life so changed

an update post…

• money needed—working hard to find bookkeeping clients and making progress

• my next major writing project is to publish two ebooks that have been rattling around on my hard drive for years

• cannot do the above, both of which involve lots of screen time, and continue to blog and read other bloggers… my eyestrain gets too severe!

• the posts already here make for a nice body of work and I hope they bring you enjoyment

• miss you all and hope you are having lovely summers (or, in the southern hemisphere, a great winter)

• if you get a chance, check out info I believe is critically important to our common future: www.geoengineeringwatch.org 

 

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creature, creative

“The word ‘creative’ shares its etymology with the word ‘creature,’ and carries a similar sense of breathing aliveness, of an active, fine-grained, and multicellular making.” —Jane Hirshfield, Ten Windows: How Great Poems Transform the World, Alfred A. Knopf, New York 2015, pg. 3.

after receiving acupuncture for my lung

I.

I wake from a dream
buying gerbera daisies
to place in a vase
the dream has convinced me I own—

since I’ve moved
I no longer know where anything hides
in the heavy, cluttered boxes
crowding closets

perpetual loss, that’s what fills those boxes
and I resent my partner
for pulling me here
and that reminds me

with a sudden catch of breath, how

very soon after
I was born
all the beauty I had ever known
faded

into endless, sterile white

I catch glimpses
now and then
of the place that came before—
yesterday—

when the needle punctured the skin
where that toe meets my sole

“For your lungs,” the healer said
and indeed, in an instant waking dream
floated
the filigree coral
suffused with softest red
of my lung
nothing less than

life’s tenuous perfection

and now the morning of the vase, here and then gone,
tells me that held in the pulse of air and blood

is a lace of remembrance

my first days here
the shock and grief
of the move—

my grief, which has been so precious to me,
for its waters
could anytime have been my river back,
back to the place before—
through drowning
in phlegm’s embrace
I would have gone many times
gladly, gladly

I would have gone
gladly, gladly

had not some faint sound
pulled me
the other way

I still do not understand that direction
all I know is—
ahead of me
the river now has shores

II.

shores of shimmering sound
embankments of my heart
reason to stay

I don’t remember sound
in that other place
not quite like ours, anyway

I was ready to play, I was ready
to throb

illusion

each time
I walk
those few steps
of that path—
slate patch
mountain’s flesh
floats in aperture
formed by trees

each time
I think,
smoke?
though
wood stove
sits empty

each time
outside appearance
inside knowing
clash

weasel

 

7730053530_3cf6982875_z

 

slice of fur
peek in
I type

****

(A first experiment with not using the 5-7-5 syllable form of haiku in English. Alternatively, this piece could be considered micropoetry… )

Photo: Some rights reserved by CaptPiper.
See it at Flickr here.