tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50117878463468934832024-03-13T10:00:23.076-07:00Margaret's WritingsMargarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-86438520248890427542010-04-27T18:44:00.000-07:002010-05-28T09:36:58.855-07:00Masala<div align="center">The masala to her lavender
<br />Natural and smoky,
<br />Lavender, the ghost seeing herb,
<br />Sweet and innocent that
<br />has seen turmoil and yet is contented.
<br />Masala weighted with Indian sauces.
<br />
<br />Red and brown to the
<br />light and death of lavender.
<br />Masala of orange marigolds and burning wood
<br />Lavender that mingles,
<br />masala that lurks under the other flavors
<br />while she laughs,he smiles
<br />sideways; the most of his mirth
<br />she has ever witnessed.
<br />
<br />Masala and lavender on the blue bedspread,
<br />extended on the floor.
<br />Together, they are the gold cloth
<br />in the Ganges. The laugh and the smile,
<br />The sweet death after the rich life.
<br />Rich as masala.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-62240267715197346042010-03-09T04:59:00.000-08:002010-03-10T07:56:21.779-08:00The BirchesThe quiet lull of winter<br /> Demure grays, muted blues and greens<br /> The skeletal trees naked<br /> without their summer vestments<br /> stand stoic on the side of the mountain<br /><br /> But the birches have a desperate,<br /> misplaced hope in the dead. <br /> Their leaves hold fast through<br /> snow and wind and frigid<br /> air. They dangle lifelessly,<br /> and are full of cracking veins <br /> dry without warmth and water.<br /><br /> The creaking echoes throughout the woods when <br /> the wind frisks by, a sound of winter. But the birch<br /> rattle its teeth and illuminates porcelain bark<br /> like the eyes of a skull, guarding the way into the ancient earth.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-84110344037774153062010-03-08T17:39:00.000-08:002010-03-09T05:03:59.483-08:00The Defined LineEverything else besides this <br /> is blurred. The line that <br /> separates something from <br /> more is smudged;not defined. <br /> Smoke that drifts...<br /> <br /> Between the smallest, an<br /> electron, or smaller, there<br /> is a line, and then there <br /> is nothing. <br /> <br /> Add a particle of the tiniest<br /> object to a void, and it is<br /> no longer a void. The physics <br /> have changed, and there are forces<br /> at play that turn the universe.<br /> But add the biggest to infinity, and<br /> nothing shifts at all.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-5608681488367115092010-01-31T11:28:00.000-08:002010-01-31T11:29:13.398-08:00WoodsWhat wonderful city or<br />Strip of fence could ever<br />Measure even with the<br />Power and energy behind<br /> That scraggly bark? What concrete stretch<br />Through Park crawl can<br /> Compare to the slender<br />Tendrils that frame the sky <br />And ultimate jigsaw? And!<br /> What person as profound<br /> And withstanding can a <br />Wood or stand of trees<br />Be? Dappled light is<br />Sifted through the <br />Branches and poured<br />Upon the leaves as <br />Fallen angels lie under<br />And sleep in death<br />And watch their friends<br />Beautiful and clinging.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-90291599307116337142010-01-02T12:23:00.000-08:002010-02-01T06:25:07.088-08:00Wavelength, Existence, and LoveThe simplest lies under the complicated,<br />Andy Goldsworthy to Feinman,<br />It is everywhere, hidden.<br />The waves, the gentle sloping of a sine curve,<br />Throbbing with knowledge and potent desire,<br />The energy to get things done. <br />It’s in the light, the sound.<br />How we see, how we listen,<br />And how we can be assured of our own existence,<br />in the mirror and at the forum. (you have to hold your hand up to see that it is there)<br />The simplest sign, forming the most complicated relationships (I love you for your voice, your eyes, and the shadows under your brow. )<br />I love how the light finds you.<br />The sine curve lies under the entwined.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-35189854437807061762010-01-02T11:54:00.000-08:002010-01-02T11:57:15.294-08:00Old BoatsOut upon the fields of water<br /><div align="center"> beyond the seas of grass,</div><div align="center">the dried - out husks of once</div><div align="center">fine boats bob with every speedy</div><div align="center">p</div><div align="center">a</div><div align="center">s</div><div align="center">s</div><div align="center">.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Their wakes have long since sunk</div><div align="center">beneath gleaming skin, </div><div align="center">Cormorants rest on the rusted</div><div align="center">hulls and watch the teeming</div><div align="center">c</div><div align="center">h</div><div align="center">a</div><div align="center">n</div><div align="center">n</div><div align="center">e</div><div align="center">l</div><div align="center">.</div>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-42166620377010595832009-10-18T18:29:00.000-07:002009-10-18T18:33:04.146-07:00Looking Up...Delicate clouds hang,<br /><br />Suspended animation,<br /><br />Shadows on concreteMargarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-38932851208809204162009-07-31T20:12:00.000-07:002009-07-31T20:13:31.459-07:00I Cannot Write A PoemWhen I sit down to write a poem,<br />The words come tumbling down my pen and<br />Arrange themselves on the paper.<br />But not today.<br />When I step out my door,<br />Prejudices hit me with a force and<br />Attack my mind with animosity.<br />But not today.<br />When I sing a lullaby,<br />The floating wraith of sleep is driven away and<br />Advances on slumber as predator on prey.<br />But not today.<br />When I aim to love,<br />The emotion evades me and<br />Apathy assembles as I watch the world burn.<br />But not today.<br /><br /><br /><br /> <span style="color:#3333ff;">I am not sure I like this poem..... any improvement thoughts?</span>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-24715525177814848912009-05-15T08:49:00.000-07:002009-11-26T15:55:39.089-08:00Song of Day and Night<div align="center">O'er the lip of hollow's hill,<br /><br />The moon pulling up sun by a spider's web,<br /><br />Hefting day over her shoulder,<br /><br />She sinks under the horizon,<br /><br />Entangling the stars in her black hair,<br /><br />Slipping into the realm of stars and white luminosity<br /><br />Giving up the world to sun's heat. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><em><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#009900;">Does anyone have any suggestions on how to make this poem better?