Ramblings

"The Great Turning"

This poem made me cry.  I found it on Joanna Macy's website.  Her website is worth checking out!

THE GREAT TURNING

"You've asked me to tell you of The Great Turning, of how we saved the world from disaster.
The answer is both simple and complex.
We turned.

For hundreds of years we had turned away as life on earth grew more precarious.
We turned away from the homeless men on the streets, the stench from the river, the children orphaned in Iraq, the mothers dying of AIDS in Africa.

We turned away because that is what we had been taught.
To turn away, from our pain, from the hurt in another's eyes, from the drunken father or the friend betrayed.

Always we were told, in actions louder than words, to turn away, turn away. And so we became a lonely people caught up in a world moving too quickly, too mindlessly towards its own demise.

Until it seemed as if there was no safe place to turn. No place, inside or out, that did not remind us of fear or terror, despair and loss, anger and grief.

Yet on one of those days someone did turn.

Turned to face the pain. Turned to face the stranger. Tuned to look at the smoldering world and the hatred seething in too many eyes. Turned to face himself, herself.

And then another turned. And another. And another. And as they wept, they took each other's hands.

Until whole groups of peole were turning. Young and old, gay and straight. People of all colors, all nations, all religions. Turning not only to the pain and hurt hut to beauty, gratitude and love, Turning to one another with forgiveness and a longing for peace in their hearts..."

-- Christine Fry (October 19, 2004)

"The Bear"

I love this poem.

Poem: "The Bear" by Jim Harrison from Saving Daylight. © Copper Canyon Press. From Writer's Almanac. (buy now)

The Bear

When my propane ran out
when I was gone and the food
thawed in the freezer I grieved
over the five pounds of melted squid,
but then a big gaunt bear arrived
and feasted on the garbage, a few tentacles
left in the grass, purplish white worms.
O bear, now that you've tasted the ocean
I hope your dreamlife contains the whales
I've seen, that the one in the Humboldt current
basking on the surface who seemed to watch
the seabirds wheeling around her head.

Making Time for Friends

Things are pretty crazy around here.

I'm dog sitting a very cute puppy named Bailey this week, interviewing three potential employees, and joined a women's weight training class.

On Monday, Kris and I started the detox program...no alcohol, no caffeine...eating vegetarian organic food. We may be hopeless.Kris called me from the aiport today to ask if Starbuck's scones were organic. Yeah, right!

My phone revolted after being dropped so many times. I have a new basic phone that I really like...no bells and whistles that I don't know how to use...no camera that takes sinfully bad photos. But I lost many phone numbers that I use all the time. Foolish me for trusting that thing.

I haven't returned the phone calls of friends and now it's too late in the day. This is the poem for tomorrow's Writer's Almanac and it hit home. Doesn't this apply to the way we run around? How do I get off this merry-go-round?

A Time to Talk

“When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, 'What is it?'
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.”

Monkey Mind

Poem: "Things" by Fleur Adcock from Poems: 1960-2000. © Bloodaxe Books   From the Writer's Almanac.

Things

"There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
there are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
than not being able to sleep for thinking about them.
It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in
and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse."

This is my mind on so many days.

"Instructions" by Sheri Hostetler

Love this poem found on Writer's Almanac:

Instructions

Give up the world; give up self; finally, give up God.
Find god in rhododendrons and rocks,
passers-by, your cat.
Pare your beliefs, your absolutes.
Make it simple; make it clean.
No carry-on luggage allowed.
Examine all you have
with a loving and critical eye, then
throw away some more.
Repeat. Repeat.
Keep this and only this:
what your heart beats loudly for
what feels heavy and full in your gut.
There will only be one or two
things you will keep,
and they will fit lightly
in your pocket.

Poem: "Instructions" by Sheri Hostetler, from the anthology A Cappella: Mennonite Voices in Poetry

You can purchase the book at:  http://www.booksite.com/texis/scripts/oop/click_ord/showdetail.html?sid=5325&isbn=0877458596&music=&buyable=0&assoc_id=writ

Poetry Mountain

      

Here we languish, a bunch of poor       scholars,
      battered by extremes of hunger and cold.
      Out of work, our only joy is poetry:
      Scribble, scribble, we wear out our brains.
      Who will read the works of such men?
      On that point you can save your sighs.
      We could inscribe our poems on biscuits
      And the homeless dogs wouldn't deign to nibble. 
                                     
                                  --Han Shan (Cold Mountain, 10)

This from Poetry Mountain.

