Fountain (New Poem by Polly Castor)
Droplets in free fall
spilling over the edge,
released from the pack, plunging
tear-shaped and suddenly isolated,
not in control at all.
Droplets in free fall
spilling over the edge,
released from the pack, plunging
tear-shaped and suddenly isolated,
not in control at all.
Everything is
enrobed in ice
like a wish not to
go outdoors today.
Intentionally constructing
a good life takes a lot of
the same sort of internal patter
and similar blithe but
exact consideration
that goes into a great
abstract painting.
Butterfly wings arch
like cathedral windows
basking in the sun,
their yellow stained glass
The lush, dappled day
engulfs me, effulgently
as stray, stippled sunlight
penetrates in spotty brushstrokes,
and tender leaves clap their hands
exhilarated by such hydration.
I love the metaphor both of these pieces utilize. Indeed, take heart! “The impeded stream is the one that sings.”
I’m in the end zone rooting for the winning team.
I encourage and beckon those on the field
Snow gently fluttering
down, a feathery white
monochromatic veil, flickering
over everything, hushing…
Such static power chomps at the bit restless to fly free but meanwhile, moored on a glassy calm…
Be green and supple, fresh and growing, for heaven is like a watered garden.
Then we can find what bliss really is and finally be at liberty to be our best…
We are like the Israelites
overburdened by their
Egyptian taskmasters
and eager to escape
for the Promised Land.
As we humbly linger in the vigil of Advent,
the whole world holds its breath.
A lot of us around here saw this awesome sunset. I know because we were all talking about it.