Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Ponderings with my cup of tea...

Jessica Frohling
Blog 3
Words 636

The desk’s name is Loretta.
My eyelids feel like sandpaper-filled anvils
Which I must continue to lift.
Easier to hold up except for every moment they are open,
More sand sneaks in.
Staring ahead,
Trying to listen,
Wanting to learn
While the brain turns to standby.

Why can I hear the ocean in some seashells
And hear nothing in others?
My ears trick me.
my heart misses the water,
while my mind is uncomforted by it.
On the shore,
Toes in the sand,
Gentle waves pulling,
And disappearing.
I remain in the sand
And fight for the unstable sand.
To wade,
Better than swimming,
Better than walking,
Best of both worlds,
Of the seas,
Of the land.

When it gets cold,
It goes in circles around.
The Metal cold,
The Heart warm.
Metal steals the heat.

I miss the fire of the southern sun.
It warmed me to the core,
Awakened my soul.
I awoke refreshed,
Each day precious.
Unlike the southern sun,
This northern sun is temperamental,
One day cold,
The next sort of warm and humid.
Dry heat ,
Please come to visit,
You make me feel alive.
The spirit of the ancient
carried with you.
The beliefs of those who now make up the desert
surrounding me.
I felt their presence,
I was at home with them.
I can’t feel them now,
I feel different nature spirits here.
Time to go back,
To the land of the sun,
Where the desert creatures reign.
To the land of the cactus and orange blossom trees.
The scent that is carried through the night,
As the scorpions awaken.

Rain comes here,
The storm whips the trees,
They sway with the wind that brings the storm.
I watch from my flat home and wish to sway with them,
Be one with nature,
Be carried with the wind,
Washed by the rain,
Dried with the air,
Grounded by the earth.

I am not the angel whose wings are torn and bleeding,
Or the vagabond,
Or the creator, though I have my role,
Or the wisp of a shapeless cloud,
Or the end of the beginning.
I live and I breathe,
I wander,
Though not aimlessly,
As fate has sewn my path.
What strand of the web am I to follow today?
What other souls are strewn about?
What unknown path beckons before me?
Shall I see the feathers float down from heaven,
While I catch them and play here on earth?
Shall I roll in them and look to the sky,
Asking what have you done?
Or invite you to be with me?
Come and be with me,
Accompany me on my path,
As I try to accept it,
While fighting to form it.
Let me learn from the ages,
As I am but here a blink.

I love to watch the leaves dance,
As I speed over the hill.
Seeing the tiny effect of my presence,
Misplaced leaves,
The impact of a human.

Blessings being counted,
Taking an eternity,
Forgetting that to thank for them all,
Would be to pray all day.
Prayers as often as I remember,
Communication with divine,
To this little person,
In the expanse of the universe.

Rainclouds forming like ideas,
Splatting on the earth.
Each drop a tiny part of what makes an idea,
The earth,
The receptive sponge of creation,
And continuer of it.

Rug of white,
With butterflies,
Pretty butterflies.
Element of air represented,
Reality of dirt presented.
Can butterflies still fly,
If dirt is on their wings?

Poem in response to William Yeats “Brown Penny”
I read of a brown penny,
But what of the shiny nickel,
Is not her age more appropriate?
Even better, the dime,
For she is a mystery.
Oh dime, silver dime,
You are small,
Yet still divine.

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