Ocean’s breath for Stephen and Lorca

green how I love you green:
the tint of my faerie wings in
gossamer’d foamy ocean love
whispering to the gypsy moon above:

I hear him calling me from that foamy wide?
familiarly around my waist his laced fingers slide
so perfectly willing and thrilling my soul
green goddess beauty in love made wholly

free in silver flight, misfit hazy skimming
across that ocean’s breath this starry night ~

green how I love you green,
the silver blue green mingling of the sea,
phosphorus currents mixing magically
igniting imagination’s fire, your eyes shining

free in desire, poet’s hazy dreaming
upon that ocean’s breath this starry poem is agreeing~

with that green fading into blue, silver laced melancholy
falling ~ I hear your ocean’d breathy voice calling

and we’re closer…

closer to that green.



http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Federico_Garc%C3%ADa_Lorca

Why do we do this?

why do we do this?

we do it because we love it.



this dance of words...

courage hurled upon a page,

persuading ourselves

despite our constant parade of humanity

that calamity of life is wonderful

amid those fragile shells



we tiptoe around ~

the silent sounding thoughts;

the echoes in our collective head…

that secretly dread the day when east meets west

without apology and we are facing

that omniscient horizon.



what will we find then?



when time no longer matters and the

days are scattered out before us

without that thin line that grounded us along?

how will our rhymes sound then

amid the babbling den of everything?



or nothing?



I’m wondering? will the temptation arise

to double back within the loop of space

erasing all the waiting from before and

seize the day’s open door of opportunity

in that stunning gift of frail human possibility

once we finally grow and know….



why we do this?

Meet Harper

One of the sortof intangible things I collect is reclusive writers. They attract me because, well honestly, I am one of them? That's one thing that makes blogging such a challenge for me because I have to crawl a little out of my shell....and it's hard, so very hard ~

Emily Dickenson wrote about this in one of my favorite poems:

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us — don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!


That's one of the great ironies of writing and enjoying writing is whole idea of exposing yourself in public? If you do it well, you're naked. Of course Emily and I are in some exquisite company with the likes of J.D. Salinger and Harper Lee. Today I'm thinking of Harper Lee because my boyfriend sent me an amazing article about her

And if you ever find yourself in Monroeville Alabama, hearing someone say, "Meet Harper," just don't mention the mockingbird....

why we do this...revisited

why do we do this?

we do it because we love it.

this dance of words...
courage hurled upon a page,
persuading ourselves
despite our constant parade of humanity
that calamity of life is wonderful
amid those fragile shells

we tiptoe around ~
the silent sounding thoughts;
the echoes in our collective head…
that secretly dread the day when east meets west
without apology and we are facing
that omniscient horizon.

what will we find then?

when time no longer matters and the
days are scattered out before us
without that thin line that grounded us along?
how will our rhymes sound then
amid the babbling den of everything?

or nothing?

I’m wondering? will the temptation arise
to double back within the loop of space
erasing all the waiting from before and
seize the day’s open door of opportunity
in that stunning gift of frail human possibility
once we finally grow and know….

why we do this?


I wrote this of course about writing, and the collected words I feel compelled to arrange and rearrange all the time. But the image that always comes to mind when I read this poem is vintage typewriters. I have one vintage typewriter, but would love to have another--especially a color.

Grace Light's lovely name reflects her really interesting blog called Poetic Home that combines the idea of living with poetry nicely. She describes her blog as dedicated to poetic interior design, and that's certainly the kind of space I crave. I also love she has a whole category devoted to "typewriter love."

If any of you love and live with vintage typewriters, show me the way.