I harvest signs,
glean among wispy omens,
scavenge in pyramids and middens
aching to unwrap the unknown,
reveal the secret names,
unfold the silence.
I am nothing if not voracious for the real.
Auguries reflect
our faces
fragmented in store windows.
Barely recognizable.
Blurred and staring masks
passing.
Oh and then there was the black scarf
blown into my patio by a February storm,
winding itself around the bare branches
of the Japanese Maple
sheltering
the small stone Buddha.
I wake each day to miracles.
sometimes
she says,
she has nothing to say.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Poem and photo by clinock
Your poetry, John, melds and meanders magically, seductively with form and substance. Words dance, thoughtfully looking under, over and through, gently poking and humorously prodding for meaning and possible relationship. I wish sometimes I had “John Glasses” I could wear to see the world!
LikeLike
And I wish I had a Jana pen so I could write as beautifully as you about the world I see. I thank you for your generous and poetic description of my writing. Sometimes I need to read it at a distance, through another’s eyes, like looking at a painting in a mirror while I work, to understand what I’m doing, to break the trance…
LikeLiked by 1 person
I almost missed the Buddha! He looks grateful.
LikeLike
He has no preferences, he just sits…
LikeLike
Sometimes I have nothing to say too… π β€
LikeLike
Ina’s 7 word silence π
LikeLike
“I am nothing if not voracious for the real.” What wonderful line! This is a beautifully written piece, and i love the way you express yourself. You do have something to say!
LikeLike
Those are very kind and generous words Debra, thank you.
LikeLike
Every moment is precious and you define it so clearly in words and images John……and much, much more!
LikeLike
thank you Robert, that means a lot to me.
LikeLike
John this is wonderful. I’m so struck by the rhythm of ‘scavenge in pyramids…’ to ‘I am nothing if not voracious for the real…’ to ‘oh and then there was the black scarf…’ and of course ‘her’ final quote.
Love these images and the feel of the poem.
What an omen or augury that black scarf seems to be! Fascinating to hinge a poem around this event. Full of meaning(s).
LikeLike
Thank you Steven for your always inspiring and thoughtful words.
LikeLike