Sunday, 16 July 2006

Travelling Poetry, etc.
Crude philosophy
While the clear day turns to night
And we journey home


I'm not sure how much I identify with the Buddhist belief that all life is suffering. Yes, it's often easiest to recall the bad things in my past, and, sometimes, to see how they've shaped me. But what would I be without the love and joy I've known? It's about that old balance between dark and light, destruction and creation, absence and presence. Never one without the other, and always with some comparison between the two... it's only natural. Perhaps it comes down to this question: who would I be without the totality of my experiences and relationships? And who am I to regret these things?


Saving fleeting thoughts -
Another use for cellphone
But no one will reply


I am goddess-born
Sprout showing mother tree's form
Is never cut adrift


Backwards Poem

May it never leave me
A voice from the inner child
I need this still
So I'll never leave myself lonely
A sense of whimsy
Retaining kindness to self
The distillation of adulthood
The moon a silver coin on cloth
Floating gas orbs as pinpricks in velvet
A precious part of me sees stars
Knowing the rules to break them
Abstraction of knowledge
Growing up and growing down
Stalking my own truths


Spring cleaning my mind
Evicting stubborn dust bunnies
Letting moonlight in


Purest of haiku
Rarely flows from humble hand
Merely mundane words

Expression tricky
When haiku form only fits
Counting on fingers


~ posted by Anna @ 9:31 PM
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Monday, 10 July 2006

Monday Poetry
Survival

At the edge of the sky rosy-fingered
Dawn slips under the blanket of cloud
And the prickling of slight rain reminds me of the flood.

A new day begins still clinging to the feeling of an old day

With the dregs of illness leaving me
Weaker or stronger,
Who knows
From where came the torrent
And how it has changed me.

I can see that the stream has altered its course
In the inexorable process of becoming the river.
The waters have carved new banks

What did they leave behind upstream?

I am left with less ground to stand on
And must learn to float
Cleverly upon the receded waters
Which leave the river
Washed clean and gasping with thirst when they're gone.


~ posted by Anna @ 9:55 PM
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