"I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you'll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you'll make something that didn't exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind." -Neil Gaiman (and me)
Love
NaPoWriMo – Day #29
Under my tongue
sits the world,
dissolving
slipping down
the back
of my throat
I can feel it
growing
within me
oceans roll
through my veins
leaves sprout
from my fingertips
deserts and prairies
bloom in my eyes
and we are radiant
Communicating with the Dead, in 55
I imagined
communicating with the dead
was shrouded
in mystery
But it’s not
It’s a note
in his handwriting
tucked into a favorite book
it’s the smell of
his closet
it’s the work gloves
still stiff with
the shape of his hands
Communication with the dead
is small, common
everyday
and
pretty much
one way
This is a 55 word version of a longer piece I’ve been noodling with for FF 55 hosted by Hedgewitch, with a tip of the hat to Galen. Click on the link to go to her blog, Verse Escape, and join the fun!
Communicating with the Dead
I used to imagine
communicating with the dead
was a wispy, fine-spun thing
shrouded in mists and veils.
There must be darkness
and hands held around a table
and maybe chanting…
My eyes would most likely
roll back in my head
my body go rigid,
a voice would whisper
from somewhere beyond,
and we would all be left in a stupor
filled with awe and wonder.
But it’s not like that at all.
It’s a note
in his handwriting
tucked into a favorite book.
It’s someone mentioning her name;
maybe a story
you hadn’t heard before.
Or a story you’ve heard
a thousand times.
It’s junk mail
addressed to him,
asking for money or a vote
he can no longer give.
It’s the smell of her closet
for awhile.
It’s the work gloves you find
still stiff with the shape of his hands.
Communicating
with the dead
is small, common, everyday.
It can be soft and comfortable
or piercing.
It can come at any time.
The one drawback
to communicating with the dead
is that it’s pretty much
one way.
Wordless Thursday (oops) – Abby
Rumi Quote
Pale sunlight,
pale the wall.
Love moves away.
The light changes.
I need more grace
than I thought
-Rumi
I really will post my own words here one day, soon. But until then I think these words are pretty cool. I hope you do too.
Noble Dog
Oh dog,
so noble,
out there eating
your own poop
outwitted by cat and bird and squirrel
Oh dog,
so valiant,
frightened by
your shadow, the cat, and thunder
Oh dog,
so hungry,
eating a box of tissues,
most of a couch cushion
and my cell phone
Oh dog,
so sweet,
still a lap dog
at 80 pounds,
licking my face adoringly,
I wouldn’t want you any other way.
(except maybe for the poop eating part)
Wordless Wednesday – Meet Mini!
Sunday morning thoughts
I have been reading Rumi and Mary Oliver; most recently “The Truest Devotion” and “Wild Geese”. They put me in a frame of mind to think of things like this:
There is love
And there are rules
And there is love of rules
Which of these do you worship?
NaPoWriMo #18
Like a blind dog
searching for water
we use our other,
inadequate senses
as best we can.
Can we sniff out love,
or salvation
in this dark, mortal chamber?
Ok, this needs work, like the “can./ Can”, so close together in lines 5 and 6, but right now I can’t take the time to fiddle with it. Another one to come back to.
In Other Words 