Tag Archives: poem

The Kitchen, the Friend, the Heart of the Question

The small ritual

placing things here

attending with water

adding cleansing agents

rinsing while ordering my world

anew with each breath

of this morning

setting things just so

 

I think of my friend

and how she doesn’t reach out

at least not that I know of

perhaps ordering her world

just so, attending with

what I can only guess at

but still ordering her world

whether it’s apparent or not

 

Which brings me to

the question, the heart of it

as I ask many questions,

each being a facet of the one,

what calls me to pause

in concern (is it concern?)

in a wish for her (what is my wish?)

to find the deepening element

 

That which has its own way

of upsetting the cart, which

carries it all: hers, mine,

yours, ours, and what is

not any of these

Another question filters in,

is it peripheral or the very heart,

as what can be carried is surely external

 

Returning to the kitchen

another cup of tea is poured

My friend perhaps wakes now

almost a thousand miles away

The question is a living vein of

vitality, ardor, nuance –a distillery

extracting the purity of the disturbed,

the trace minerals of this Ancient Now

Turning (my) World Inside Out

I am not a poet ~ the world, as I know it, is.

Everything everywhere.

 

I am not a woman ~ this world is a woman’s domain

and I am in it and of that.

 

Nature does not surround me ~ I am nature itself

and I live within  my own sphere.

 

I am not someone imagining what the world might become.

I am that becoming or that emergence in the making.

 

Hesitation ~ where and what are you? What is this task?

What are we creating as this conversation,

not much different than gestation, something earlier conceived.

 

Looking out is no more ~ it is not even looking within, it is the active principle

such as breath and breathing ~ continuous and life evolving,

does not need to be named to continue.

 

Approval ~ what are you ~ takes a unique set of circumstances

to make you relevant, to make your existence, to map the terrain

in which you stretch and wallow and bring forth your experience.

 

[There are many things we regularly turn inside out (socks, clothes), some even surprisingly, but when it comes to turning this world inside out ~ what of it? What not of it? When can I not do or see or perceive that is so when I receive that calling? Like birth, it comes of its own accord and in its own timing ~ such that we have evolved something we call death. Is that the world turned inside out, birth becomes something reversibly irreversible?]

 

The world is not me, I am the world emerging and forthcoming

~ only perception forms and forms and forms again.

 

Sometimes it takes listening to these things loudly, not quietly as some might suggest.

Turn the volume inside out and there is the advantage, the preeminent seeing of what is.

 

Turning the world inside out, I turn myself out into a world that has

not once yet rejected me or scorned me or humiliated me, but

has me at its very crystalline heart beat, pulsing as aliveness and ardor.

 

The world as poet opens her domain to the wide spread arms

of welcoming ~ laughing itself awake to itself, hesitatingly unhesitant.

 

Facing East

 

 

 

ah na ne ah ne 

ah na ne ah ne

ah na ne ah ne

ah na ~~~ ha ha ha

 

 

Perhaps not what comes to mind

when I say “facing east”

but I am facing east as I write

 

I’ve returned to facing east this morning,

within my small abode, mi casita,

within the place my body rests at night

 

There are three windows facing me,

facing east ~ even from the north

window I also look east

 

There is an unbroken line formed

by ridges, ancient rock, many footsteps,

& raven calls over ages & millennia

 

We can think we know of these,

of these ages, of these open wings,

of these breathing hearts

 

The call of the dove filters in

with the early morning sun fall

certain things are lit just so in the morning light

 

For me, facing east is just so,

taking in a perspective not quite my own,

but one offering nuances now welcomed wholeheartedly

 

And for as much as it is worth, I am in my own retrograde it seems

I find the inner landscape (here) filled with my own footprints

once traveled and laid by me to see (now) from this vantage

 

The gentling calls of the magpie to her mate

or her young & sometimes to me

soften these inner reaches

 

qua lia mia mo, qua ta te ah mo

qua lia mia mo, qua ta te ah mo

 

And now hummingbird joins, her wings one of the most

exquisite percussions that sounds, like a long awaited remedy,

breaking up the tightness of the heart, my heart

 

I say, “I have returned, my friends!”, facing east.

“While tending to the southern fires, I did miss you!”

And we rejoin now bringing calming & homecoming within.

 

If you have never tried or tested out

the malleability of time and timelines,

I heartily recommend it so. Move within.

 

This morning, before waking or parting the curtains to welcome the day,

I washed my earlier self, the one with certain struggles & bumps in her road, with a vibrant mix

~ the perfect spectrum of light and tonal vibration to let her know I am with her all the way.

 

Don’t take my word for it, you too can meet your own selves,

those that now seem long forgotten or destitute in that timeline of Ago.

