TRIUMPH OF SPIRIT IN LOVE, NATURE & ART

Poetry

Denizens of the Deep


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The marsh is melting

and

all the turtles in their hibernacula

deep down under the melting ice

will soon emerge

and the marsh will sing

the chorus of the Spring Peeper

and the salamanders will emerge

with the urge to murge

and joy and the life force

will fill the air

and lift the fog

enveloping my soul.

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Last Weeks of Winter


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Winter is weary

and we are wary

of forecasts

of yet more snow

and ice to come

 


Photons of Golden Light


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Photons of gold

the tail end of winter’s light

up close

and far away

the tail end of the light of day

bright yet almost night

wafting with whispers

of a new season

a new reason

to live.


Homage to Monet


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Sky

instead of water lilies

no words, clouded mind


Point of View


 

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It happens

every now and again

a psychotic break

reality blurred

thinking slurred

torrents of

uncried tears

MAJOR fears

choked inside

unable to open the door

to walk in the sun

or talk to someone

and then…

it passes

at least for this time

fractured mind

heals

and I emerge

purged

of demons

shaken but

crawling back

out of the dark

blinded by light

laden with guilt

over is it

unjustified anger

and justified hurts

or justified anger

and unjustified hurts

or no justification

just endless conflation

of swirls of emotion

that feed the

desire to die

I come

creeping back

confused lack

of any cohesion

into the world

of  “reality”

or Maya

depending on

one’s point of view.


Prayer of Despair


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Oh God,

where art thou?

I feel Thee not near me

clouds obscure Thy light

fields lie barren like my soul

Love was in my heart

but I feel it not

all is obscured

Pain and illness

shroud all light

in shadows of darkness

joy but a faint memory

as the mountains

in the grey distance

hope is out of season

bountiful is despair

a sin

yes

I sin the sin of darkness

and wish I could blend

into the greyness

and retire

into nothingness

Oh God,

forgive my ingratitude

for my many blessings

now shrouded in the night

so I can no longer see

Come to me

breathe life into my soul again

and let me see Thy Light

let me see love again

it was there

how does it seem to vanish

and take with it all hope

for why else is there to live?


When God Cries


When God cries

his tears gently touching

 the ailing, flailing earth

scintillating stardust falls

to the wintered ground below

twinkling diamond-lets

 tinkling the ground

tingling the ears

with a crinkling sound

sparkling the trees

in light bright white

blanching our sins

reaching out to us by

transforming our eyes

 with a bejeweled sight.


Feathery Fog


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(Click on image to enlarge)

January trees

please and tease

their feather-arms

 tickle the skies

gratify the eyes

 their lattice work branches

the soft, silky brush strokes

of a winter masterpiece


Away in a Manger


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Unmistakable pride

in the smile

on the mother’s face

bonding with her

babe asleep beside her

in utter security

in utter trust

of their caretakers

unknowing of their future fate

at the bloody hand

of man.


The Silent Cathedral


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Listen

to the silence

of the trees

they communicate

in ways

 science knows not

yet

and

the fog and the snow and the mist

 the incense

suffusing

 the silent cathedral


An Apparition


Apparition

Here one second,

the next, gone,

with traces only in our hearts.

The ephemeral nature

of all life.

Our loved ones,

people and creatures,

here with us

for a pause in eternity

and gone for seeming eons.

            *

It is as the Hindus say

all “Maya,”

a dream of life,

an apparition,

some form of us

awakens one day

somewhere

we know not

when or where or how

right now.


Treatise on Rumi II



For the Love of a Horse


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Oh to be one with you,

White-marked Third Eye,

to mount you

and ride you into forever

to nuzzle my nose

in your silky mane

to smell your hot breath

upon my face

and feel your tongue

upon my cheek

to smell the sweetness

of your leavings

and

hear your hoofs

against the road

and your snorts

as you run

*

my love for you

is from a distance

though once

we danced together

and

 you nuzzled

me out of depression

and into bliss

oh how I miss

those magic moments

when we were one.


An Insecure Security


Gemutlichkeit* of

a rainy October morning

dry chilly warmth

in our little barn

*

downstairs

you perusing the paper

 upstairs

me pumping poetry

*

rain tip-toeing

on the metal roof

a tymphanic symphony

outside the window

a masterpiece of color

yellow walnut leaves

and red sugar maple

the steady drip-drop of water

*

what bliss is this

precious moments of Now

a heavenly haven

from a frightening, tipsy-turvy world

*

I wish to always be

in your aura of calm

and the beauteous bounty of Nature

but

for sure

death will come

*

 please take us together

and

find us in each other’s arms

*

blessed bliss

pure peace

and

true security

the everlasting Now

only exist

in the presence of God.

*German word meaning “coziness”.


Homefulness


Sheltered from the rain

our house in view

how lucky we

to have a home

a shelter

 blues harmonica

sheets of rain

storm

blurring October

but focusing on gratitude

for a home to go to

when the rain lets up

a shelter

our nest

an illusion of security

I’ll welcome

in my world of delusions.


Whirling October


Fleet-footed October

with

leaves floating down

swirling

in

whirlwinds

while days dance away

as the last leaf-colored

butterflies

flutter by

before you know

 turtles

 will bury  deep

 for a long winter’s sleep


White Flowers in Blue Trees


White flowers in Blue Trees

My husband pronounces this a cow

standing among greens

well if it is a cow

don’t eat him

he is a sacred cow

as we all are sacred

I see him standing among the brush triumphant

for no one has turned him into hamburger

but

I say they are blue trees

at twilight

filled with white blossoms

well if they are blossoms

don’t pick them

and extinguish their life of beauty

grabbing Nature

as if She were our own

meant to serve us

when She is there to teach us

about the Great Being

benevolent with His gifts

such as blue cows

or blue trees with white flowers

as Nature whispers in our ears

as She manifests the gifts of the Great Being

and we boorishly

 cut them down

and put them in vases

(if I am right and they are blue trees with white flowers)

where in a day or so they die

having given their lives

for the mundane, bourgeois folly

of decorating our homes

or

(if my husband is right and they are cows)

 we boorishly eat them

despite the disgust of eating flesh

at the expense of deaths by extreme cruelty

a travesty of justice

crimes against Nature

when She is to be untouched

and admired

just as She is

for She is the perfect

creation of our Heavenly Father.


