Breath in the Breath

clouds
Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat.
My shoulder is against yours.
You will not find me in stupas, not in the Indian shrine rooms,
nor in the synagogues, nor in cathedrals:
not in masses, nor in kirtans,
not in legs winding around your own neck,
nor in eating nothing but vegetables.
When you really look for me, you will see me instantly—
You will find me in the tiniest house of time.
Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God?
He is the breath inside the breath.

Kabir
Translated by Robert Bly

Owl

I am private. Owl.

I am private. Owl.


Owl

I’m private.

I read my gut
tea leaves
moon beams
bird bones.

Hide from you
underground
under rafters
under cliffs
under feathers.

Prowl at night
growl at fur
travel on the wind.

I’m private
owl.

Power to Heal

When I love you, faith is intertwined. Transformation follows.

When I love you, faith is intertwined. Transformation follows.

Easter Eggs 2014

Palm- Crumpled Rumpled Pummeled

Palm Tree Blowing in the Wind Photo by Quenby

Palm Tree
Blowing in the Wind
Photo by Quenby


On Palm Sunday

crumpled, rumpled palm
shrouded King proclaimed “Zealot”
grace never waivers.

If well written, every line of a poem can be a title:

images

“Early Spring in the Field” by Tom Hennen from Darkness Sticks to Everything. © Copper Canyon Press, 2013.
Tom Hennen’s poem, reformatted, to show every line as a title.

The crow’s voice filtered through the walls of the farmhouse

sounds of a rusty car engine turning over

clouds on a north wind that whistles softly and cold

spruce trees planted in a line on the south side of the house weave and scrape at the air

I’ve walked to a far field to a fence line of rocks where I am surprised to see soft mud this raw day

no new tracks in the mud

desiccated grass among the rocks

a bare grove of trees in the distance

a blue sky thin as an eggshell with a crack of dark geese running through it

their voices faint and almost troubled as they disappear in a wedge that has opened at last the cold heart of winter.

Music in the Mountains

StoneForest, China

Music is an art form whose medium is sound and silence.
Its common elements are pitch (which governs melody and harmony),
rhythm (and its associated concepts tempo, meter, and articulation),
dynamics,
and the sonic qualities of timbre and texture.
The word derives from Greek μουσική mousike; “art of the Muses”.

Fugi
beats a bass drum.

Hawaii
strums calypso.

Catskills
sound the violins.

The Rockies
trumpet horns.

The Smokies
shush their castinettes:
an Appalachian song.

The timbre of the sounds resounds:
redwoods’ bass,
driftwood’s chant.

In The Mirror

little-twigs-wall-mirror

In the mirror
I see his reflection…

his talents titillate
his mind seduces
his hair curls round my gut.

But ego looms too large.
I bow
and turning
seek a meeker soul.

Children Without TV #42 Mud Pies

waterlilyAMAZON
Amazon Water Lily

Mud pies, puddles, streams
to scan; elemental scents
of earth’s touch to come.

There’s a new book for you to enjoy for free:

Children Without TV Book
Children Without TV
http://www.blurb.com

Descr.How children live without TV, boom boxes and cartoons for breakfast… from birth to 5 years of age; sharing with pets, the outdoors and all the neighborhood critters. Even spiders get counted.

http://www.blurb.com/books/5187118-children-without-tv

click on the link to see a page by page animation of the entire book.
If you view it in full screen, you’ll get maximum effect.

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