Photo: Victoria Slotto
The Cloud of Unknowing
Today, strong gusts of wind pummel the desert floor, while on the Santa Rosa mountains ominous clouds hang low, seemingly reluctant to bring much-needed rain to our thirsty valley. In spite of drought, stalwart wild flowers, yellow and lavender, push through the crusty desert floor, clothing our world in swaths of color.
The old man sits on his patio across the way from me, bundled in a bright red lap robe. The fragrance of his pipe wafts my way and I recall the hours we used to sit and muse on life’s mysteries while nursed his tobacco habit and stroked the burled wood cradled in the palm of his hand. “I’ve seen a lot,” he would say, “and I know very little. I’m willing to wait to understand it all.”
Confusion clouds his mind these days, but when he sees me those eyes still twinkle and he throws me a kiss. I catch it, and toss one of my own back to him. I suppose that he’s closer to piercing through the darkness and unwrapping the mysteries the rest of us still grapple with.
even at the summit
we can’t always see clearly
Today we are pleased to have Lynn hosting Poetics at dVerse. She asks us to climb to the summit of the mountain for inspiration. I’m fortunate to live my life surrounded by majestic mountains. Thank you, Lynn. Please join us.
Today at dVerse Poetics, Brian Miller invites us to embrace anarchy and break the rules of form poetry. I chosen to play with a hybrid of Haiku and the American Sentence by writing 7 17-syllable 2-line stanzas that flow from one another, on a connected topic. I love the brevity of the original form, so why not knit them together?!
Circling slowly, egret rises—
greeting morning sun’s awakening.
Helios smiles on him, backlights his dance
with the silver glow of grace.
Bird lands beside a quiet pond,
drinking in the stillness of placid waters,
wraps his wings around his body like a shroud—
a hooded monk in prayer.
Sun splashes desert rose
upon the canvas of the Santa Rosa’s
casting deep shadows on her creviced face,
pouring into our valley
I know that at day’s end, when darkness falls,
some wait for morning in vain.
Image by Per Ola Wiberg ~ Powi via Flickr
Submitted to Jingle’s Poetry Rally: http://jingleyanqiu.wordpress.com/2011/01/12/thursday-poets-rally-week-37-january-13-19/
January in the Desert
a wild strawberry
low-lying oleander branches,
the fear that brushes
by your body in
the darkness of a dream.
Santa Rosa mountains
the rounded curves of
I am the hummingbird.
I wait outside
with promises of joy.