Twinkle, Twinkle

On the Writer's Almanac today is the poem, The Star.  Yes, it's the childhood poem whose first verse we're all so familiar with.  It's such a classic, that's it's hard to imagine a time when it wasn't around:

Poem: "The Star" by Jane Taylor.

The Star

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the trav'ller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark,
Lights the traveler in the dark—
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

The Man Next Door Is Teaching His Dog to Drive

It's been a crazy time.  I flew from Tuscon into Maui to finish up another show at the Grand Wailea Resort.  Got home on Saturday, Kris left on Sunday, leave for Kona tomorrow.  There is so much work that I've not been able to post anything.  Coming soon are photos I took in Tuscon where I had a fabulous time.

I loved this poem from the Writer's Almanac.  It's so great to have dogs in our life.  They fill so many roles.

"The Man Next Door Is Teaching His Dog to Drive" by Cathryn Essinger from My Dog Does Not Read Plato from the Writer's Almanac

The Man Next Door Is Teaching His Dog to Drive

It all began when he came out one morning
and found the dog waiting for him behind the wheel.
He thought she looked pretty good sitting there,

so he started taking her into town with him
just so she could get a feel for the road.
They have made a few turns through the field,

him sitting beside her, his foot on the accelerator,
her muzzle on the wheel. Now they are practicing
going up and down the lane with him whispering

encouragement in her silky ear. She is a handsome
dog with long ears and a speckled muzzle and he
is a good teacher. Now my wife, Millie, he says,

she was always too timid on the road, but don't you
be afraid to let people know that you are there.
The dog seems to be thinking about this seriously.

Braking, however, is still a problem, but he is building
a mouthpiece which he hopes to attach to the steering
column, and when he upgrades to one of those new

Sports Utility Vehicles with the remote ignition device,
he will have solved the key and the lock problem.
Although he has not yet let her drive into town,

he thinks she will be ready sometime next month,
and when his eyes get bad and her hip dysplasia
gets worse, he thinks this will come in real handy.

All Things Pass Quickly

This from the Writer's Almanac:

Poem: "Borrowed Time" by David Moreau from Sex, Death and Baseball © Moon Pie Press. Reprinted with permission.

Borrowed Time

I will not die tonight
I will lie in bed with
my wife beside me,
curled on the right
like an animal burrowing.
I will fit myself against her
and we will keep each other warm.

I will not die tonight.
My son who is seven
will not slide beneath the ice
like the boy on the news.
The divers will not have to look
for him in the cold water.
He will call, "Daddy, can I get up now?"
in the morning.

I will not die tonight.
I will balance the checkbook,
wash up the dishes
and sit in front of the TV
drinking one beer.

For the moment I hold a winning ticket.
It's my turn to buy cold cuts
at the grocery store.
I fill my basket carefully.

For like the rain that comes now
to the roof and slides down the gutter
I am headed to the earth.
And like the others, all the lost
and all the lovers, I will follow
an old path not marked on any map.

In the Santa Clarita Valley

Found this poem by Gary Snyder from the Writer's Almanac:

Like skinny wildweed flowers sticking up
hexagonal "Denny's" sign
starry "Carl's"
loopy "McDonald's"
eight-petaled yellow "Shell"
blue-and-white "Mobil" with the big red "O"

growing in the asphalt riparian zone
by the soft roar of the flow
         of Interstate 5.

It's his birthday today:

"It's the birthday of the poet Gary Snyder, (books by this author) San Francisco (1930). He's had a long, steady career as a poet, environmental activist, Zen Buddhist, and a counterculture hero.

As a student, he worked on a trail crew at Yosemite National Park. He said, "I had given up on poetry. Then I got out there and started writing these poems about the rocks and blue jays. I looked at them. They didn't look like any poems that I had ever written before. So, I said, these must be my own poems." And they became his first book, Riprap, which came out in 1959."