Jeanne Poland's Poetry Blog
28 Dec 2012 2 Comments
in Family Tags: black, core, grounded, inversion, rooting, snow, snow drifts. hover, spirits, streaked, white
Light
Upside Down
This morning
I watched sun on snow
while gray sky streaked
heavy: grounded
overhead
lifting snow drifts
upside down to hover
overhead
light above
earth below
spirits flying
ground rooting
to its core
w h i t e t o g r a y t o b l a c k.
20 Dec 2012 1 Comment
in Family Tags: Arizona, Children, poetry
Ken, Joy and I gathered for a second time. My iPhone shares with you:
12 Dec 2012 2 Comments
in Family Tags: box, fox, lox, socks, wild
Inside the box
are lox
for breakfast.
And socks
for hiking
on rocks.
And blocks
of colored
wood.
There are fox:
non-tox-
ic wild ones
inside the box;
they’ll eat the lox,
the socks, the blocks:
and then the box.
All I’ll have left
is bites of box
and fox!
12/12/12
Jeanne Poland
08 Dec 2012 1 Comment
in Family Tags: blue, details, orange, red, sleepy, soul, sound barrier, Southwest, weather, westward
Southwest, orange, red and blue
breaks the sound barrier of my ears.
Sings and jokes; stretches, bends
small details ’til they’re snug; no fears!
Breaks the sound barrier of my ears:
flies above 30,000 feet of clouds:
hums its path ‘bove westward planes below.
Sings and jokes; stretches, bends
in cabin’s curves: accommodate each soul:
infants, old, and broken boned.
Small details ’til they’re snug: no fears!
the weather’s fair; the night sky drops its skirts
on sleepy tired folks who land and find their rest.
30 Nov 2012 2 Comments
in Family Tags: click clock, clock-man, dreams, elders, memories, molt, musk, nostrils, paint, spirits, tick tock, touchstones
tick-tock click clock
Introduced the “clock-man” to my 4 year old:
Little hand, big hand, forward move: one, two, three.
Time passes on the clock, on the calendar too
But touchstones stay the same for you and me.
Little hand, big hand, forward move: one, two, three.
Tick-tock, click-clock arrows speed to lead
Us to the dreams we paint: the hopes, the deeds.
Time passes on the clock; on the calendar too
Weeks, to months, to years, to lives…
Then on to memories worn on our hides, insides, tribes.
But touchstones stay the same for you and me.
The elders molt to spirits; the new reach for our care
Our nostrils scent the musk of need and nurture everywhere.
The Vibrant Channeled Creator 