In this episode, I share a poem I wrote, and a little about my writing difficulties and successes over the last year or two.
I really like this poem, and think it is one of my best. So I hope you find something in it too.
Music Credits: Liberty Bell by Darkside.
Calligraphy of a Stream I A gray jays wing looks like old cedar wood grain. Grown from melted snow, and stolen sandwich bits. The jays move in flocks, take turns landing softly on my hat. The lower lake, frozen solid, but for the edges, coated in glistening snow. A small stream flows from one end— like black ink spilled on paper, then melting it, and running downslope. The jays drink, and watch us in all our human awkwardness. Gracefully stealing tidbits for a free lunch Even though I heard: nothing in life is "free" The woods are soundless today, but for the shushing of trees shedding snow. Almost like the silence is asking me to listen, but then laughing: a jay swoops in to steal part of my sandwich again. II The cold creeps downhill, along the stream. Flat rocks on a dark, gravelly bottom. People walking far, up from stuffed parking lot, into this silence leaving behind their cars carrying their conversations holding onto things. Then resting in the rare light, here at the edge of a lake. I wonder how easy it is to leave it all behind? To come clean to the creek-burble? To cleanse the mind? —Grey jays winging softly, along tree'd edge of the lake III In mind, I gathered thoughts, and things, but wasn't always there for the beauty. Maybe if I drink snow melt, sleep outside, these things become me Or am I them? The transparency of the self grows clearer, in the calligraphy of a stream: Slowly flowing under frozen snowy bridges As we walk together Back to our complicated lives.