It has been a long time since I felt any inspiration to write. But spending two weeks surrounded by remarkable musicians/artists at Crescendo Summer Institute and slowing down the pace enough to notice and wonder sparked some new creativity in me. So here's a new poem and an old one, too.
August 7, 2015
They cut the
wheat when I wasn’t looking.
Seasons
change, as do I,
Dancing with alternating tentative and certain steps toward hopeful green
–
Though much must die
before it comes.
The golden
barrenness is beautiful, too –
A waiting, exposed, having given all to nourish others.
He told us
the desert is total openness to the sky, whose liturgy is one of waiting.
And so, like
shorn wheat, we wait for the rains of renewal.
* "He" refers to András
Visky, speaking during the International Service at Crescendo Summer Institute, July 26, 2015
July 15, 2011 – Perelle Bay, Guernsey
5:15-6pm – Watching the tide come in
Advancing waves invite retreat
from my rocky
perch
Later to command it
Knowing it is they not I
who have come
before
and will persist
Creeping slowly onward
but a whisper and
a glimmer
signal their coming
Among rocks immovable
the stealthy troops advance
Surrounding and
submerging the
slumbering stone sentinels
A gush of excitement to fill a new
valley adds to the low din
Then moving
stillness again
Waiting for reinforcements for
the next climb
A breeze of warning before their arrival
tells me I haven't heeded
Soon they will
leave me no choice
In smug confidence onward marching
gathering new
courage with each
well-placed step
rejoicing in their
imagined lordship
insatiable in their transfixing greed
I shall yield to their transient rule
knowing
- as does my rocky seat -
that dawn shall peel back their icy cover,
morning
sun reverse their victory
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