I believe in being prepared for any given situation. It isn't because I'm a pessimistic person; I think it is just good common sense. Hence, I've entitled my blog "Even Nothing is Something."

This covers my butt in any event. On any given day I can feel great exaltation that I have done something grand. I can scribble fiercely when my thoughts are leaping across the meadows of my mind like a happy little colt in the month of May, or my mind and writing can be as dry and arid, as cold and without life, as the Gobi desert - because even Nothing is Something.

I want to thank all of my fellow artists who work through other means and forms and who sell their work on the wonderful artist's site "Etsy," a place to buy and sell all things handmade, along with vintage items and supplies for their craft. They are a great group of people.

Those who have links to their site on my blog represent only a few of those whom I wish to include. Just click on one of those links and join the Etsy community. It is free. They are a great group of artists who have relieved me of my money in the most delightful of ways. If it weren't for their encouragement, I would have never shared my work through this blog.

Thank you my darling friends!

Enjoy my blog - The Poet or Not - More or Less

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

The Spirited Soloist

Many years ago, in the month of February, when spring came early to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, I was sitting in my rocking chair by a floor to ceiling window; I was reading late; it was past midnight. Our apartment was built on the top of another flat roofed building, so right outside this window was not only a view of the city but also a very good view of the rest of the roof.

On this particular night, winter reminded us that, although the weather had been unseasonably warm, it wasn't yet spring. The reminder was a violent storm of sleet and heavy winds. I couldn't have been more shocked when my reading was pleasantly interrupted by the sound of a songster singing for all it was worth right outside my window - sitting right there on the roof in the dark of night, in the wind and freezing rain. This little bird sang for some length of time; it was like a gift. I wrote the following poem. Like some of the others I've posted today, this one might not represent my best work; but it made me happy.

The Spirited Soloist

Frozen crystals beat a cacophony
Against the window pane,
Shattering the silence of night with
Wind and frozen rain.

Uncanny in its delicate power and
Beauty in its alabaster sheen,
Snow quilts the earth and sleeves
The branches of evergreen.

Next, dawn approaches, night fades
Albescent; Life quickens weary;
Awakening to an earth hibernated and
Made February dreary.

Yet, audacious Spring attends the dial,
And buds the tree branches;
While outside my window, a bird, in
Defiance of winter prances.

He beats his wings in a cadence to match
My heart and spirit - Sings his Song
With Proud Resonance, just loud
Enough for me to Hear It.

Another Apology to Caryn

I can't claim that the below poem is one of my best. But, I rather warned you when I said this was the blog of "The Poet or Not."

One winter day the ground was free of snow and the forecast gave us no warning when a sudden storm hit the Pocono Mountains and my husband and I found ourselves stuck at the bottom of the steep hill leading up to our community. Mothers who were meeting their kids at the bus stop were unable to make their way up this hill, and we found ourselves stuck at the bottom until everyone else had given up trying to tackle the steep slope.

Bruce is a great driver in the snow so we made it home. Within less than half an hour the woods around our home was transformed into the most beautiful winter scene. The snow was so heavy that many of the tree's branches were laying low to the ground. We were afraid that some of them were going to break from the weight, but by morning the snow had completely disappeared, as though it had never been.

I wrote this the following day. Several times I've sat and swivelled in my swivel chair, thinking I might bring some better literary talent to this piece of work; I did nothing but swivel. So here it is, just as it was.


The Luminary of the Day began its descent by degrees
Toward the Horizon; acquiescent to Twilight,
As the earth's spinning decrees.
Snow burdened clouds, driven by Northern Gales,
Migrated 'ore head and 'neath heav'ns floor,
Nature's Kite, Bearing a Squall, Winter's gift
to this Earth, a Generation given Rebirth.

A swirl of hoary snowflakes, dense and opaque,
Transforms the environs and different age make.
Where once the pines and spruce bore needles of green,
They now bow and embrace hooded cloaks of white.
Surrounding embranchments stretch outward and lean
To capture their own attire, generous and eager
For sharing their nature, to thrill and delight.

The Luminary of Night beams down on the scene,
Reflecting upward to'ard heaven, its radiance
Making the forest glisten, twinkle and gleam.
Courteous of life, the winds continue to blow,
so that, by Morn, before any damage is done,
The evergreens and branches are divested of snow.
The moon goes to rest and yet emerges the Sun.

Shakespearean Winter

QUIET! 'Gainst mine skin brushed Air's Breath,
Hastening to Chill, Inciting Wind's
Passion to another Winter Still. Welken
'bove adds its rejoinder, Rehearsals
Behind a Winter's Haze, Orchestrating
The Cradle Song of God's Harmony;
Thus begins this Annuals Laze.

ANON! Earth shall Slumber whilst snow, wind,
Ice and Rain, Artists of the Hour
Compile their Elements, Unleash their
Gentle Fury And Create by Divine Power
A Pantomime of Beauty, a Mute Song of
Muffled Silence, A Semblance of
Divergent Age. The Performance shall beckon.

Intoxicated by its Placid Vitality mine own Heart
Leaps upon The Stage. Mine own Spirit mergest
With the Vortex or Kaleidoscopic White Snow,
Gossamer Fair. Ah! Attempt to Match,
Attempt to Share Mine Own Enchantment,
Emancipate your own Perceptions and Transcend
Mine own Joy . . . . Only if you Dare!