Tumbleword

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What does the delicacy of a flower ask of us?
Fragrance hearted progeny to summer.
Does it make us kinder, gentler people to treasure them?

Each, an elegace unlaced from winter branches.

Sometimes I wish we could all exist this gently every day,
to break beyond the exterior bark, open and comfortable with our own beauty

to let the unexpected in-- the rain or the exceptional bee 
mingling inward to collect the inner pollen, leaving some from across the field...

even if only to wither, exhausted at the end of day (every day),
to fall into sleep, to dream and again the next day, wake to open
white and wide again.  Available.

Maybe we do, when all is perfectly aligned within.  Maybe
my eyes have grown scales and I can't see anymore.

*
I walked in the woods, my mind full of words (so many people talking indoors).
I tried to see the smallest things.  I tried to step slowly, the way
my father taught me as a child, to pretend as if an Indian in hand stitched 
mocassins on the pine needle floor, the earth's floor, the wind swept and tended
house; outdoors.  To honor the silence there, the way he did, so the silence

would open for me.  (Yes I think silence opens up).  I willed
to take the silence into me, like ripe berries (silence is always ripe)
to savor it all, or to share with you.  But it flees.

Here, back in the city, everything everywhere vibrates
with the traffic of commerce and ideas.  Logics
have their own vibrations, and follow us everywhere.
I look in my pocket, my memory, silence teasing me.

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All day I have something. Was it something I ate, didn't eat? Something I
drank or didn't drink; something I said, or didn't say; someone I kissed
or hugged, or who kissed or hugged me--too much of too much
gave me something... ooofff.... have been trying to shake it off all day

Peace, and Happy Easter to all. It was a wonderful weekend.
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Listening

I walk past this tree
and it says to me, please--

take my flesh as paper.
write ( love ) to me.

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Everything is Spring
in our steps, a heap of mystery.
Do you think the human heart is like a flower of pollen
bursting invisibly, everything seems available for flirting in this weather. :)
Ever since grade school, i have felt this way.
Is it true for all of you??

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The sun is an eagle
soaring round the earth, looking for its prey.
It will Take you to its nest, high up

high up.  It will Take your breath.
Plant itself inside you--
you who stands now, naked
as a seed
           tilling the soil of new dreams.

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(   ) A ,&  B (why i love this?) and same with images of Russia,  C , X song and little frozen peoples.
and i like this painter too.
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I also love Easter, what about you?  Better than any other of the celebrations that remind us.
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The Easter Bunny is bringing me carrots this year, not chocolates... :)
Peace.
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Its St Patrick's day and all my words are happily enjoying these. 

Just wanted to say, Slancha!
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To Your Health.
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new wreath
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old dry ecologies
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peach y tree
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Walking.  Nice in the spring--a not quite born spring (maybe i am not quite born yet too), but the preparations are showing. Everything is heightened.
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The past few days, so wonderful outdoors. 
Saw a huge hawk gliding close in the trees; me on the ground full of longing, to float simply in the air like that; to ride invisible currents.  To release mind and body, enter the weightless. Wind ruffled up the feathers.  The hawk made swooping circles over the trees and then seemed to loop rounds around the sun.  To watch the beauty, I put my hand up, covering the sun from my eyes. Then, while looking up the hawk appeared to circle my upturned hand.  A wonderful, rare perspective.  (Not good for eyesight, but worth it.) 

Why do we so often take birds as sudden omens. Not the little chirpers so abuntanly around; whose voices are waking me early every morning now; its the best alarm clock their spring songs. 

Its the large, voicy, powerful birds, we love to claim, to connect with, to use mystically as our own thoughts turned outward somehow. Aids to our souls.  Generations back, certain women in my family thought a bird coming near, or in a window (God forbid) symbolized an approacing death. I always disagreed. We have that old idea that storks bring babies, so maybe they thought birds are givers, so therefore also "takers back" of loved people. 

To me, the bird spirit comes as psychic power, freedom.  Movement in the literal lightness of being. 

Sometimes mediation itself is like being a bird, on the inner realm we are full of such sweet & tender light and wind swept places.  Symbolically, we are full of animalistic carriers of messages and dreams, too.  Old wives tales mingle with mystics and mythologies, all of it comes purely, "out of" the inner collective soul of humanity. It must mean something.  Doesn't it?
Maybe just this: we are all of one luminous cloth.  Spread out, singing... animal, plant, water and human being.  Ideas, dreams, inventions, ALL of us connected (and trying to remember) the higher, flying, light drenched dream.  The birds remember.  Do we?

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On April 17th  ...

Academy of American Poets welcomes everyone to Celebrate the first national Poem In Your Pocket Day! 

Good suggestions on their webpage, how to join in--to post on your blog, or read to someone. If you want, you can bring poetry here to me--in fact, i insist! :)

It doesn't have to be your own, (though most people visiting could write or draw or sing or skip a poem so easily)!  Yes, skipping is poetry.  Dancing around the house in your undergarments is poetry. I say it is ... :) As I see it, most bloggers are alive to poetry in general, sharing the rhythms of their souls.
Which I do appreciate deeply!   
  
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Also from the Academy of American Poets every year around this time a poster appears in the mail... this year's. 
Other favorites, Emily D, Walt Whitman in 3D, the design is like a depth of field puzzle.
I like way better when they send the latest prize winning poetry books... I am always forget they're coming so its a nice surprise.
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