This is gorgeous! Yes magic, mystery and wisdom do not live in a book, but in the wilds of life! I love "Remember the stars who gave their hearts to build your bones." And "It’s written in letters of spider silk and snowfall and the saffron pink of sunrise; every bumble bee’s impossibly gossamer wing pointing to the plain truth of the eternal."
This is so wonderful, January. "Remember the stars who gave their hearts to build your bones. Remember roots, and hold your hurt with tender hands." And the whole last stanza. All of it, really. Oh my. I might need to put this on my wall.
Thank you, Larry. 🥰 I hadn’t ever read Psalm 19 when I wrote this, but I like to imagine the psalmist and I were seeing something similar in the world…
Lovely poem and lovely book. I got mine today!!!! I went on an interview for a preschool position in our school district and if I get it you bet I will be bringing up your books!!
This is very nice, Katie. I love the vivid imagery. Your poem takes me on a journey with you on this early morning, and I love the last two words, "Compassion flowing."
So back in the 80’s I was a huge fan of Magic Johnson and the Los Angeles Lakers. We he announced he had HIV and abruptly retired in 1991, I was devastated and penned this the next day and sent to USA Today newspaper:
NIce work, Jimmy. I remember this annoucement so well. Magic's and the announcement by Tennis great Arthur Ashe that he also had HIV helped normalize the disease and continue to enhance our efforts to find effective treatments. On this day after learning of Bill Walton's death, I appreciate your poem very much.
ILLUMINATED LETTERS
The book of the world must be written in the language
of angels, I used to think: an alchemical text demanding
centuries of careful contemplation. I wanted the words,
wanted the wisdom, wanted to study those curlicued mysteries
and find the secret truth that would transmute my lead to gold.
Oh, beloved child.
It’s not your fault you didn’t know
how to read the leaves that fall at the foot
of the maple tree, or the ripples of a water
skipper on the surface of the creek.
You didn’t know the river stones told fortunes
or that the full moon is exactly what she seems:
a sphere of mirror suspended in night as a promise
that beyond even the longest dark, the light returns.
Oh, wounded heart.
When the forest fire strikes — and it will — remember
the seed that cannot crack and grow without this heat.
Remember the stars who gave their hearts to build your bones.
Remember roots, and hold your hurt with tender hands.
The book of the world can’t be fettered by ink.
It’s written in letters of spider silk and snowfall
and the saffron pink of sunrise;
every bumble bee’s impossibly gossamer wing
pointing to the plain truth of the eternal.
This is gorgeous! Yes magic, mystery and wisdom do not live in a book, but in the wilds of life! I love "Remember the stars who gave their hearts to build your bones." And "It’s written in letters of spider silk and snowfall and the saffron pink of sunrise; every bumble bee’s impossibly gossamer wing pointing to the plain truth of the eternal."
Thank you Julie. 🙏🏼 I would say they -also- live in books; they just don’t live -exclusively- in books. 😊
Agree!
This is so wonderful, January. "Remember the stars who gave their hearts to build your bones. Remember roots, and hold your hurt with tender hands." And the whole last stanza. All of it, really. Oh my. I might need to put this on my wall.
I’m honored, thank you. 💜🙏🏼 Magic is meant to be shared.
This is stunningly beautiful, January! It is truly magical!
Thank you, Larry. 🥰 I hadn’t ever read Psalm 19 when I wrote this, but I like to imagine the psalmist and I were seeing something similar in the world…
Excetional January
Absolutely gorgeous.
Magic
Mysterious
Alluring
Gorgeous
Inspiring
Creative
...
Magically
Acknowledging
Greatness and wonder
In everyday
circumstances
You stole the magic from me
You burned out the hope and wonder of it all
Threatened the sacred from me
Whispering “Hell waits for misbehaviors”
My questions were rebuked as lacking faith
Joy shamed for blasphemy
Curiosity silenced with phrases of
“Devil temptations” sprouting from your lips
Like weeds.
Is it really any wonder I was so lost for so long?
.
Is it really any wonder I am so angry?
.
I’m taking it back.
The hope and wonder and joy and questions and
Magic.
It’s mine
Not yours
It’s always been mine
This ability to foretell
By seeing patterns and making calculations
The words to call down the storm
Or ask the rain to cease.
The innate trust of the unseen forces
Is
Mine.
.
I am magic.
.
The thing about burning something to the ground
is this -
If you don’t remove the roots
It will come always come back.
"It's mine" - screaming a big ol' YES to this.
