Here is that vague feeling again
The morning guest
Of not enough
I need more
A vibration of fear
Or is it the fluttering of arrival
As the in-boxes empty?
The bird feeder is full though
And I braved the cold in my pajamas to fill it.
My coffee is nearby,
the eyes of my heart are open,
And my fingers ready to scribe.
What will I open to meet today,
Scribing in word or in color?
In the stillness
I ready me to stay near myself,
To be empty enough for the response
That fulfills the promise I’ve made
to be true and in joy
and to be so expressed.
Posts
The bird feeder was full and yet you went out to fill it . . . as if looking for something meaningful to do . . . not so much with open heart as with a heart needful of inspiration . . . perhaps open as in "I'm open for suggestion." I know the feeling.
ReplyDeleteyou are reading into me.
ReplyDeletei woke up
i started to write
i looked outside as i felt the inboxes empty
i saw the bird feeder and it was empty
i went out and filled it.
it was cold
i took the photo at the end of the experience.
do i have a responsibility to make sense to the reader?
if i don't make sense, does this mean i am not interested in communication?
a friend mentioned Hugh Prather yesterday, Notes to Myself, in reference to this poem and the voice i am finding in writing.
i may be in the same river as he was.........
i'm musing
let me be so expressed.
analysis doesn't interest me,
it is like throwing cold water on the heart.
let the words have their life and let them land where they will.