short eared owl

shortEaredOwlAsioFlammeus

Asio Flammeus

 

I’m a raptor

but too small

to prey on you

huge human…

the moon moves

MoonPhases

 

the moon moves

the moment moves

the light moves

only Spirit is eternal!

when the chartreuse is amidst neutrals

JRZ

illustrator: Julie Rowan Zoch

 

bring me a ground of gray, gray browns

and a toad-stool to sit upon

with bright orange polka dots

and my Sunday shoes

and grape juice to fly around by…

moving to Alaska

KellyHelmsReturns to mtBiking

photo of Kelly Helms

 

My Mother, Pretending to Move to Alaska
by Faith Shearin

For thirty years my mother pretended she was moving
to Alaska. She owned no maps of the state
and did not try to visit; she lived on a hot island
in North Carolina and could not drive
in the snow, owned a thin winter coat,
no boots or gloves. My mother survived things
she hated by pretending she was leaving:
baby showers, years of teaching in classrooms
where children built fleets of paper airplanes.
She told me sometimes about Alaska:
a place where she would live so far from
the neighbors they could not maintain an interest
in her business, a place where there
was so much snow she would not ever
mow the lawn. On bad days my mother imagined
who she would be in that eternal winter:
rugged, adventurous, warm because
she was not thin. My mother was going
to Alaska and if she never got there
it was because her Alaska was not on any map
and could not be reached by boat or bobsled;
her Alaska was a blizzard of privacy
and imagination, its borders hidden or revealed
by the snow drifts in her mind.
 

“My Mother, Pretending to Move to Alaska” by Faith Shearin from Telling the Bees. © Austin State University Press, 2015.

waiting for the cream

coffeeSpotbyCharJones

coffee spot posted by Char Jones

 

Pity the Beautiful
by Dana Gioia

Pity the beautiful,
the dolls, and the dishes,
the babes with big daddies
granting their wishes.

Pity the pretty boys,
the hunks, and Apollos,
the golden lads whom
success always follows.

The hotties, the knock-outs,
the tens out of ten,
the drop-dead gorgeous,
the great leading men.

Pity the faded,
the bloated, the blowsy,
the paunchy Adonis
whose luck’s gone lousy.

Pity the gods,
no longer divine.
Pity the night
the stars lose their shine.

“Pity the Beautiful” by Dana Gioia from 99 Poems: New and Selected. © Graywolf Press, 2016.

should I move outside my hot tub?

 

illustrator: Morten Morland

D92vzgTWsAEXRJt.jpg

who is afraid to let in the outsiders ? (different species)

Ecosystems
by Sarah Dickenson Snyder

747_4-wheel-drive-goby_1
A googly-eyed rock goby
is a fish that lives
in small pools nestled
in rocks near the breach
of waves––little worlds
contained, protected.
Do they wish to leave
their measured realm
so close to an infinite sea?
Do they know how much
spins outside their boundary?
How much will we never know
about what lives outside of us.
I have been with him
for thirty years––
we swirl––
the two of us
in a hot tub,
untrembling, a billion trillion
specks of light beyond our reach.
 
“Ecosystems” by Sarah Dickenson Snyder from Notes from A Nomad. © Finishing Line Press, 2017.

wriggling portal

64923642_2024569417666146_6465857137078697984_o

illustrator: J Byron Schachner

 

News from Geneen Roth:

“Life is messy …and magnificent”

 

“As temporary, fragile and vulnerable as our bodies are,

they are the most direct portals to the only forever there is.”

 

burnt in the furnace

JByronSchachner

illustrator: J Byron Schachner

 

Field with Wheat Stacks
            ~Vincent Van Gogh
by Barbara Crooker
He fell in love with a simple field
of wheat, and I’ve felt this way, too;
melted, like a pool of mint chip
ice cream, foolishly in love,
even though we know
how it turns out in the end:
snicked by the scythe, burnt
in the furnace of the August
sun, threshed, separated, kernel
from chaff. But right now,
it’s spring, and the wheat aligns
in orderly rows: Yellow green.
Snap pea. Sage. Celadon.
His brush strokes pile on,
wave after wave, as the haystacks
liquefy, slide off the canvas,
roll on down to the sea.
 
“Field with Wheat Stacks” by Barbara Crooker from Les Fauves. © C&R Press, 2017. Reprinted with permission.

summer solstice

sunflower-closeup-copy-space-260nw-293589083

Today is the summer solstice and the first day of summer in the Northern Hemisphere. For those of us in the north, today will be the longest day of the year and tonight will be the shortest night. The entire Earth is about 3 million miles farther from the sun at this time of the year. The difference in the temperature is due to the fact that our planet is tilted on its axis, and at this time of year, the Northern Hemisphere is tilted toward the sun, receiving more direct radiation for longer periods of time each day. It is that slight tilt, only 23 1/2 degrees, that makes the difference between winter and summer. The rise in temperature allows most of the plants we eat to germinate. Wheat and many other plants require an average temperature of at least 40° F to grow. Corn needs a temperature of 50° F, and rice needs a temperature of 68° F.

from the Writer’s Almanac june 21, 2019

He’s got my whole world in His hands…

byAdrianMangournet

 

I might be tiny

and You, enormous;

 

You might be omniscient

and I fragmented;

 

But still You light my way,

Omnipotent Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier!

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