Category Archives: poetry

let it splash…

When the ocean surges, don’t let me
just hear it. Let it splash inside my chest!
~Rumi

Kuroshio Sea – 2nd largest aquarium tank in the world – (song is Please don’t go by Barcelona) from Jon Rawlinson on Vimeo.

via worldhum

I can’t even express how deeply it thrills me to realize that these creatures are swimming below and around me when I paddle on the ocean–thus, I need poetry (and photography)! The ocean itself seems a kind of creature, its cycles and rhythms are at both completely regular and completely unpredictable. Added to that is the beauty of all that finds home within its depths…

On Saturday, for the first time, I tested out a waterproof camera setup to take out with me on my outrigger canoe. I snapped pics of pelicans and shorebirds, and the various landmarks that are part of the Newport channel. And here’s me, on my boat*:

me & my boat!!

I wish the ocean was as clear and blue in the Newport area as it is in the Japanese aquarium captured above. I rarely ever actually “see” anything swimming in the water except for the trash floating on the surface. So that’s one reason I’m really thrilled to be headed to the South Pacific in a few months–to see some really clear blue water. Of course the other reason for my excitement is that I’ll be competing in my first international outrigger competition. And that, my friends, is as amazing and unbelievable as life can be…

*We rigged up a sweet steering system for my canoe so I can maneuver with just one foot pedal.

so they change themselves.


garden love, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

Just one more Audre Lorde poem that I’ve found incredibly thought-provoking…an excerpt from “Stations” (the very last part is my very favorite bit):

Some women wait for visions
that do not return
where they were not welcome
naked
for invitations to places
they always wanted
to visit
to be repeated.

Some women wait for themselves
around the next corner
and call the empty spot peace
but the opposite of living
is only not living
and the stars do not care.

Some women wait for something
to change and nothing
does change
so they change
themselves.

Pic above is some rosepetal love from my garden, by way of CatGirl’s artistry.

I take your hand….


wet gerber daisy, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

One of my joys is to have books of poetry stashed on nearby shelves, just perfect for grabbing and reading a few poems when the time is at hand. Yesterday’s book was The Collected Poems of Audre Lorde, a book that I first happened upon at the Bluestocking Bookstore in NYC, but didn’t buy until later because I feared it’s weight would be too much in my slim carry-on bag.

One of yesterday’s discoveries was a poem about gardening and hope, titled “Walking Our Boundaries.” I suspect that only I could be so charmed by a poem that speaks of compost (yes, it is all-too poetic, in my mind). An excerpt:

I take your hand beside the compost heap
glad to be alive and still
with you
we talk of ordinary articles
with relief
while we peer upward
each half-afraid
there will be no tight buds started
on our ancient apple tree
so badly damaged by last winter’s storm
knowing
it does not pay to cherish symbols
when the substance
lies so close at hand
waiting to be held
your hand
falls off the apple bark
like casual fire
along my back
my shoulders are dead leaves
waiting to be burned
to life.

The sun is watery warm
our voices
seem too loud for this small yard[…]
our footsteps hold this place
together
as our place
our joint decisions make the possible
whole
I do not know when
we shall laugh again
but next week
we will spade up another plot
for this spring’s seeding.

a small cup of light


lacy reflections, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

“But tomorrow, dawn will come the way I picture her,
barefoot and disheveled, standing outside my window
in one of the fragile cotton dresses of the poor.
She will look in at me with her thin arms extended,
offering a handful of birdsong and a small cup of light.”
~William Collins

The image above was the morning reflection on the wall from the light coming through my window at the Sacramento hostel. All of the windows had these gauzy, lacy curtains. If the old house was haunted it certainly seemed so with the ghosts of wind that caused the curtains to billow in the evening breeze.

breathless


spring quince blossoms, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill,
Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
~Rupert Brooke

Here’s hoping that your May Day is full of beauty.

naked you are…


more blue, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

I often just hold my breath as I read through the posts on Persisting Sighs. They are crisp like the snap of clean sheets and lush like smell of rose petals at sunset.

Today Madelyn quoted Neruda and channeled just how I felt earlier today, when I didn’t have the word to express what I saw:

Naked you are as simple as one of your hands,
smooth, terrestrial, tiny, round, transparent,
you have moon~lines, apple paths.
Naked you are as thin as bare wheat,
Naked you are blue like a Cuban night,
there are vines and stars in your hair,
Naked you are enormous and yellow
like summer in a gilded church.
~Pablo Neruda