We continue to meet every first Saturday of the month at the Shelburne Falls Shambhala Center. Please bring your poems or work you find inspiring by others to share (9 copies).
Here's a poem I recently came across online I had never read before:
The Zen of Housekeeping
By Al Zolynas
I look over my own shoulder
down my arms
to where they disappear under water
into hands inside pink rubber gloves
moiling among dinner dishes.
To continue reading go to this blog A MInd of Being Here which is dedicated to poems with a 'mindfulness' emphasis.
You will also find on this link lots of other other related poems including, Happiness and Gone by one of my favorite poets, Malena Morling, with whom I worked a few years while co-directing the New England College MFA Program in Poetry until my retirement in 2012 (now defunct).
I love the way the most ordinary object or mundane event can transport us to a deep experience of sacred world or mystery.
Here is a wonderful Emily Dickinson poem #875, "I Stepped from Plank to Plank"
I ask myself why Poetry is such a vehicle for bringing us into the Nowness of the moment. How does language awaken us to the luminosity of the present? Heal our brokenness? Catapult us to bliss? Surrender us to a decent humanity of communitas and interconnectedness? What daemon drives us to utter these strange sounds of music for millennia?So now it is nearing June that time of Nearing Summer Solstice. I offer you my poem from a few years past:
Nearing Summer Solstice
At Tires for Less on Route 9
I wait to exchange snow studs
for all season tires past the April deadline--
A young skinhead,
with a spider web on his naked
elbow strips the lugs
which hit the floor as he moves on haunches,
feral menace with a drill bit.
I pace the pavement,
looking down at the Connecticut River.
At the edge of blacktop next to a field of low
lying wildflowers and scrub brush,
broken glass and butts indicate I'm not the first.
Two monarchs catch my attention, then flecks
of orange move among purple cones,
a different butterfly, with fur edges.
This day is long with light and I have time
to wonder how they know to convene
by the hundreds in this dump
oblivious to trucks and cars speeding past,
their movements counterpoint
to my own noisy impatience, calmed a moment,
until spider boy calls me over.
Reprinted from Connotation, November 2009