Thursday, February 18, 2010

Beyond

the definite edges of maple
buds itching with sap
the clouds’ luminosity
out of nowhere they form
and race, dissolve
and grow again
soft-verged
what a day when
such as these
can form before our eyes
move with majesty
and boil into nothing

Every morning after I meditate, I write a poem. They are humble little containers like clay cereal bowls, but sometimes I like them enough to share. This came to me today.

3 comments:

Thompson said...

Hi Ann,

Love those clouds. Great meditation on their ephemeral nature up against the definite edges of maple buds. They too will soon "boil" and disappear into something by another name and function. As Thich Nhat Hanh notes in the voice of a leaf, "I am the whole tree." And then with a burst of color, the leaf returns to earth soon to reenter the tree a new.
The wonder of clouds is that they are in a continuous state of being created and evaporating or raining out as the air that keeps their droplets aloft moves up through them. A form of dynamic equilibrium like that which maintains peat bogs, glaciers, and a whole lot else.
Thanks for sharing your poems,
Tom

Cara Larose said...

What a beautiful poem! How often do you make poems? And when did you start getting interested in poetry writing? When you're really at this point in your life, wonderful thoughts and ideas do happen. I'm happy that you're one of those who really enjoy retirement!

Ann McNeal said...

Thanks, Tom & Cara, for your comments. Recently I haven't been writing a poem every day, as I was for a while, but they do come pretty frequently. I've always loved language and poetry but started to get serious about it ten years ago.

I still love retirement!
Ann