The Fall

Walking to the river

I met many women walkers today

in twos, in threes

walking a dog,

walking a stroller

walking with a walker

I heard conversations 

words I could not understand

I passed by an adult retirement home

glanced at people playing bocce

The sun was higher now

almost home

In crossing a street

my shoe stubbed the edge,

Like a lightning, I hydroplaned

on a concrete walkway, 

For a moment I could not believe

it happened

large bruises on my knees, 

palms of my hand

my stick laying in front of me, 

my eyeglasses, intact

my bones, none were broken

A car stopped,

a lady driver got out, offered  

to help me. I thanked her

I stood up on my own.

I arrived home to attend 

to my wounds.

I was full of gratitude.

An extraordinary day

Can you see the blackbird?

The books I am currently reading: Middlemarch by George Eliot and The Artist’s Journey by Marcia Shaver.

Memories

Opening your school yearbook after so many years

memory are like high places we cling to

revelations can pain your heart

you want to resist but rawness is hard to hide

like a cry of a sparrow

eyes and face can reveal so easily

what is to inhabit bleakness of a future

or emotional existence when tethering from ordinary

but youthful exploits can ripen into awareness

mistakes can be forgiven

contradictions can come to resolutions

you can rise again after a wicked plunge

new leaf, new lines of relationships 

can bloom in extraordinary clarity

you are a survivor.

New Ambition

Clattering sound of falling kitchen pans brushes aside her reverie 

Her eyes fix on the sea

Fog distorts perception of distance, silence ushers thinking confidently 

She adjusts herself in the writing table

With a new  ambition

She writes, her fingers trembling with words.

Evening crickets will summon her to sleep

The rooster will wake her before dawn

Seldom she considers to stray outside these boundaries

Her stories wanting to be heard

Like mute feelings suddenly freed from captivity

How to express the river’s yearnings

The delicate exposure of what is hidden

Abundant play before learning the alphabets

The forest changes, weather comes with seasons

She feels fresh facing open spaces, the deep and simple questions, enhancement and pruning

The mysteries of truth and moments of need

Finding her way in intricacies of language

If she has nothing to say, she stays silent.

She may play her violin in front of the llamas

Or she may hold the cat close to her chest

Hum a melody to its ear

Don’t let desire turn to dreaming and fades

Even when distance dims

She has to consider the end

What is meaningful to her

To flourish the goodness life

And encourage herself to cultivate 

Habits of the heart.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

I like carrying a yellow parasol

protects me from rain

sometimes it balance my thoughts

from crowds, sudden jolts

opens to social distancing,

a companion in my walks

If I am meeting a friend

I am easy to distinguish 

In a crowded train station

Suffering can be cruel

yellow seems to soften my emotion

It’s New Year 

you will understand changes.

Lives of Others

An orphan she has 

Few stories to tell, few attachments

How could she show passion,

Or care for someone

But she knows where ripe plums are, 

Which mushrooms are edible

Where to find spring water, safe and crystal clear

How to be resourceful

Habit and prudence and street smart

She starts learning the constellations,

Learns how to be afraid and be calm

She looks at the flowering vines,

Sleeps like an owl and wakes up 

To her full height, realizes

Distances between trees, between her

And trees, her and others

She is a distance of her own.

Things she cherishes, go away

Teaches her gratitude.

Her beautiful eyes say, thank you.

note: The book I’m reading: Ten keys to Reality by Frank Wilczek.

I will have surgery on my right ear next week. The discomfort is tolerable at the present time.

Sometimes I have to take some analgesics.

LIFE TRAVELS

Traveling for so many days

435 bridges and 234 tunnels

Losing landmarks and diverting to side excursions

A lavish description of arriving somewhere

After getting lost

Like newlyweds entering their first house

Whatever the sizable differences are 

They can be traced to algorithms

Like sentences they have to learn because they are new

After awhile they can talk and understand

The end is an accomplishment

Carried by patience and time.

They are foreign to each other

Like a blinding snowstorm before beginning of summer

Afterwards seasons go uninterrupted, seem seamless

Though there are days of grief

Some days of longing, others of mirth

Ambiguity eases into familiar themes

They arrive to a place they understand

Life changes gradually into bliss

Remembering words of Aristotle

We yearn to reach the good at the end.

Moments

Moments move our emotions, our life

How can I move like time

I am a humble hummingbird

Hovering over flowers until I am out breath

There is wisdom in the stones I will not know

Or a camaraderie with bees I will not experience

Where can I go my friend to touch the warmth of time

Perhaps I can find a child who will want a lullaby

My wings can sing her a song.

ANYWAY

taken from Diary of a Word Nerd:https://www.juliatomiak.com

Reflection

Invent reality?

Is there a minimum of thought

One has to do everyday?

 

She is playing a guitar

and humming then singing

about ideas and consequences

then stops and starts writing furiously

“Examine your own courage

if you can get up every morning

with a better will than the day before?”

A cat comes, nozzles in her arms

She touches her with equal affection

then she looks at me and exclaims:

“Is it sad or meaningful or ostentatious to say—

I hiked Switzerland the whole summer?

Or I hug cows to relieve my stress?”

The cat jumps, goes to the window, sits purring.

 

Time folds, distorts harmony of living

Why bemoans the loss during the pandemic

Thousands are dying, millions lost their jobs,

thousands are lining up for food.

 

Time has changed unlike any other time:

A call for one another to stay together.

Blindness Not Just The Eyes

 

Blindness Not Just The Eyes

I stand laughing and looking

You at the buoyant side of being funny

Your words trickle on the safe distance between us

The trick is to make it lasts longer

Longer than the recitation of arithmetic of pandemic

When to open doors, breath the fresh air

Without widening the hospital doors

More cases will enter, more deaths

We cry, pray without even hope of holding hands

There is already so much written about haste and finance

Lacking tests and more tests

They have deaf ears

Counting other types of numbers

Want the numbers bold and arrogant

Going deeper, poorer, much poorer in spirit.