Happy poetry day!

I have had a terrifc poetry month and I hope that you have too.

Poetry is the expression of those ephemeral feelings that we all have. The taste of red. The sound of mushrooms. The smell of the rain on the roof.

For me, poetry and the arts are a reflection of all of the excitement and fun and mystery and frustration that we all feel everyday. Each of us is involved in the creative by merely living our daily lives. Self transformation is the manifestation of that urge to create. Careful observation deepens our experience.

I wish I had a better offering for the end of poetry month, but here is a poem I wrote for my mother's birthday several years ago...

Evening Prayer

going to sleep
finding myself
again returning
to look for you
in the room
of my thoughts.

My mother, lying down,
we sleepers, our heads,
on soft, sinking pillows,
darkness folded double over us,
the day being over,
we both sleep.

When I sleep
I will try
to dream of my mother.

(Can you still hear them,
those crickets of Summer?
They have all flown away from here.)

Under the cobwebs
of haze blown
by a thousand
other sleepers,

or under stars,

the same ceiling
will will turn
and span over both of us.

I wonder Will you dream of me?

We sleepers are
such willing travelers.

May one who is never sleeping,
watch over that vast track
which lies between us.
And may that path
become shorter and shorter…
Until it is but to reach across it
and touch hands.