My brother's poem for my mother

This is a poem my brother, Jon, wrote for my mother some years ago on mother's day, long before he ever dreamed of having children.. The evening before she passed, he knelt by her side, his arm wrapped around his three young boys, and recited this poem to her. (This was one of many beautiful revelations that I witnessed during our vigil. The shared experience calls forth layers of spirit our ordinary lives don't reveal.)

time passes by
like breath through our lips
and each day I smile
from the warm place in my heart
that is forever filled by you
as it fills the hearts of my children
and my children's children

. . . forever.

jon

One Deep Breath: Comfort

Today's entry is offered with heart-felt condolences to Jennifer and her family. It seems we have been making kindred journeys. On July 14th, my mother also passed from this life. She managed to wait until my entire family gathered around her, and we spent an amazing week, sharing a vigil by her side. Up until the last moment (and perhaps beyond), I continue to learn from her.

During her last few weeks, I often had music playing that my mother loved. Among the pieces was a Bill Staines song, "River". She used to sing along with the chorus;

"River, take me along
In your sunshine, sing me a song
Ever moving, and winding and free;
You rolling old river, you changing old river,
Let's you and me, river, run down to the sea."

Midwiving Mother

sitting by her side
holding her hand, time for words
is past, no longer
able to breathe with her the
long, breathless breaths, our
prayers gathering, building a
bridge, body labors
to free the spirit

tide goes out, peace comes
in, releasing the bonds to
spirit, river flows to sea

Happy Birthday, One Deep Breath! (Poet's Choice)

bright cacophany
of bird song cascading down
from high --singing trees!
yellow bounding streaks, dart from
birch to box elders,
goldfinches bring a new spring

‘chick-a-dee-dee-dee’
through my kitchen window, in
bare white birch branches,

“yoo-hoo!....yooo-hooo*!” Eyes
open to plum blossoms, in
crooked old tree

*(Do you know this spring song of the chickadee?)

One Deep Breath: Common Ground

This week's prompt had me pondering all week. So many troubles of our lives, and the world come down to a failure to recognize the gift of this sweet earth -- the common ground we share. Who has 'the right' to inhabit any given place? The 'natives'? The immigrants? The refugees? Too often, our answers are expressed in persecutions, wars and in building walls to keep the others OUT.

This morning, I walked about our place gathering blossoms from all the wild (native) flowers that surround us during these sweet weeks. ("Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow...." ) I wonder how many of the plants we think of as 'native' migrate here by way of seeds blown across great distances -- perhaps oceans? Are we any different?

This first haiga is a photo of the 'native' nosegay. If you look closely at the second image, you will see the immigrants I added to the little bouquet -- the ones we have planted, not out of necessity, but out of love.
My haiga & Common Ground offering are inspired by reflecting on their easy peaceful coexistence......

gathering wild blooms
this morning; wild rose, lupine
ninebark, blue camus, pink smoke

immigrant pansies, lilacs

share sweet common ground

Viewpoints

This young robin has been
a persistent presence around
our place this spring, & his unusual
behavior has given me pause for
great curiosity & wonder.....

Every Moment

"Every Moment", photo by Marti

every moment
a voice
out of this world
calls on our soul
to wake up and rise

this soul of ours
is like a flame
with more smoke than light
blackening our vision
letting no light through

lessen the smoke and
more light brightens your house
the house you dwell in now
and the abode
you'll eventually move to

now my precious soul
how long are you going to
waste yourself
in this wandering journey
can't you hear the voice
can't you use your swifter wings
and answer the call


from "Rumi - Fountain of Fire", a new translation by Nader Khalili

"Swifter Wings" photo by Marti

Sleep haiku #2

working late, two sounds
call me; his gentle snoring,
river's soft rushing