Passing Storm

•May 8, 2013 • 5 Comments

This morning I blot out the sun
Low and heavy like the clouds
Gathered too much of the rising world
And now it is time to pour it out

A weighty threshold has been reached
Those million drops of nothing full
Evaporated from the light and heat
Changing states inside my skull

I grumble and I crack the sky
I open up and let Hell loose
Slow down the plans you thought you made
As you stand drenched in solvent truth

There is no way around this rain
Wait, it will be finished when I’m empty
Dissolved and waiting to be formed again
From earthly tears I carry with me

— by Me (April Resnick)

raining_in_my_mind_by_ayvhan27-d2yvjym

Raining in my mind, by ayvhan27, from deviantart.com

Posted in Family, Humanity, Identity, Marriage, Meditation, Nature, Poetry, Writing
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Seeing Before Words

•May 6, 2013 • 7 Comments

The wider world gets fuzzy
When I take off my glasses
Drink that third glass of wine
During my meditation
If I close my eyes no fog remains
But fog of brain
For now the weight of frames
On the bridge of my nose
Is enough
To cause minuscule muscles to constrict
Carrying an ache upward between my eyebrows
I cannot help but be made happy by this
A friendly cough welcomed
Because it is more expected than not
A motor made for freezing
Adds a humming that soothes
Even as it starts and stops
I find comfort in the settling in
To the fog, the ache, the happiness, the cough, the humming
It seems I need this space to feel, once seen
Before the words appear
And we speak again

— by Me

20130506-133741.jpg
Portrait by Melissa Thorpe, Hilltop Hausfrau on Etsy

inspired by a prompt from the book, Ways of Seeing by John Berger

Posted in Food & Wine, Humanity, Meditation, Poetry, Writing
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Time In The City

•May 2, 2013 • 1 Comment

Early or Mid century ice house
Behemoth made of steel and shelving
Painted white to reflect the sun
Hollowed out to freeze and hold
Blocks or cubes,  2.50 or 1.50
Chipped black script still exclaims
Weeds and rust now attempt to give it away
Slow growth creeping across yellowed enamel
Reaching into once airtight seams
Overhanging branches retreat in reverse
Rotted wooden fence rebuilds itself
In sepia tones
I can see a line of memories waiting
Melting in the Philadelphia summer
Chatting and dripping
Swatting at bugs, wiping sweat, and shifting weight
While wives and children cook at home
Watching the heat rise, the milk spoil,
And dust swirl too little
On the occasional breeze
Waiting for ice blocks chiseled, picked, and hauled
To make their way on tired shoulders
Triumphant
Color returns at once with a blink
Pink cherry blossoms stretch, shrug, and fall
Primary rainbow tulips yawn toward the sinking sun
My favorite flowers treasured
Because they are here and gone so soon, rarity
A blood orange harvest moon in spring
Lumbering over the horizon grinning

— by Me

MoonPhiladelphia

harvest moon and ben franklin bridge philadelphia, taken by Paul J Everett

Posted in Family, Humanity, Nature, Poetry
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Gray Day

•April 29, 2013 • 3 Comments

Nothing

But rain dripping deep and hollow

On the roof a heartbeat

Irregularly echoing

 

Nothing

But cold coffee in my mug

Reheated and forgotten and reheated

And forgotten

 

Nothing

But growling in my stomach

Yelling at me to be filled

Hotly knotted

 

Nothing

But the smallest of blood flow reaching my toes

Unnoticed at first with standing

Moments later, near collapse

 

Nothing

Published, but drafts of poems

Edited and waiting

Me delaying

 

Nothing

To do today but file away

The moments as they dribble past

Gray and drab

 — by Me

GrayDay Trees, Clouds, Gray Day by Tom Brown

Posted in Humanity, Identity, Meditation, Nature, Poetry, Writing
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Redemption

•April 25, 2013 • 2 Comments

Fledgling                                                                                                                                                                                                                        On a window sill
Placed in your pocket
Raised on grubs and larvae
Or worms cut in half from digging
Still wiggling

Grown fat now
Slick oily black feathers
Hardened cracked and craggy beak
Waiting for a soft soul or eyeball
To pry open

Numbers tattooed on Flesh                                                                                                                                                                                       Fading, aging
Left untouched and she
Placed back on that threshold
To fly away or stay
Quick twitch of her head

