On One Foot

…brief updates about me and those I love

*Still feeling a bit like I just woke up from a bad dream. Like the last 14 months were some kind of poorly written horror show. But now I have found the remote and happily change the channel.

*Meanwhile Spring is blooming everywhere around me. Birds twitter in the trees, hum and hop in my garden.

*And I’m buzzing again too!

Returning to yoga via ACB’s weekly Zoom sessions.

Walking daily with J.

Even dabbling on the piano as I try to reclaim a few tunes.

*And while the sunflower seeds we planted mid-April seem to have been duds or perhaps succumbed to late frost, our most recent plantings are sprouting!

*silver haired blind ladycartwheeling amid blooming trees*

So how are you, my Darlings?

And how are you blooming?

Wishing you sweetness and Love!

The Meditation of Reading a Poem

by Joan Myles

What is it about poetry that so readily connects readers with their spiritual selves?

Is it the access it provides to imagination? Is it the use of metaphor and simile that enables us to think outside the physical box? Is it the expansive qualities of mind such modes of thinking enliven?

Take a few deep breaths and slowly read the following poem by Mary Oliver (1935-2019) .Let the words carry you away andseehow far you fly.

Seven White Butterflies

by Mary Oliver

Seven white butterflies

delicate in a hurry look

how they bang the pages

of their wings as they fly

to the fields of mustard yellow

and orange and plain

gold all eternity

is in the moment this is what

Blake said what Whitman said such

wisdom in the agitated

motions of the mind seven

dancers floating

even as worms toward

paradise see how they banter

and riot and rise

to the trees flutter

lob their white bodies into

the invisible wind weightless

lacy willing

to deliver themselves unto

the universe now each settles

down on a yellow thumb on a

brassy stem now

all seven are rapidly sipping

from the golden towers who

would have thought it could be so easy?

Did you feel yourself carried into the scene–almost transformed into a fluttering being yourself?

Did you hear a deeper message apart from the words and images on the page?

Now go back and read the poem without pausing at line ends or stanza breaks.

*I’ll wait for you*

Did you feel the rush and ecstasy of discovery?

Did you experience the fulfillment and peace of sipping alongside your lofty fellows?

Did you find the delight of realization with the final question?

I would love to know your thoughts and your experience with this poem

Please feel free to share them with me in the comments or at the contact page.

Wishing you sweetness and fanciful flight,

About me:

Poetry and I go way back. Nursery rhymes, Dr. Seuss, limricks and ballads–my interest and involvement expanded year by year until finally I came to hear poems everywhere. Poetic rhythms soothe and uplift me. Poetic imagery and freedom of language excite my imagination. And poetry’s almost magical lilt and layering of the sensible with the elusive awaken my understanding and appreciation of Life.

You might say poety sings my spirit.

Of course my favorite poets shift as I evolve. Most recently, I resonate with Mary Oliver’s simple words and startling phrases. She never fails to bring me back to Creation, to Spirit, to myself. And when I want a jolt, an out-of-myself into who-knows-where experience I turn to Roberto Juarroz with his symbolic imagery and obtuse view of reality.

For me, poetry is not just a way to express myself. Poetry is where I dwell. And writing a poem is simply exhaling what I receive with each breath of Life I am given.

What could be sweeter!

When I Get to be a Composer

By Langston Hughes

When I get to be a composer

I’m gonna write me some music about

Daybreak in Alabama

And I’m gonna put the purtiest songs in it

Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist

And falling out of heaven like soft dew.

I’m gonna put some tall tall trees in it

And the scent of pine needles

And the smell of red clay after rain

And long red necks

And poppy colored faces

And big brown arms

And the field daisy eyes

Of black and white black white black people

And I’m gonna put white hands

And black hands and brown and yellow hands

And red clay earth hands in it

Touching everybody with kind fingers

And touching each other natural as dew

In that dawn of music when I

Get to be a composer

And write about daybreak

In Alabama.

Please excuse my tardiness

Occasionally I stray

Emerging once the visions pass–

Till then I’m far away

Residing in that mystic place

You find in rhyme and play

*I’m delighted to be featured in this month’s Two Pentacles newsletter–and you can be too! You will also find great ideas for waking up your muse.

http://www.twopentacles.com

Why not take a peek?*

Response

by Joan Myles

almost a whisper

can you hear it

a child’s voice

obscured by time

overgrown with aging vines

listen

she’s singing

sweet and giddy

singing my name

and I’m opening

myself

to sing along

breathe

mist

and morning

and air

breathe deep

feet reach down

into the grass the earth

plant themselves true as trees

breathe

hands reach out reach up

into air into sky into forever

open to receive

open to bestow

breathe deep

thought waits

open as the air

steady as the earth

a ready spark

breathe

* Dancing with Emily Dickenson 2; from One Glittering Wing, copyright 2020 by Joan Myles*

the air gathers itselfeven as I gather my thoughts

slowly
awaiting fullness

the promise of rain
of words

child of the meadow dances

alive with morning light

awake to brimming breathing things

reborn with passing night

child of the meadow glances

with sudden searing sight

peers into worlds of wondrous wings

perceiving fancy’s flight

child of the meadow trances

inspire as they ignite

imagination dazzling

each moment with delight