The Morning

 

"La Dimineata' : The Morning

viburnum in jar, colored pencil

  

thoughts first thing in the morning, as I made the bed, and washed dishes, and started the coffee before my shower... I think that many, like me, were trained to think happiness is a warning sign, 'regular happiness', contentedness, not a reaction to some major life event, if we are content it is because something has surely been forgotten, we have slowed down when we should have been keeping up, there is something wrong if we can and do stop and realize that 'we are happy' in this moment, this simple task, this morning, these feet on this road, this small goal made and then reached. And that is so much opposite of the truth. Because we know that it is momentary, and we are looking for 'the other shoe to drop', as it will, eventually, but then we entirely forget this moment, the one we are happy in, WHILE we are in it, in the distrust of it. And we are trained that way, by our society, it seems... Well, I was. And I'm trying to get out of it, here and there, between shoes.

 

Poem (from me)

Le Bonheur

Have you heard it?

That little bell that rings

when you find yourself suddenly smiling

chin on your hand, and you ask Who Me?

Do you see it, that bit of blue

shining out between the tree branches

the taste of your favorite meal

although you had nearly forgotten it

in all the spaces in between

do you feel it?

This is the bonheur

welcome back traveller

drop your bags by the door

while you realize you have returned

to sit upon the hearth and be warmed once more

a bit of painting

I joined a Zoom art group today for a 'craft together' session... I had already painted the 'first try' at one of the landscapes I like on my postal route (from memory, then with help from Google maps for details), and then during the session I made this little fantastical nature painting // the landscape is 8x10 and the other is 11x14

Esme and I went to the 'duck park' - mulberry park, and we only saw three ducks, and they were occupied with another family the entire time.  But, we did get to see turtles, lots of them (maybe a dozen) swimming lazily around the dock and very interested in us.  There were tiny ones and medium sized ones and a very large one.  We wondered if some of them were hatchlings - if this was a family.. or ?  We saw lots of fish, as well.  Esme can see through the water better than I can.  I can see the air currents much better, which I think is why seeing through the water takes so much concentration for me.  She said she can see the air currents too, as I described them, but it makes her eyes hurt compared to looking through the water.  I know what she means - it is like a 'different channel' of seeing, the air as soup, in 3D instead of 2D... and it can be very distracting to see it all of the time.. so I turn it off a lot, too -- trying to see it for a bit is fun, for longer than that, it feels like your eyeballs are going to twitch and come out of your head *ha*

I had a terrible migraine building even before we went to town - but it has been so long since we spent much time.  We walked around the lake, got some fast food, and got a grocery item Daddy wanted.

The migraine continued to build here at home, and I drank more coffee, took a bath... a sinus pill (with no painkillers in it, just decongestant), and an ice pack to the back of my neck.  It started to calm down some, and the last bit of sun was fading outside - so I went outside for a walk.

Went up the road and came back with a bit of this humming through my brain






Take in the June
red tailed hawk...

I have come again to take in the June
the green spires rising and
the early flowers fading while
the summer ones are just starting
to nod their heads in time.


The Spring has been so late
and the Summer that should be is starting
warm and cold and wet and humid
it is a mixed up bag of weather
but perhaps now, as June perches at the
end of the week, the Summer will come.

With it’s heat I dread, and yet I walk here
in the cool of the evening,
the storm having passed by us for the moment,
and the frogs and the creatures of the air
are singing in the distance,
calling to me, and yet
telling me to stay away,
the hunting is good
do not disturb

The scream of the hawk reeling again and again 
from the tree on the horizon  
the glorious gleam beginning to seep in at the bottom edges  
like an eye about to open a glimmer of light 
to a blaze  
instead of to close 
the curtain of night

Wings against the blank white canvas of cloud a profile, a wide circle and display  

I am no mockingbird  
I am no sparrow  
I am the powerful predator of the sky  
‘This place is mine’

He returns to his perch and calls again  
proclaiming ownership over 
all that he surveys  
or perhaps it is a she  
and she has a nest there - it is too far to tell
against that pattern of branches  
each tree like a runic glyph bending this way and that
in a sentence that says Earth and Growth and Time   

A sentence punctuated by Feather and Wing and Claw  
air and forest, wind and green growing things in profusion 
all around me the love of Nature, Water and the Earth  
the smell of it coming from the forest  
the deep dark holes in between the ivies  
the grapevines, wildflowers and weeds,
 the Oak so massive it could be an Evergreen reaching to the sky, 
its glossy green leaves telling its secrets
and the tiny trees, maples and mimosas, fighting at the edge to
earn their own rights to become giants

The scene calls to the mathematical in me to measure it’s angles and partitions
to record these shapes as a word for all to see
on paper and pigments
the trees in the line 
five artfully rendered characters  
each its own world of meaning  
strokes bold against the sky

But no one would read this sentence as I do  
the red and golden grass in the sunset
the trails of white cloud lit underneath  
the rustle of the wind circling and cycloning  
in the spaces in between the tall trunks
with so many staunch branches  
and delicate twigs and myriad leaves  
and the ripping force of claws  
clinging somewhere there  
ready to pounce on small tails and eyes,  
waiting for the oncoming Night

the magpie poem

This is the poem in an old notebook that began my thinking on the words that would become my book, Time in December.  Buy it for 99 cents on Amazon for Kindle

It was an automatic poetry poem.. but in it lie a lot of the seeds of the original story.  The first few chapters of the book are handwritten in the next few pages... and four years later, it would become a self-published novel.

The Magpie and the Ship of Dreams (12/25/2015 Marie Lamb)

The sweet sordid magpie pennywise and pound foolish
soft as summer snow and rain on the highlands...she flies.

We looked for our sunrise in the leaves of the trees,
the maples in the woods, the blackberry thorns
in the thicket under umbrellas of gray cloud
and spears of clear light

It came to us, gradually, step by step
along the leafborne wind,
casting every pebble out of its way
along the path from the rocky shore
And we awaited it in boats of leaves and twigs,
of twine and parchment
of dreams and the time in between the moments of our lives.

For today we would sail
And tonight we would see the other side of the stars
behind our eyes, heads tilted together
upon the wood upon waves, hearts blessed in their close vicinity.

ive been out to the woods

I’ve been out to the woods
and I’ve come back in
with leaves in my hair and thorns clinging
to my legs and shoes and
small lines of red scratched down my arms
where the thorns tried to find purchase
but instead found skin
so easily torn away and not caught
they could not hold me there
and instead, must let me walk on
but it was worth it
I have seen wonders
and joys within them

and our chickens, who were very very insistent

bits

little bits of poetry flowing through my head today caught them and didn't let them get away as they usually do.

this morning as the sun began to come in and I was making calls :

I am keeping time so slowly now
it roars at my ears
like waves in the tides of lunar shores
 that pearl, reflective gem hiding
pale against the blue of morning
far away, far above
ricocheting separate, yet bound
around this same sun by which I keep my hours



and while driving

Sleep winds me bout
like a dragon, drinking holes in my blood
I dare not fear for I'll fall into them
and drown