</span></em>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-76649302506072186782008-08-08T10:38:00.000-07:002009-12-17T16:34:15.348-08:00The PuppeteerWind blows the year around<br /><br />in a circle.<br /><br />Wind catches us moving too fast<br /><br />and pulls us back,<br /><br />Moving cautious, urges forward.<br /><br />Breeze in Spring and Summer,<br /><br />Force for the falling and the slow rising.<br /><br />Wind chasing its tail,<br /><br />Ruffling the leaves as a mother to a small child with a new discovery held in the hand.<br /><br />Dancing of the shadows as the puppeteer flits on<br /><br />to another tree, to a different audience, or to none at all.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-82983899070540428882008-03-21T08:51:00.000-07:002008-03-21T11:05:02.072-07:00An Ode to Drying Laundry<div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">T-shirts hang by their tails,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Dyes blown by March wind, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Daffodils flit nearby, lending their aroma,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Clothes, chased by their shadows,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">With each waft detergent slips away,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Replaced,green grass, dogwood,</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Laundry at night, moon infusing,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Shadows hang, almost dry,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Dawn- folded and baskested,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Closed drwaers or draped onto bodies,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Fated to be washed again,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">And hung out to dry in the daffodil breeze</span>.</div>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-22759991169365635132007-11-14T14:16:00.000-08:002007-11-14T14:41:17.549-08:00Ode to a Blank CanvasLittle grid ridges, waiting for <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fictional</span> memories of painter,<br />Winged desire realized, blunt accusation thrust,<br />"Click" paintbrush<br /> lowered<br />Flecks of light shimmer, stranded on dewy skin,<br />Blank, free to write upon the memory space<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Rickety</span> stool, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">extension</span> of self,<br />Paintbrush<br />Slide over canvas, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">mandarin</span> orange , flower,<br />Heart<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Lonely</span> organ, empty , sad truth,<br />All gone<br />only<br />blank<br />s c e n eMargarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-21958347968194726152007-11-13T09:30:00.000-08:002007-11-13T09:53:08.074-08:00Beckoning The RainBow to the fair West, Water will come,<br />Do you hear wind a blowing?<br />Air has heard,<br />Do you feel ground opening?<br />Earth is prepared,<br />Do you feel the cold?<br />Fire has subsided,<br />Water is coming,<br /><br />Others wait in silence,<br />Energy full of pleas and blessings fly from groups,<br />Water is coming,<br />Those who listen hear a rumble,<br />Their hair and robes plaster to moist skin<br /><br />Water has come, and some wish it to stop,<br />But not those that know Earth,<br />For roots rejoice,<br /><br />We hear themMargarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-84335440657978242272007-11-09T14:22:00.000-08:002007-11-09T14:59:00.464-08:00Salt Flat Sally<div align="center"> Sally forth onto refracted light,</div><div align="center">Waiting, watching,</div><div align="center">hunting for treasure,</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Fins in front of us,</div><div align="center">Move closer, pale mass under boat,</div><div align="center">Dolphins come to play,</div><div align="center">Mama and I go over the gate, </div><div align="center">over the "No Go Past" sign and onto the free hull,</div><div align="center">Kin to mast head</div><div align="center">dolphins surround the boat,</div><div align="center"> Hand in water,</div><div align="center">She is petting a glossy skinned body</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">The dolphins like her, they are waving ,talking to us, chirping</div><div align="center">Then, a little dolphin launches away from water,</div><div align="center">Framed aganist the sun,</div><div align="center">Kind faces drift away, and we sally on,</div><div align="center">Following fins. </div>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-34687673843356628372007-11-08T07:17:00.000-08:002007-11-08T07:33:55.372-08:00Heavens' View<div align="center">White fence and calico cat, black pen on parchment,</div><div align="center">Swing set rocking, cement, no time,</div><div align="center">Leaves lift and tumble,</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Brusque foliage, red orange on green needles,</div><div align="center">Auction off emotion, buy back hollow compliments</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Land divided into units of measure,</div><div align="center">The sky belongs to none,</div><div align="center">Birds are free until they land,</div><div align="center">Freedom, not something, but the lack of something,</div><div align="center">No constraints</div>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011787846346893483.post-64216687134296261752007-11-06T14:53:00.000-08:002007-11-06T15:48:08.350-08:00The Vestments of Fall<div align="center">Sweaters in the morning, less in afternoon,</div><div align="center">Frosty start , blazing middle, chilly old end</div><div align="center">The leaves once so fertile, now begin to fall,</div><div align="center">Dead souls roam the map, visiting nostalgia,</div><div align="center">Cornucopia spills, lives mix, a pie batter, amongst the waxy apples </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Animals scrounge for food and a burrow, </div><div align="center">For they know that winter comes, </div><div align="center">We, those that heat from the luminescent glow of plastic,</div><div align="center">We do not feel as they feel,</div><div align="center">The Earth breathes, and some sense,</div><div align="center">The leaves drift from their once so high homes, and some watch</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Take delight in the color, the depth,</div><div align="center">Smooth the succulent squash, and taste its yellow</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09664329607857209448noreply@blogger.com2