Tuesday, March 4, 2014

chai winter

morning, the color
of wet stone
in winter’s china cup,
tepid, with a sweet
stirring finger
puddled in clay.
I part the trees to the road,
thus, through this white
sky. White!
Always white
and the trees
in varying degrees
of clarity, which to me
is all. The trees nothing
if not fingers
stirring white sky.
And what if it is
forever? What of that?
And I, boring
a hole through the bottom
of the cup?


  1. Yours words so well express what so many of us are feeling about this winter. Spring arrives March 20; that's not so far away.

    1. Maureen, thank you for responding to this and feeling it with me. It is an unusual everywhere, but you must feel it especially in your area. Spring. Will it really come?

  2. What a lovely, sweet comparison, dear Ruth: as in heaven above, so on earth below (something often quoted in the astrology world).

    1. Thanks, Boots. Though not wholly related in meaning, your quote reminds me of what I read this morning from Rob Brezsny:

      Eighth-century Sufi mystic poet, Rabia:

      "I carry a torch in one hand
      And a bucket of water in the other:
      With these things I am going to set fire to Heaven
      And put out the flames of Hell
      So that no one worships God
      for fear of hell or greed of heaven."

    2. What a beautiful quote, Ruth. Thanks for sharing it!

  3. I like the leitmotiv of stirring in this poem. It reminded me that everything, ourselves no less than nature itself, is always in a swirling movement, and perhaps that is what were here for: to stir and be stirred.

    1. Thank you, George. And in turn, your lovely thoughts here remind me of my morning ritual of ringing a bell and contemplating how everything is vibration, everything is connected.

  4. I love this. I feel this. Is this not what we are meant to do, watching the stirring sky, boring holes into the bottom of our teacups? (which in your hands, is not boring at all) Bringing up out of those depths such poetry.
    Thank you.

  5. Oh, please, please, please -- not forever! It does seem that way, doesn't it? What a perfect poem for our sweet Michigan -- and much, I think, of the rest of the country!

  6. We're a bit ahead of you here and our bushes are budding, the early flowering trees are in bloom and gorgeous. We've just ended the scenes you describe so perfectly. It struck me that from the point of view of those who die this day it is forever. Thank you for your heartfelt and thoughtful comments in response to my brother's death.


All responses are welcome.