Monday Morning Musings:
“For, while the tale of how we suffer, and how we are delighted, and how we may triumph is never new, it always must be heard. There isn’t any other tale to tell, it’s the only light we’ve got in all this darkness.”
― James Baldwin, “Sonny’s Blues”
After the dark cloud dances,
a pulsing star kisses the universe—
I open the window,
letting in magic
~and all the ifs~
breathing time, remembering ghosts–
our lives, the brilliant poetry
of always and never
We walk through city streets,
a thought comes, retreats
a fragment, not yet complete
lost in a beat
as I look up to see
the world around me–
in the windows the clouds
reflected, ignored by crowds
who pass them by,
ignore the perfect azure of the sky
broken with streaks of white
wind-blown, in flight
across the blue.
And it’s true,
I think, that beauty is found
in county and town
all around us if we look for it.
rove and gaze a bit.
And so, time passes—
half-empty or half-filled your glasses?
A frantic rush to meet
deadlines, yet greet
each day with some joy,
though fate is coy,
and accidents will happen
so, we go rushing in when
it does, to wait and stand by
her eyelid damaged, not her eye,
though her story makes no sense,
of what was, delusion
over what she can do–
most likely I’ll be like that, too.
We arrive home late at night
to hear an owl, out of sight
he whoo whoo whoos,
and if I could choose
some magic, that seems right,
perfect, transfused into the night,
a bridge of spirits, night to day
with sorrow held at bay
Heading over the Ben Franklin Bridge into Philadelphia just before dawn.
we sway with friends
beginnings and ends
the power of love, beauty, light
joy and delight
Wedding at Philadelphia Horticultural Center, Fairmount Park
to share such moments again
and again, to dance, feel romance
in the night around us,
and laugh as we discuss
how that speech went way too long–
isn’t it time for another song?
So, we eat, drink, dance some more,
and yes, my feet are a little sore—
but look at that moon, that sky!
she hums so fiercely, why
don’t we hear or see
enough of the beauty,
the light? Our tales are not new,
but they are yet so true
and so, told again and again,
every beginning to every end
circling round, like our moon
singing an ancient, eternal tune
poetry of stars, the always, the never
going on through time. . .forever.
Some of you know, I’m finishing a book on sexual harassment. It has to be completed this week, and I’m scrambling. So I apologize for being behind on reading everyone’s posts. Added to this, my mom had an accident Friday evening, and my husband and I were in the ER with her till very late at night. When we got home, there was an owl hooting from some tree in our yard. I’d never heard this before, so I’m convinced it’s one of Jane Dougherty’s owls. Or perhaps the Oracle sent it as a sign of. . .something. (Great horned owl song here.) We went back to the ER early the next morning, where an eye surgeon glued my mom’s damaged lower eyelid back into place. We’re hoping it will hold, and that she will not need surgery. Saturday night we went to a wedding, the groom is the son of friends, and we got to be with a bunch of our very dear friends for the night.