I realise I have become
a woman who falls
in love with the sky
every day, drawn
to greys, white and
blues reflecting time’s
Mirroring my own
changing states, it seems
nothing stays the same
very long. Keep moving
like the clouds.
These January skies, when the day ends
with pinks and oranges vying for attention -
harbingers of sleepless nights full of foxes
attracting mates and upsetting the dog -
these skies make my heart long for longer
light and a full moon to meet under.
Words are like signs on a map, altitude
lines relate to mountains the way love
as a word is nothing like the feeling
in my heart. Woven into language
we connect through words with
people who share our map.
But words tempt us to take
them for the territory, risking loss
of connection with the real
the essential life-giving meaning.
Some music does this (IV)
Some music connects us
with kindred spirits who share
our passions, meet our minds,
recognise the joy and darkness
of being alive - and join our circle.
Enough (BWV 82)
Never do I come closer
to believing in a sublime
force than when I listen
to music, some music
A sense that somehow
magic has to be involved
and inspired this sound
that reaches into my soul
squeezes gently, twists it
holds it up against the light
connects me with the reasons
for being alive
when she sings -
when she sings that
she has enough.
But it seems to me that we
are enough we humans -
more than, in fact.
From altruism to atrocity
from ability to create beauty
to care, connect and cause
Why look up for more and
higher powers than the ones
we have and often use
Better look inside and
around, recognise who
we are to ourselves
and each other and know
that we are enough.
On this strange island in the Adriatic where
Tito spent his 6-month summers and kept
exotic animals, something old feels most
real. The Roman mosaic in a small church has
more substance even than the lone elephant.
A baby zebra shares a field with Shetland ponies
gift of Queen Elizabeth when she visited
the Yugoslav leader. A taxidermist had a field day
here, results of their work displayed in the museum
empty concrete cages left in the shimmering sun.
Nobody lives on the island, but you can
stay in one of the hotels on the waterfront, play
golf in the grassy clearing, swing your feet
in the clear sea with blue stripey fish.
Blue is an endless feeling
of possibilities, expansive
lost light fractured and full
of paradoxes, holding joy
and sadness, sky and sea
day and night, collar and
crown and chapel.
Like the small pieces of blue
patterned porcelain and pottery
remnants of lives I have found
over years of walking
they are all true.
Notice of Race
You can enter online for this event
of a lifetime which requires you to
prove your skill and stamina against
a partnership of water and air.
It will last as long as you compete
against the elements, follow
the instructions and feel your spirit
is ready to race to the end.
Sun glitters on the sea in a fugue
of small patterns, variations on a theme
of light, a silvery sheet like a rescue blanket
for people who find that the currents
of their mind move in unexpected ways
who like to feel the waves, the underwater pull
and sudden surfacing of insights.
It's not all flowers and sunshine
these days, more a dark wondering
how to keep going when the end for some
is inexplicably soon. How to make sense
of the random, find meaning while knowing
and feeling that life is not fair?
I can hear Bach understood something
listening to his endless lucid movements
full of variation, like ripples on sea water
or the rings of a tree, like life.
Project 10 is a little experiment.
The number 10 plays a special role in my life. Every month on the 10th day I will start a poem and take a photo (or find another image), which will be posted when ready.