<3
We talked about something like this last lectio, about how church for some just creates the lines that we draw outside of. Nice words.
The bright star flares, disrupting
molecules of a planet's atmosphere
93 million miles away:
auroras dance and people are awed.
.
The roots of the trees stretch down
deep and connect to
networks of mycelium:
the forest communicates, a social network.
.
The bulb lies dormant, luckily escaping
hungry mouths all winter long.
The snow melts and the sun warms:
a flower springs forth.
.
Each beak, body, claw, and neck,
molded over time and luck
to adapt to its environment.
.
Each chance encounter and
new experience, bringing us
along the path of our lives.
.
It's all a matter of fact,
products of random chance,
cause and effect.
.
It's all magic.
"It's all magic," yes!
pfm..
Very nice, Sarah! It is all magic for sure!
Lovely poem and lovely book. I got mine today!!!! I went on an interview for a preschool position in our school district and if I get it you bet I will be bringing up your books!!
Good luck with the job search, Karri!
Oh, good luck! They'd be lucky to have you.
I cannot wait for this book to arrive in my mailbox! Thank you for giving your words to us so graciously, Kaitlin. Congratulations!
MAGIC
*Making A Gift Incarnate Clandestinely*
The way it's sold in our society,
you'd think it was simply
sleight of hand, or the casting
of a secret spell.
It's not.
It happens when we are...
astounded by
an unexpected arrival...
amazed by
the unimaginable...
awe-struck by
something heretofore unrecognized...
attentive to
the intricate details of creation
by which we are surrounded...
awakened to
what's probably been
in front of us for forever...
We don't so much make it,
or even find it.
It actually finds us.
When you’re found, today,
be sure you share it
with someone who needs
to be found, too.
"it actually finds us." yes it does!
I wrote this one a couple weeks ago, but it feels right for today:
I have touched magic,
felt its heart beat in my hand.
I've lifted its body from out of my own,
felt the weight of it.
I've dipped my toes into it and
felt the nibbles of life's hunger.
I've channeled it through my fingers,
felt it flow into thread, brush, and pen.
I've held my hand to my chest,
felt the thrum repeating:
alive, alive, alive.
.
I have witnessed magic,
watched it flit between branches.
I've been drawn toward its light,
watched it paint the world gold.
I've stopped in my tracks and
watched it run past into the woods.
I've seen it smiling wide,
watched it rest in creases beside eyes.
I've followed its dance with my gaze,
watched the movements repeating:
alive, alive, alive.
.
I have inhaled magic,
breathed in the day's bright beginning.
I've woken to it brewing,
breathed in the depths of its boldness.
I've scented it in salt air,
breathed in a bit of the sea.
I've caught it on the breeze,
breathed in its wild, changing nature.
I've welcomed and released,
breathed in and out repeating:
alive, alive, alive.
.
I have tasted magic,
savoured the flavours of love and home.
I've planted and watered and waited,
savoured the taste of my labour.
I've gone back for seconds,
savoured the nourishing of my self.
I've kept it on the tip of my tongue,
savoured its sweetness.
I've received its gentle kiss,
savoured the softness repeating:
alive, alive, alive.
.
I have heard magic,
listened as its laughter filled the room.
I've turned my ear and squinted,
listened for its gurgles and babbling.
I've swayed tired as it fussed,
listened as the cries became sighing.
I've waited with quiet yearning,
listened breathless to the first I love you's.
I've returned to its shores again and again,
listened to the rush and roar repeating:
alive, alive, alive.
alive, alive, alive, YES!
This is a magical poem, A.
Magic is all around us.
Spiraling, whirling and undulating.
Life’s elementals and components.
It’s the sparkle of twilight.
A mysterious dancing shadow.
The flickering glow of a candle.
Moonbeams falling on puddles.
.
Magic cannot be contained.
Nature’s untamed wildness is
neither invented, bought nor sold.
It’s the panther’s prowl.
A hawk’s screech from above.
The crying howl of a wolf.
Nature’s feral and uncivilized ways.
.
Magic is what happens
between you, me and everything.
Love’s kindness, care and compassion.
It’s the heart opening in amazement.
An enchanted devotion with paradox.
The sanctity of the liminal.
Enchantments of the numinous.
"Magic is what happens between you, me and everything" - love this, Julie.
*what happens between you, me, and everything*
Yes!!!
This is lovely, Julie. What sweet lines:
"Magic is what happens
between you, me and everything.
Love’s kindness, care and compassion.
It’s the heart opening in amazement."