Death swiftly follows
Hope that once dribbled down
Both are necessary
For accepting and lying in the grave
Rotting and marinating

Memories of brooks
Rolling through meadows
Overtaken by sewage and filth
Crawled through for freedom
While dogs and sirens howl

And worth it
For a bottle of suds
The warmth of the sun
And possibilities buried under a tree

–by Me

CrowGrafitti

Posted in Food & Wine, Humanity, Identity, Loss, Nature, Poetry
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Morning Meditation

•April 25, 2013 • 3 Comments

When I am silent and still long enough,

Tiny creatures cautiously make their way,

Out of hushed hiding.

The winged perch on rooftops warmed by the morning,

Arthropods and insects creep out of cool grassy shadows,

My pause provides cover for their communal living.

Songs and skittering,

Wandering and weaving,

Buzzing by and hovering,

I cannot keep myself from wondering,

Have I faded into the scenery?

Another flowering weed growing wild?

Or do they sense that I am different,

And allow my presence anyway,

Because I have stopped a moment, and allowed for theirs.

–by Me

SpiderInTheGrass LoisDoddSpider in the Grass, by Lois Dodd

Posted in Meditation, Nature, Poetry
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Postmeditation (Solitude)

•April 23, 2013 • 1 Comment

“In my solitude I’ve seen very clearly things that aren’t so.” — Antonio Machado

Concentrated solitude
Like mining and sifting carefully for precious metals
Open solitude
Like carelessly draining the water table
Causing the earth to fall in on itself
A sinkhole devouring haphazardly

My vision blurs
Creating gnarled and knotted hands in my lap
Bones elongated and emaciated
Joints swollen like balloons
Fingers at misshapen angles
Feet puffed up appearing squeezed into shoes
My grandmothers extremities
Have replaced my own
By the end of it
My hands are aching from overuse
My feet tight and stretched to translucency
Paralysis is surely soon to follow
Oh wait!
Paralysis of vision, movement, attention
Is exactly what started all this mess

–by Me

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

My Grandmother’s Hands by Robert Hambrick

Posted in Body, Family, Humanity, Identity, Meditation, Poetry
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Premeditation (Solitude)

•April 23, 2013 • Leave a Comment

“In my solitude I’ve seen very clearly things that aren’t so.” — Antonio Machado

I’ve noticed
My daughter’s nighttime wrestle
With solitude
Mirrors my own.
Alone in the dark, in bed
That is when terror arises
Not about monsters in closets
Or demons or ghosts
But more the monsters in our head.
The things left undone
Unprocessed, unsaid
Perhaps our tears not fully shed.
Chores to do
Decision to be made
In solitude our self-doubt invades.
I tell her it will look better in the light
To let these things go just for tonight.
But find myself unable to do the same
Until I remember my own advice
Find my breath and let myself
Sleep and wake again.

–by Me

StayInBed
Stay In Bed All Night, All Day by Emily Tebbetts

Posted in Humanity, Meditation, Motherhood, Poetry
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Mind Over Matter

•April 22, 2013 • 2 Comments

Wrapping

Mind

Around

Impossible

Inescapable

Mind

Invades

All

Even

Quiet

Still

Mind

Directs

Attention

Experience

Perception

Integration

Mind

Acknowledged

Ignored

Concentrated

Diffuse

Wasted

Mind

Wrapped

Wandering

Wrinkled

Weathered

Warped

Mind

— Me

InMyMind-simona-mereu

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In My Mind by Simona Mereu

Posted in Humanity, Identity, Meditation, Poetry
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Roots of Change

•April 18, 2013 • 5 Comments

Something about me has changed,

I only noticed when I went away.

Things no longer neatly in their place,

It seems the mess and mud are quite okay.

 

Harder though to say goodbye,

Craving familial affection I once denied.

Wanting to pull them close awhile,

My view has changed to spite the miles.

 

Is it all the sitting or is it my age,

Or is it my writing on this page?

All, or none, no way to gauge,

Perhaps my own life now engaged.

–by Me

cypress-tree-reflection-ciocan-tudor-cosmin

Cyprus Tree Reflection by Ciocan Tudor-cosmin

Posted in Family, Humanity, Identity, Meditation, Poetry
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