For we each have such perfection of unique remedy and resolve,

 

Some of which we can share. And some of which is so precise

and unique to each one of us that it may be for us alone

to steep in, to take in, to sing openly.

 

[ sing to this moment now ]

 

This morning, before waking or parting curtains to welcome the day,

I washed my self, the one with certain struggles & bumps in the road,

with a vibrant mix: the perfect spectrum of light & tonal vibration

 

Letting myself know ~  I am with you all the way.

I am with you all the way ~ facing east.

 

 

So…

beyond comprehension

This radical

life

is so

simple that

it’s beyond a

comprehension

anchored in work-a-day

To be jobless is radical beyond

comprehension. We say in Perma-

culture that everything farms or works

And isn’t that precisely so such that how

can we use ‘work’ and ‘job’ synonymously

We are blind within What Is by filters of

our own making –own our making

our own making

How many

layers

deep?

What kind

of forest floor

is under your feet?

Will you lay yourself down

On that floor as a radical act

Of awakening to What Is

However prickly of a

bed that is seem-

ingly bereft of

the very

nutrients

(we are that)

that each of us

so thrive on: space

grace listening subtleties

Of being  Being of What Is

Did you ever notice that things

simply grow on their own and thrive?

So what’s this business we conjure up

each and every other moment of

the day today that is simply

the magnificence of life

unfolding as we are?

Comprehend.

You dig?

Let it

Be

Life

Itself

Beyond.

 

Thank you Shareable. This poem is partly inspired by this interview on jobless living:
[This poem is #2 in a series dedicated to revisiting poems that were written by me as part of my participation in a collaborative and experimental poetry blog: IMUNURI.blogspot.com. So… was written and first published 3 July 2013.]

Aperture

[This poem is #1 in a series dedicated to revisiting poems that were written by me as part of my participation in a collaborative and experimental poetry blog: IMUNURI.blogspot.com. Aperture was written and first published 31 December 2014.]

 

These that are things and not things both
They pepper the landscape
The landscape that is so and not so both
I walk amongst them
The I that is not an I after all, yet somehow is

It’s not that I wonder about this apparent conundrum
As in feeling troubled or some kind of loss
Rather it is there or with it that I belong
Nothing of this casts me aside
All things that I am and am not Rest here

Whose favor would I garner
To look upon this any differently
Seeing is a communion after all
That each and every one of us
Has within the very fabric of being

Ultimately there is no such thing as compromise
And yet how often is there a sensation
Of All of This somehow tangled
Around my ankles that I possess
The I that has no counterpart

As we see through this aperture
Closure is a function of clarity
Focus celebrating the visual spectrum
Saturating this field in the unseen
An exposé of brilliance and crystallization

Astrolabe… contemplating Rumi

Rumi Hawk Ocean sky copy

Book launch this week ~ 15 March 2016

I have special news this week to share with you all. Please join in my excitement as I announce that two works of my poetry, a visual poem and a collaborative poem, are included in One Way to Ask, an unusually delightful and innovative book of poetry and art by poet Daniel Ari and his 67 artist collaborators. (Norfolk Press, San Francisco 2016)

One Way To Ask book cover

The innovation in this book is many things, but a prominent and specific one is a new form of poetry created by Daniel called the queron. What is queron, you might ask?

Queron is a form that emerged from my poetry practice to match the way my creativity dances, curiously and deliberately, with my experience. Querons have seventeen lines grouped into three quintets and a final couplet. The rhyme scheme is ababa bcbca cdcdb dd. I prefer subtle rhyme.” ~ an excerpt on queron from the book

• • •

My collaborative poem (with Daniel Ari) is called “What Experiences” and the “artwork” that accompanies this penned collaboration is a visual poem in its own (w)right: “Where is the line drawn?” Daniel included these works as the end piece, as we delved into a unique level of collaboration, for this book, inspired by our years of writing together on a group blog of Daniel’s called IMUNURI. (I have posted/published many innovative poems on that blog, some of which I have linked to here on Contemplative Fire.)

Kudos, Daniel Ari!

And congrats to all the artists/illustrators included in this unique book of #poetry!

• MORE •

See a preview of the book or purchase a copy of this cool book for yourself, both on the Norfolk Press website.

Check out One Way to Ask on Facebook to see posts about the launch.

Check out Daniel Ari’s blog: Fights With Poems.

Or if you’d like a special author signed copy, let me know and I’ll put you in touch with Daniel.

• • •

“Reading Daniel Ari‘s poems, juxtaposed with artwork by an impressive roster of talented graphisticators, is like entering a cultural Whirlpool washer. Set to the final spin cycle. Everything comes out clean at the end, but your underwear and your socks may have switched identities.”  -Bill Griffith, creator of Zippy the Pinhead