The Peace of Wild Things

standard December 1, 2010 7 responses
This is going to be another holiday season when people beg me to let them know what gifts I want and where I frustrate them by shrugging and saying that I have everything I want.
Only it’s not entirely true. 
I want peace, in my head and my heart.
I want beauty all around me. 
I want things that are meaningful to me because they’re created out of love and passion. 
So I’m coveting anything made by my friend Lisa Lehmann – rings, necklaces, earrings, bracelets. 
And I’m coveting this piece of art made by my friend Robin Plemmons. At first I thought I wanted to get it for my husband, but the more I look at it, the more I want it for myself. I can’t remember where I first heard this poem, but it resonates within me. This need for a quiet place to just go be. That I love the art around it is just gravy.
This holiday season, in the midst of the mad pace at work, at home, and in between. I want to remember to take time to just be in the moment. That will be the best gift of all.

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
– Wendell Berry

Ode to wine and friends

standard October 14, 2008 3 responses

When your life is crazy overwhelming
And friends come a calling
You might think more stress is coming.

But they arrive,
Bringing with them bits of the past,
In fact they revive.

Within days you will find
What you thought you’d lost,
Your energy, your thoughts, your mind.

A little laugh, a bit of talk,
A drop of wine, OK, a lot,
More laugh, more talk.

The friend wakes up
What was sleeping.
That inner being,
Who might be weeping.

Well, OK, not,
Maybe that’s silly,
But at the least,
Creativity is peaking.

Your fingers itch
To do some walking,
On the keyboard
To do some writing.

Sadly so,
The wine is there,
Muddling your thoughts,
Not that you should care.

Tomorrow, friends,
The words might flow,
In better shape.
Or at least you better hope. Doh.

The rhymes are stretched,
The words don’t go,
The thoughts are there,
But they don’t show.

This blogger needs to call it a night,
Tomorrow she’ll be bright.
Or not. We’ll see.
You never know what she might be.

OK. No joke. A poet I’ll never be, but that’s OK, right, that’s not what you come here to see. Oh, man. Can’t stop rhyming. I think I need to go sleep off this wine.