20 Comments

Two poems that really strike home right now. It seems there is always change in the world that we wish would be different on one level, and on the other level, the change of season we are now in. Thanks for two poems to mull over these ideas with!

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Changes we long for, changes that dismay us, changes we think should be changing some other way ... it's a lot to come to terms with. I hope the poems help with that, Rose -- thank you for reading them.

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Oh my oh my! How your poem describes Oregon!

“a season of night-long rain

..endless from sundown to dawn “

Absolutely loved “The Light When…”!

“Just a drop of indigo darkness “

“shadowed clarity-earth and sun”

“every changing moment, how color and

darkness mix and hold each other”

Loved viewing the changing seasons through YOUR lens!

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Right now it's raining here in my fair city! None of that bright-dark autumn light today, just silver light through the clouds, like it is in any season when it rains.

Thank you for being such a loving reader and observer, Looocinda!

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This would be a good time, is one of my favorites that I’ve read that you’ve authored. Very lovely. This line made me pause.

for arid frosts to melt and dream of mercy

Poetry is alive. No wonder it morphs, even for the poet!

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Thank you, Brian.

So grateful we get to share in the life of poems!

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'that single unseen indigo drop, to change daylight into a reminder

that night is coming...' A gorgeous description! The vision of mortality seems so clear--and exquisite--as I'm reading, but I know you're right that it's very possible to write those extra dimensions into a poem without even realizing it.

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Thank you for your open-eyed, open-hearted reading!

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my mom used to talk about the magic hour of light both in the morning and evening- that little drop of indigo. How cool is that.

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So cool! I'm glad to know your mom saw it too.

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Both of these poems speak to me about life in continuous motion. The absolute beauty and wonder of it all. The changing light glimpsed by our ever-changing lens on life...and the beauty also in death. Gorgeous intuitive work.

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... and the cycles of the seasons (all sorts of seasons) that take us through the changing light into darkness and back into light again. Thank you for another generous, open-hearted reading, Ann.

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It doesn't seem odd to me that often the poem, or piece, knows more than the writer. I believe it may be working through us rather than us writing the thing. I'm rereading Big Magic which is confirming my thoughts on this. It's as if the first time you wrote the poem you were ready/notready. It needed to be written but you didn't need the deeper meaning...until you did.

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We know more than we know that we know ... and, often, the Source that feeds our writing knows 'way more than that. I believe it too, Donna. Thanks for reading so thoughtfully.

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So good, thanks for sharing! You are definitely not the first person in history to have spoken more truth than you were aware of at the time you spoke it :) And it’s lovely!

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Thanks so much for reading and re-stacking, Sydney.

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What is poetry if not a lovelier way to face a difficult reality? These both speak volumes, subtly.

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One of the many generous things a poem does, putting words to hard things!

I'm glad these two spoke to you, Kim. Thank you for reading.

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Thank you 🙏🏻

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Welcome, Shari! Thanks for reading.

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