Something Wants to Be Expressed

I have been moved to blog for several days now but have not put anything on paper. I make notes on ideas and images that seem to have a poem in them. I will say to myself "There is a poem here." I came across some scribblings to that effect in a note book I keep for that purpose - a place to put the random stuff that shows up. Here is what is bubbling in the stew pot.

On Poetry

How is it that most modern poetry has freed itself from form?
Prose displays itself in patterns. It comes to us wearing the clothes of poetry.
Where is rhyme, music, rhythm?
What to do with this?
It is not about a poem per se but is more a curiosity about how poetry has changed.
What comes up is how much I like change. At first I find I am missing what used to be but I quickly move into the excitement over possibilities - what is yet to come.
And all the while reminding myself that there is really nothing outside this very moment.

Stuff coming up about illusion.

Pretending


You sit on the bank
and watch the swimmers
in the river.
"Come in, they cry to you
but you just watch in silence.
"Just put your toe in!" one demands.
Still you don't move.
You want them to pretend with you
that you are swimming too.
"See me splashing", you say.
Look at how I can kick."
But now they have gone
downstream.
Soon-
out of sight.
You sit there on the bank
waiting for more swimmers
to appear.
To help you keep
pretending.

Perhaps a poem is here in what follows-

The rain is painting my adobe wall
with a tentative brush -
Faint lines appear
sliding hesitantly towards
the garden below.
Is it holding back the storm
or simply waiting for it?

Another attempt at the poem about Martha
realizing how the desert is church.

Martha in the Desert.

Beneath a pale early moon
like a pain dimmed soul
She is
walking, walking, walking.

Ravaged by the pain,
Savaged by loneliness,
raging at God.

Spirit out ahead in a
ceaseless wind.
Calling, calling-


"Follow me."

Can't stop for the
purple lupin stain,
the amber gold sunset,
can't stop to feel the
wind
or the wink of
the first star.
Can't stop.,
Can't stop.

Follow.
follow,
follow.

Being with the pain.
Being the pain.
Driven by the pain.
Running from the pain.

Moving,
moving,
moving.

Enjoying this quiet grey Saturday afternoon. I am TIVOing golf to watch later. I don't like to watch every stroke so when I TIVO I can then pick and choose what I want to see.
Just finished five days back on my eating and exercise program. Will relax over the weekend and eat a bit more and then back at it on Monday. I am very close to the 140's which I have not seen in 20 years. Jen and Phil are my inspiration. He has lost 15 pounds and is doing an intense exercise program and she is absolutely amazing!
I watched the ladies medal skate last night and was very moved by their various stories. I have not been that caught up in the Olympics this time around. I think you have to watch almost everything to get to know the athletes and their sport. Just dipping in here and there does not do it for me. And I have other shows that have priority so don't have the time, or don't choose to spend my time watching hours and hours of Olympics.
I bought Bookworm Adventures and am having great fun with it. It offers a variety of games. I like the word games the best and although I have never liked the pressure of timed games I am playing them and getting better at thinking under pressure.
I have found a sports medicine doctor and will make an appointment for some time in April. His name is Michael Lee. He is the doctor for the Diamondbacks and the AZ Cardinals. He is also a Brophy grad and is the volunteer sports doctor for Brophy teams. I imagine Mike knows him or of him.
I have ordered some new books. I have been without a read for a couple of weeks. I am trying to economize in all areas of my budget. I mean to investigate the book swap that Mary does online but have not as yet done that. I do love owning books. I have my library pretty well organized but have more work to do on it. And I need to cull books out that I don't care to own and donate them to the visiting nurses sale.
Will finish up today with another poem of mine - one of the ones I consider finished.

Rainbow: Here and Not Here

Dylan, Martha's finch,
a bright, feathered rainbow,
has been my house guest
now a week.
Lighting up my winter
darkened dining room
with his cheery presence.

While greeting him this morning
I spied another rainbow
nestled in a corner of the fireplace.
Just a piece, it was, mostly purple
with a splash of blue and green,
tucked there for a moment
while the sun stopped to visit with
a crystal hanging in my window.

Its' visit, transient, like Dylan's
not to be grasped or clung to
Like all our life, a temporary gift,
now here, and then not here.

Love you all,
Jeannie