Slow Down...

SLOW DOWN

Nature is not in a hurry,
a rock that stood its ground
a hundred years ago
has finally washed up on shore
as a handful of sand.

The footprint walking upright
started the race a million years ago,
had Darwin sweeping and clearing
the ground before it.

If there be an ear to listen,
whisper into it..
..slow down.
Remember the turtle,
stirred to motion,
moving like honey.

Swift belongs to hummingbirds,
and serpent's darting tongues,
words that stir a rage
to hasten the end of days.

The rise and fall of angel's wings
hardly stir the breeze.
Eternity moves slowly
when beginning
and end
are one and the same.

c copyright/ all rights reserved/2010

http://www.minblu.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/lynxny

Entering...

Wassily Kandinsky 1886-1944
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WHEN I DIE AND RUSH ALONG THE TUNNEL OF WHITE LIGHTS, BEING NEITHER HERE NOR THERE YET, I know that I will enter into a Kandinsky landscape. I'm the last person to advance mathematical theory, but I see before me, clear as day, Einstein's very large number, c2, the very square of the speed of light. You remember, E=mc2.
x
For Kandinsky, art and music gave rise to each other. Color is art's pitch and volume, and a low note on a cello is deep blue. Relativity will make sense when I enter that space between. After my life, before my heaven, I christen that waiting place, "the space between".
x
Kandinsky left me a road map. I saw it this morning as I paid a very early visit to the Guggenheim Museum, membership invitation. Having the place almost to myself allowed me to observe the portals of eternity. Great big eyes, circles of vibrancy and but also hues befitting Morpheus. I awakened to the possibilities, as Kandinsky must have, after seeing Monet's, "Haystacks". Imagine that at the age of thirty he began artistic studies! If it hadn't been for Monet, would it have happened?
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Kandinsky believed his passion to create would awaken the same desire in the viewer, because the artist and observer were equal. If the artist's creativity was pure enough, that would bring out a similar response in the viewer. Therefore I took up his invitation this morning. I peered through portals and found some enticing, some karmically prohibiting. A big eye, stared into, seemed to bring me closer to heaven. And a tiny clock stood still. When I really get to "the space between", I will have to piece it all together, next job after Earth. But not yet. Right now I'm just emerging from a museum.
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But I do think this: Creating Art is the same as starting a Universe.
xMan On A Horse
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http://www.minblu.blogspot.com/

Rushing...

I KNOW

X

Now I know what dying is like.

A stream of air caressed my lips

rushing towards eternity.

x

Fingers stretched out

as white as tile

to balance

as I float an inch above the rest

and turn to ask,

where am I going?

x

Am I still here?

I drop back down to earth,

my knees most prayerful

before I stretch out to rest.

I look in the mirror. Still standing.

Undone, done. So ends the world.

x

And hit...return.

c copyright/ all rights reserved

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http://www.minblu.blogspot.com/

Ghosts

Well, here I am consorting with ghosts again.
Am I projecting a future, spooky attachment to life
when I should sensibly have left this mortal coil?


The very thought of the static, repetitious scenario,
coming through the same door for eternity,
is not appealing.

I guess that's the point. Let go in life,

maybe it will be easier to close the door

permanently when the time comes.

Heaven Beckons!


Method to my madness...a request has been made
for me to show more of my poetry.
I have from time to time posted a snippet here,
a snippet there, from my book of poetry,
"Two Ghosts", which "came out" last year.
Aha!

Certainly, not all my poems are ethereally tilted.
There's a song, a dance,
some seltzer down your pants.



Here is an entire poem,
one of the Two Ghosts
I keep tossing around.
Maybe one of these days
I'll post the other Ghost!



from:

LADIES IN WAITING


She sits in a straight backed chair

slouching like Whistler's Mother.

Head to toe in black,

she looks out of the night window.


I wonder if she's the nurse.

In the ward there are no other children.

I call out,

"Can you bring me some water?"


She turns to me

and I can't find her face.




c2009 all rights reserved



Two Ghosts
poems
Lyn Rochelle

to order:

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I want to thank Marti at Cameleon Conundrum
who has posted her interview. Check her out!