Category: Tenneson Woolf Poetry

A few words of wonder, over coffee this morning.

This time of life and of living,
it is familiar,
isn’t it.

Because, well, it’s connected to all the other times.

You’ve learned how to persevere before.
You’ve learned to lean to friends before.
You’ve learned to start again before.

But then, this time of life and of living,
it’s also new,
isn’t it.

Because it asks us to go beyond the known 
aaperseverances,
aafriendships,
aaand new starts.

Beyond all those good and sensible compromises.
Beyond all those convenient animosities and outrages.
Beyond most of those things that keep us busy and distracted.

I sit with my cup of coffee.
Perhaps you do with yours.

And we think of living heart-filled lives, 
living with kindness in the knowns and the news
in these times, don’t we.

Dinner one night last week. Tuna in avocado mayonnaise. Includes some finely chopped red onion and pickles. Lightly peppered. On green leaf lettuce — giant leaves. Cucumber and tomatoes from a friend — summer generosity. Avocado. Corn cut from summer cob. A few olives. A drizzle of olive oil. Another drizzle of chocolate balsamic vinegar. Yup, yummy.

Grateful.

Gratitude is many things. This I learn. It’s a way of being. An attitude. And a disposition. And an orientation of kindness and appreciation. A contribution. A discipline. A commitment. An energy. A way of seeing. A way of acting. A gently fierce orientation to seeing good. An exercise. Self care (cause, it activates the appreciative way). Gratitude is a way of learning. It’s a way of activating.

Well, I’m learning all of that. Delighting. Failing crazy. Yet, gratitude still remains a direction that proves so fruitful. So life-giving.

And so, a poem, as so often is my offering and expression.

On Gratitude

There is life.
I’m so grateful for it.

There are friends.
I’m so grateful for them.

There is meaningful work and community.
I’m so grateful.

There is surprise.
I’m so grateful.

There is coffee.
Yup, grateful.

There is a todo list for today.
Grateful.

There is pause.
Grateful.

And, and.
Grateful.

I’m appreciating a few days of recovery. Septum repaired (with some intentional re-breaking to help with a 40 years-ago-break). It’s a pretty good sized headache. And mouth-breathing (the stints come out on Monday). And gauze and tape changed regularly. I’m glad for good docs. Loving care (thx Dana). And some space for poetic reflection.

The intention, long haul, is breathing.

So I wrote.

Short On Words

It is poetry that quiets me.
A sentence or two.

Especially the ones about dogs,
or weeds,
or peppers,
or doing the dishes.

You know, regular things of life
that live long on experience
but so often, short on words.

It is poetry that so often quiets me,
and heals me, and brings me breath..

A photo from earlier this summer. Hiking with my pals Roq and Sarah. Whidbey Island.

And a poem, a few words from recently. I love the way the sky reminds of such things.

I want
to set free
this wild and creative heart.

I want
to fly and glide
with these yearning wings.

I want
to know more fully
the sky’s openness.

Trusting
every inkling 
of invitation.