I've always believed in magic.
Unicorns in the woods,
Fairies dancing on the windowsill.
I told my sister about Frost Fairies
Who paint our windowpanes when Jack Frost is too busy,
And she left them a letter,
Which I replied to with a letter of my own in a fancy font.
It never occurred to me that they weren't real,
Even though I wrote the letter.
The magic was in the story we wove.
So sweet that you wrote a letter.
This is so nice, Lisa. I agree with A., this ending line "the magic was in the story we wove," What a wonder!
I love this! "The magic was in the story we wove." YES!
wooden bridge, early morning
creek below, the fog adoring
not a peep that I can hear
save nosy dogs, new smells exploring
silver sparkle, drops of dew
daybreak lends a rosy hue
algae slips beneath my feet
as I pause to take in the view
magic visits in this place
draws my eyes to strands of lace
arachnae's thread, exquisitely spun
adorned in pearls, a gift of grace
around this Earth, humanity groaning
as if in labor, mothers moaning
a glimmer of hope to salve and prod
us to action, compassion flowing
This is very nice, Katie. I love the vivid imagery. Your poem takes me on a journey with you on this early morning, and I love the last two words, "Compassion flowing."
Nosy dogs..... ha.
PFM
The universal master response
to all queries, big and small,
i bumped into my favorite acronym on a submarine.
how every working thing works.
.
how every broken thing gets fixed.
.
how we got here.
.
how we're gonna get there.
.
three little letters,
best served with a wink
and an all-knowing grin.
.pure fuckin' magic.
Magic is when your heart breaks wide open
And you cannot even fathom
Ever feeling anything but the pain,
Let alone finding joy again.
And then one day,
You do.
This is beautiful, Janine!
So back in the 80’s I was a huge fan of Magic Johnson and the Los Angeles Lakers. We he announced he had HIV and abruptly retired in 1991, I was devastated and penned this the next day and sent to USA Today newspaper:
~ Magic ~
His hoop days may be through
But his assist totals will still climb
And most fortunately for us
While he’s still in his prime
He will continue to deliver
But it won’t be on the hardwood
The game is more complex now
But the final results will be as good
His life as an NBA player is over
No more trophys, no more rings
The time has come to move on
To bigger & more important things
The benefactors of his greatness
Will no longer be Kareem & James
They’ll be millions of different souls
With just as many different names
God, he was a beautiful player
Oh how I will miss the baby-hook
And noone will ever duplicate
The patented no-look
But basketball’s devastating loss
Is society’s tremendous gain
Because he’ll be able to invoke hope
And equally adept at minimizing pain
The Lakers will never, ever be the same
And he’ll be greatly missed in the Forum
But just think how many more
Can now watch and learn to adore him
Some folks may find all of this
To be, Oh so tragic
But I s’pose those are the ones
That just need another dose… of Magic
I know this misses your point, but, Celtics - Lakers, it was always Celtics - Lakers growing up. Classic magic every time.
Yes and as a Lakers fan I despised all things Celtics. However, once I saw the Bird/Magic documentary my heart softened..
NIce work, Jimmy. I remember this annoucement so well. Magic's and the announcement by Tennis great Arthur Ashe that he also had HIV helped normalize the disease and continue to enhance our efforts to find effective treatments. On this day after learning of Bill Walton's death, I appreciate your poem very much.
Been reading dozens of tributes to Walton the past 24 hours and he literally lived the life we all should strive for. A walking glow stick..
That's a great description!
A Poem about the magic of bike riding.
Magic
^
Riding westward into the late afternoon sun,
eventide sky an impressionist’s dream,
swirling, whirling, twirling spring breeze
captures my heart every time.
It’s all pure magic.
^
The freedom of the wheels
rolling on winding roads;
the rush of adrenaline coasting downhill,
the joy of an open road surge,
the sweet sweat beads of an uphill crawl,
all shine like magic in my mind.
^
Five decades of rolling magic,
through all kinds of terrain and weather,
providing sanity, tranquility and peace.
The magic these days is mostly slow magic,
the miles taking their toll on body and bike,
but magic nonetheless.
^
Magic that transports me to another time and place,
that colors the remains of the day,
that upends my doubt and fear
for a time.
^
May this sweet magic roll me into the next act,
the stage scenes backlit and right at the edge,
each mile a summer song,
a painted poem,
a prayer in motion.
Bless this magic,
this sweet day-dream,
this gift of another ride
into the magic.
pfm.
Congrats on the book!!! I will be ordering it for my local library!