Quiescence

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Quiescence

The Earth plays her scales in a C minor chord
First string grey demands a solo
Cancels out Earth’s musical noise
Grey, the sound of dormancy
White noise
Dampens each note
Unuttered, silence
Muffled in the shadows of the shortened days
Cut off at the knees, the sun is tired
And so am I
Like a puppet show, the light plays in the snow
The tree limbs sign the words
So you and I
Mute and deaf to the language of the Winter quiet
May hear and see and know
Muted though they seem
The Earth still sings
A winsome winter song
A breaking bough, the percussion
The weight of white
Her breaking point
How beautiful the silence sounds
As the nothingness takes a bow

The Art of The Drifting Mind

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The Art Of The Drifting Mind

This is not a case “in defense of the drifting mind”

Or a thesis on “the art of the wandering mind”

Or a theory on “why we gaze”

I hear “mother you are staring”

No surprise, I have it down to a science

I check the boxes on the forms under hobbies and interests

Gazer, starer, dreamer, ponder, netter of poetry

Somewhere in the quiet spaces where the sunlight flickers and rocks

On branch and limb, limb and leaf,

Decidedly undecided whether to rest in the shadows or dance in the radiant puddles of light

The mind births an idea

And the idea becomes art

And the art becomes inspiration

And the inspiration becomes solace

And the solace becomes a balm

And the balm of the drifting mind

Can rest at peace

Her work is done

Until her glance meets the window pane

Through which she pours out

And breathes in

Again

Pulling Up To The Fuel Docks

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Welcome to Day 28. I have been absent for quite awhile from this series. Guess I have some explaining to do. Or perhaps the break in my writing, the quiet space which appeared in the midst of this challenge, will be revealed within my words. Over time. As Rest pours into the blank spaces and starts to tell her story.

I missed it here. And I actually did not rest much. In fact things got a little frenzied. But all good.

Thank you for being a part of this journey. To read the series in its entirety, click the page tab at the top of this home page. If you wish to receive posts as they are published, it would be my pleasure to have you choose to subscribe. ( I have extra life preservers on board so there are plenty for everyone to come aboard. )

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I have so many words to spill out onto the page here.

So many, in fact,  I am even considering starting another blog. Which is the height of irony given the fact that I can’t seem to “keep up” with a predictable rhythm, a consistent ebb and flow, a regular output of ink from my little inkwell of poetry and prose.

Rest from art while diving into the the living of life is a bit like a refueling. If I were one of the shrimp boats that are docked down at the end of my street, I would consider my short respite as that. A docking. A refueling. A break from rocking around on the high seas. A necessary time of idle in the port of change.

So thank you for staying. For coming again. For dipping into poetry and prose with me. And for coming here with an air of hope and expectancy that the words will be a human connector. That the art may possibly, on a good day, be worthy of your time. That the shared experiences of living and documenting our living help us all see in new ways. Open the window to wonder. Crack the door open anew to beauty. Shine light on the poetry of our lives.

So as I gather my thoughts and refocus on my craft, I guess this is a thank you for not jumping ship. For staying on board and for hanging around. For enjoying the possibility that poetry has to enrich  each one of our lives. For saying yes to looking at life through the lens of another.

That discovering anew the wonder which hides in the folds of life is often the result of looking through the lens of a fellow artist. Sojourner. Traveler.

And if you are wondering. And in case you’d like to ask. I have decided not to lean into the guilt or shame of a missed goal of writing everyday in October.

Because I have grown to trust the rhythms of wait and rest. Of idyll and slow. Of deep breathing and grace.

And of trust. That the best things often come as a by-product of waiting. That beauty is born in the quiet. And that those who stand with you and by you while you bob and weave, teeter and fall, wax and wane, are those who will see the fruit born from the times of want.

Grateful to have you tagging along. Pulling up my nets for the night. And looking for treasures lodged in the hidden places. The mystery. The discovery. The poetry.

Till tomorrow. A brand new day. Day 29, a day of poetry.

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Joining Laura Boggess for #playdates

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Silence: Soul Soil

Day 15 – Welcome. It is quiet around here. (To catch up on this 31 Day Series, click the tab at the top of my home page.)

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Silence feeds my soul. I sit in the thick cloud of quiet and breathe in nutritious nothing. Stoke the burning embers of my spirit with more air from quiet spaces. Creativity lives there. Peace and calm attend me. It is as if I am starving for the deafening quiet. Thoughts parade through my mind on their sock footed silent march. Pat pat pat. Like cotton balls sneaking down the stairs. Tumbleweeds blow from the cobwebbed corners of my imagination places.

I am haunted by a holy hush. Muted moments merge into my mind.

And nearly every quiet moment feeds my hunger.

And yet I am filled with a guilty wondering. Why the wiring that is me needs portions of quiet that could feed four families for a fortnight.

Why my margins are so wide, that the world runs in a narrow single lane highway down my life. Is this a guilty pleasure, this seeking silence. Or is it the soul-food required for my survival. No, for my thriving. Creatively, joyfully, abundantly and wonderfully.

Do I choose quiet. Or does quiet choose me. Did I move into the quiet places out of a new sense of hunger and desire. Or did my soul finally settle into itself as a seeker of quiet. A needer of buffers for creating and pondering. For growing and giving

Silence, my soul’s soil. I embrace it. Inhale it. And give thanks for it in my world.

And when the dark clouds of loud and clanging change come, unwelcome in my world, may I have the grace to bend. Extend my hand to the invaders of my muffled space.

And say, this too is for my soul. This season of more noise and less quietude. This season of more chaos and less simplicity. Oh may my heart open the door and let some of the world’s noise in.

Spread my peace, share my peace. Release my peace. To another.

And celebrate that this is where God has made me to be and live, in the abundant place of silence. With prayerful thanks.

May I wait with patience for the return of silence, to come and feed my soul again. 

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