Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better. –Albert Einstein
The Sun Rose Again Today
The sun rose again today. In its light I watch as birds arrive and share our feeder. Three sparrows and a blue jay. Later, a cardinal settles on the right. He takes a bite then brings his color to other streets and zones. There is enough seed and light for all.
A goldfinch, his spring color hidden in February, appears. More birds land as the week continues. They join the blended beauty of my integrated neighborhood.
The sun rose again today. May the earth it touches warm hearts and open sleepy eyes to see the ways of the earth. May there be light, color, and seed for all nature’s humans as well.
I was ashamed of myself when I realized life was a costume party and I attended with my real face. (Franz Kafka)
WE CALL IT VISION
Sometimes the honest heart speaks within a limited space. The first poem, a haiku, carries 5, 7, 5 syllables. The next five lines, a tanka, delivers truth in 5, 7, 5, 7, 5 syllables.
DURING A BLACK-AND-WHITE TV SCENE
” I don’t see color,”
says a white man to lynchings
as he leaves the room.
COMMUNITY
The flower sees bees
coming and opens petals.
Possibilities.
Plant and insect share alike.
Even as the stem stands still.
"The wound is the place where the Light enters you." ― Rumi
At A Nature Preserve, January 2012
The Year Before Dad Died
January opens a sliver of warmth
as my husband and I
traipse through fresh mud,
past wadded-leaf squirrel nests, and
over discarded acorn tops.
My boots collect clumps of
soil in their ridges. When the trail
widens I slide my grimy soles
over loose gravel,
and beg it to remove the soil.
What I really want is to cover
my father with more than
a thin, white institutional blanket
as he lies a few miles away
in his narrow nursing home bed,
even though I know in minutes
he will thrash about, the blanket tossed aside,
as if it were tissue paper that could be
blown across this lake with a single breath,
his thin arms and legs exposed.
They didn’t take off my stockings last night,
he told me. And yet his nurse claimed
he’d been confused.
I responded that he may not recall detail,
but he recognizes pain.
I wanted to say,
Can’t you see beyond the stroke,
the tremors, the uncertainty,
and age? Can’t you see the man?
The words blew away,
more quickly than bitter winds
scatter October’s leaves.
I speak now to the stark brown
outline of trees
until I discover the blue above them,
the same brightness that celebrated August
with strips of white spanning the sky
before the goldfinch dulled his feathers,
when the hummingbird’s wings rarely paused,
and tomorrow was only a word.
I allow the spirit of the Preserve
to open the way
to beauty
present even now
in winter chill,
in touching pain,
in healing the deepest hurts.
If you're to choose to paint your life today...What will it be? Remember, you're the artist, not the canvas. (Val Uchendu)Color. A celebration because I see.Can I discover what is insideeach treeflower, blade of grass, bird on a branch?
Darkness and light, or a lack of privilege?
I close my eyes and picture the scene outside my window, every leaf, every bendin the branches, dark and light greensdepending upon the favor of the sun.Color, simple yet complex.Complex, yet asking no morethan to exist.
I was ashamed of myself when I realized life was a costume party and I attended with my real face. (Franz Kafka)WE CALL IT VISION
Sometimes poetry speaks truth better than lines of fact. I don’t have many syllables to share today. One haiku contains lines containing 5, 7, 5 syllables, and one tanka delivers spaces of 5, 7, 5, 7, 7 syllables. Peace to all.
DURING A BLACK-AND-WHITE TV SCENE
” I don’t see color,”
says a white man to lynching
as he leaves the scene.
COMMUNITY
The flower sees bees
coming and opens petals.
Possibilities.
Plant and insect share alike.
Even as the stem stands still.
“And suddenly you know: It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.” Meister Eckhart
New Tree Buds
The first tree buds I notice this year seem fuzzy, like fine chihuahua fur or moss. The leaf-to-be will give more clues about itself as Spring arrives, even if the observer knows nothing about the botanical world. However, my purpose is metaphorical. Living beings change.
I ask the inner me to be an encouraging atmosphere for any living presence I touch. Peace.
the photo was taken at Mt. Airy Park in Cincinnati, Ohio
Good morning, mirror. I can count on you to be truthful. This day may be young, but my face shouts geriatric. Reflections don’t need to speak to shout reality. You can be powerful. I watch and let what I see connect with my brain and heart so soon after Thanksgiving. Life is a precious gift. I think about gains and losses. People. Things.
One glance outside shows me trees with rough bark. When birds and animals visit a growing oak or maple, they don’t change the tree’s mind about what the species is, or why it doesn’t have leaves this time of year. I wonder, was my last storm worth fighting? Or would it have been better to wait it out? Wisdom discerns when to act and when to remain silent. Whatever I do, may I choose to do it, to be it, to act with as full a vision as possible. May I lose this notion that I need to be perfect to be okay.
Good morning, mirror. Good morning, fresh-day me. One more opportunity to make a difference.
To move freely you must be deeply rooted. (Bella Lewitzky)
IF ONLY
If peace were a bird, it would fly through heat or wind.
It would thrive in a nest open to storm.
If peace were a mountain,
it would stand patient,
constant, firm for centuries.
If peace were a tree, itwould begin
as an acorn, unafraid of darkness,
then grow to house birds,
and reach for mountains.
Peace. It transcends
mountain borders,
and allows foreign bird species
to nest together
despite unseen possibilities.
originally published in For a Better World 2011
terrypetersen 