thank you friends for loving me in life and on this rainy day. I cherish the minutes marked  this day and the years we have between us. Of living and breathing, mothering and parenting, writing and laughing.

So much more than I can ever say. You make life rich and wonderful.

There was nothing perfect about it. No engraved invitations or place cards and party favors. Perfectly staged and planned events are so fleeting. But it was wholly and wonderfully perfect from my lens. Chairs were shuffled, friends cancelled, three at the last minute. We were wet from the flooded parking lot. But we dripped with joy for an hour or two in the middle of July.

It caused me to pause,  reminded me, necessarily to stop and gather, stop and break bread, stop and celebrate life and all its imperfect perfectness. We shuffled places and shared meals and sent one back to the kitchen. With gracious apologies returned with kindness and it is all so okay. We are all flawed. We are all perfectly imperfect ourselves.

But love prevailed and introductions were made. And we gathered this side of glory. And learned from one another and prayed for the absent ones.

But mostly we laughed. And we loved.

And I was reminded not to wait to celebrate this simply ordinary extraordinary imperfectly perfect life.

friends at bistro on birthday

Thank you Shelly, of Redemptions Beauty, for the words you wrote and gifted me on this day which are the inspiration for this post.


Joining Laura at Laura Boggess dot com

(Photo Credit – Wikipedia – Egret)