Tempus Fugit


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Poof!

After awaiting September all summer, the month of the Autumnal Equinox came and is almost gone.  I try desperately to stop time, clinging to each day, to no avail.  These next few months, my favorite time of year, go by in a flash, like sand sifting through my fingers.  Poof!  In a flash the trees turn beauteous, with variegated flames of color.  Poof!  The leaves are gone.

First, there is the change in light.  The sun, still hot in mid-September, does not pack the punch it did in July, when one could be outdoors for an hour and come in with a change in skin color. Temperatures cool.  The grass starts to stop growing.  The “blood” of the trees starts to flow back into the trunk, causing leaves to change color. Walnuts, acorns and apples fall.   Butterflies, so rampant outdoors in August, have gone inside the stomach of many a child as they go back to school. Even adults are not immune.  Many feel the flutter of “back-to-school” anxiety come Fall.  Summer vacations are a memory and it is time to “honker down” at work.  Fall offers a new beginning but there is a tinge of anxiety in facing some thing new.

And most of all, Fall is a time of riotous color, when a walk in the woods finds one reveling like a drunk, besotted by the yellow, orange, crimson, russet world which our eyes imbibe like a hefty cocktail.  It is a time when Italian comes to the lips in a loud “Que bella!!”  The green of summer is bucolic and raises the spirit, but the many colors of fall intoxicate.  People start talking of peak color, and leafing becomes the pastime of many.  It is the time to plant bulbs and endlessly rake blowing leaves.

But Fall is a time of melancholia, too. Flowers die.  Reptiles go into hibernation.  Insects die or overwinter.  Songbirds migrate.  Trees eventually loose their leaves.  And the end of the lazy days of summer brings with it shorter days, longer nights, and concomitant depression for those with Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Moments of sobriety seep into intoxication with the new world of color as we may remember loved ones who can no longer share the beauty–who can no longer enjoy those coveted, cooler, crisp days of September when coolness kisses the cheeks.  For autumn is a celebration of endings, too, perhaps best described by the French poet, Guillaume Appollinaire, in his poem Autumn:

“A bowlegged peasant and his ox receding

through the mist slowly through the mist of autumn…

Oh the autumn the autumn has been the death of summer

In the mist there are two gray shapes receding.”

(Click http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/ellen-stockdale-wolfe.html  for information on, and to purchase my Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir.


Supposed Indifference in Asperger’s


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I climbed down

from the tangled branches

of my thoughts

to greet you

but it was too late

you were gone.

Don’t give up on me

I love you can’t you see

but there is such difficulty

all because I am Aspie.

(Click http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/ellen-stockdale-wolfe.html  for information on, and to purchase my Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir.)

 


The Web of Fears


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Caught in a web of fears

full of wet tangled tears

been this way for years

of course there are triggers

that make fears look bigger

but it is hard to figure

a way out of negativity

a way back to levity

and to my old productivity

it is hard enough to fight

the dramas of mind with my might

without succumbing to fright

about losing you

tis true

fighting at once the physical and the mental

is far too much for a mind balanced so gentle.


My Former Life


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In my former life I was a bee.

Why else would I keep sticking my nose

into the private, pollinated parts of flowers?

In my former life I was a turtle.

Why else would I hunch my shoulders

into a seeming shell, my back a carapace

to shield me from a sometimes dangerous world?

In my former life I loved thee.

How else could I account for my “knowing” you

from before the first time we met,

 for “seeing” the you in your inner depths?

Some would say  I risk damnation

for a belief in reincarnation.

Yet this answer satisfies me on so many levels

and requities my thirst, quieting my myriad of questions

that the old belief system did not.

Unpopular in the west,

woven into the fabric of life in the east

in which I clothe myself,  sewn by a strong affinity,

a strange familiarity,

attraction mystifies.

Most of us cannot remember

the details of the other lives,

and are left with fractured fragments of the past

glistening like sea glass in our hands, on the seashores of our minds,

trying to piece together a picture

of a previous existence.

Love is timeless and mysterious

and though I dread the inevitable,

the loss of our life together

in this life,

I know we will be together again in the next and the next

ad infinitium

for something as sacrosanct as our love

is eternal.


Starbursts


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Starlike

explosions of blue

with an

out of season

dusting of snow

a foretaste

of  the approach of winter

a sugary confection

one is tempted to ingest

a similar temptation

(I suppose)

as those tempted by coca.


Video

Instinct vs. Love


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“Instinct”

they say condescendingly

but it is not.

“Anthroprophism”

they argue

but it is not.

Science now knows

animals show altruism,

animals show love,

elephants, dogs, dolphins…

“Love” they say reverently for man

but it is and is not

Science now knows

hormones course through our bodies,

Oxytocin they say,

I say how clinical,

a dissection of love

   for man

and

 animals.


The Consciousness Stream


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Look carefully below

to see the stream flowing

in between the tangle of greens

and the landscape of rocks

*

Look carefully within

to hear the whispers of God

in between the jangle of loud thoughts

and the overgrowth of emotions

*

Heaven lies in the quiet

trickling like a stream

through the spaces of the silence