Did Orpheus Have Wings?


Image: testere.com

Image: testere.com

Orpheus is what I would call him
were he mine to name—
this still figure, shrouded in a white hoodie,
sitting beside the even stiller waters
each morning—earlier than most.
I watch him from my kitchen window—
this offspring of gods. Why did they call him human?

He towers above his peers, peers down on them
with dark eyes and an expressionless visage.
Waiting for the words to come? For sudden inspiration
that once received, he accepts, incubates, and births?
Waiting in the stillness for his muse to show herself?
Or waiting for the wisdom of the gods
to nourish his own.

Is he, as I suspect, a poet?
Or is it that in his contemplative silence
I ascribe to him my sacred aspirations?
Would that I be bound to him, to this ephemera!
Would that, I too, drink deeply of this nature,
unfurl, then, my own white wings, and fly!

Photo: Graham Owen

Photo: Graham Owen


My last post was so negative and after reading “Steverino’s” interview on dVerse Pub Talk, I had to put up something more inspiring. Please drop over and enjoy Laurie Kolp’s conversation with Steve Elsaessar who blogs at The Fourth Dimension.

And if I”m slow to return your visits, check out this morning’s rant about my Internet providers.

Morning Prayer

Photo: Ingrid Taylor

Photo: Ingrid Taylor

Morning Prayer
American Sentences

Shadows tumble slowly into mountain crevasses, welcoming dawn.
Dandelions play ring-around-the rosie, rivaling the sunrise.
An egret sits in stillness at the edge of velvet water, waiting.

An old lady plods out to her driveway to retrieve the daily news–
Silver hair, disheveled, highlights grinning eyes, welcomes another day.
The dogs roll with abandonment in dew-covered grass, sharing her bliss.

I head homeward, planning my day, as though there will be no surprises.

Written for dVerse Poets Open Link Night where poetry and friendship abound. Check us out and, if you like, bring a poem of your own.

Photo: zzyppy.com

Photo: zzyppy.com Sunrise in the California Desert

Alone–dVerse Form For All

Egret Portrait

Image by ImageMD via Flickr

Lady Nyo invites us to imbibe in a Japanese form, Man’yoshu, over at dVerse Poets’ Pub. Read her inspiring and informative article and indulge yourself in reading and writing about love and longing.


Alone, on the shore
an egret waits for her mate
last seen in the spring.
Clouds roll into the valley,
bathe her in shadow.
Perhaps he will follow soon.
Perhaps you, too, will come home.

I can’t resist adding a process note on this one. I’m alone in Palm Desert for a couple of weeks for a writing retreat. For two days, on the large pond (read, water hazard) outside, I’ve noticed a lone egret. Last year there was a pair, along with their babies. This was, of course, the inspiration for the poem. I went outside to take a photo of her and as I was focusing, in flew her mate and they took off! I was afraid that he had fallen prey to the coyotes that still, from time-to-time, roam the golf course.

Sorry I missed posting a Wordsmith Wednesday this week. It took a couple of days to drive down and reestablish Internet service. Have a wonderful time at the pub!