Now in Harmony

Today is nothing less

Than any other day upon the Earth.

So why do I digress

From now, assigning to it lesser worth

Than days enmeshed in memory

Or futures built on nothing but projection?

I need to heed the harmony

That comes from every moment’s introspection.

Here's a short and fairly simple one for this week, but I think the message is still important. This is certainly something that I struggle with often, looking forward to or being concerned about things that might happen in the future, and thinking back to past experiences. This undoubtedly has value, but it's also important to be present in the moment. I've been trying to get better at that through things like meditation...

Falcon Flying High

Falcon flying high

On a backdrop of sapphire sky,

What do you spy

Of the world here below?

What catches your eye

In row upon row

Of engineered surfaces

Static of flow,

With ill-defined purposes?

Forests used to grow,

Here banyan, there birch,

And each you could know

When gliding in search

Of a perch

To consider

The world here below.

 

One of my favorite poetry-related things is when I go out for a walk, and by the time I return, I have a fully-formed (or nearly fully-formed) poem in my head ready to write down. That's how this one came about. I went for a walk today, and a few minutes in, I spotted some birds circling high in the air. This is a common sight here, but it got my wheels turning, nonetheless. They weren't falcons, but a falcon fit well into the language of the poem that was developing. By the time I was climbing the stairs back to my apartment, the last line was coming into my mind.

A Bird outside the Office

A bird outside the office

Was tapping on the window glass.

I whistled, and she cocked her head

As if in protest of that crass

And unrefined endeavor

To signal I would like to know

Her better.

Still, she sang, her eyes aglow,

Then fluttered off the ledge to go

About her day, with me behind.

I wish I knew what words she said,

For something in my heart has realigned.

 

This poem was inspired by the birds that sometimes land on the ledge outside the window at my office. Occasionally, they do tap on the glass, and I might whistle in some ill-conceived attempt to communicate. I think they notice - but I'm not really sure what they think about the noise they're hearing.

The Story in the Paper

I put the pen to paper,

And it seemed to move itself.

A story lived inside the fiber

As real as if it sat upon a shelf.

 

When the pen was touched to paper,

It awakened something dormant in the page.

A long-lost memory was sleeping –

A forgotten forest where it lived an age.

 

Before it turned to paper,

It formed the grain that grew beneath the bark

And watched what living things were creeping

Beneath the canopy on soil dark.

 

Now those remembrances are paper,

A million separate pieces from the trees.

So I will try to put them back together

Before their voices fade upon the breeze.

 

I just finished this poem last night. It originated from the idea that we write stories on pieces of paper (though I guess that's less true now that it was in the past, because of computers). In any case, when writing on paper, the pages themselves come from a living thing, with a story all its own. This poem is just a brief, fairly simple exploration of that idea.

The Sounds of Warmth

Warmth is a feeling, they say,

But I hear its music at play

In the crackle of logs on a winter night’s fire

Or the songs of the birds that spring morns inspire,

In the rolling of waves beside pale summer sand

Or the rustle of autumn leaves quilting the land,

And, most impactful of all to me,

In the voice of a friend from across the sea.

 

I wrote this one a week or two ago, but it flet appropriate to share now, after receiving a number of birthday wishes. There are times when I wish I could be in multiple places at once, living so far from so many who are important to me. That's not how life works, but messages like those I received yesterday help me to feel those connections.