Watermark

What Does Love Want?

Jays
are back
blue & flashy & loud
arguing
with ravens
all around town.

The beach
is littered with glass
sharp-edged
stones, broken
crockery
shells, rain
from a slate
sky.

Today I nearly swallowed
a lady bug.
It was harsh
& pungent
a bitter
taste on my tongue.

I walked
to the end
of the road, dogs
geese
the sea
a garden of huge cabbages, gulls
crying
on the water.

I came home wet and steaming.

Naming

Jenni asks:

1. Where did you get your blog's name from?
2. How is it representative of your life, personality, or writing?
3. If you had to change the name of your bog, what would be an alternative title?

And I say:

1. I was thinking about writing on water, the impermanence, the ephemeral quality of all writing.

   I saw the mineral line on a crystal water glass; all that was left of the water that once filled it.

   I thought of the high-water line on a coastal cliff, or the tide line on a sandy beach (that line my dog would not cross; though she loved the beach, she hated wet feet.)

   I thought of my tiny garden pond, the goldfish, and the verb to ponder.

2. All of the above.


3. This is difficult. Pool, perhaps?

A Special Thanks . . .

. . .  to the commenters this week. I have especially needed the encouragement lately.

Christo

      

First one must find a concept
large enough to contain the entire
city: Saffron, perhaps, or Gate.
The horse pulls its head into
its neck, making its body an
S below the gibbous moon.
Cover the river in grey silk. Let
the building reinvent itself
in soft satin curves. Owls
resent this impersonation
of their essence, feathers
cloaking coldness and no
blood. Let mice run beneath
the strutted floors, the gilded
ceilings arched like stars over
nothing. Nothing in this sky
is identified, so let it be
that.

R.F.O.A.C.

This is a Reasonable Facsimile Of A Cat -- it's in the rules, really, check it out (rule #3.)  Actually, I could do lots of these, and I might, if the real cats keep hiding from the camera. If you must have real ones, though, Hanan sends this one.

We also have this Bulletin: a flaw has been identified in a piece of cutting-edge feline technology. And, from my Friday Cat Blogging mentor, a link to A Mapping of the CAT BRAIN.

Here is a beautiful RFOAC. And lots of real ones (via Look At This.) And lots more. Finally, Your Random Cat Name, via The Generator Blog.

This week's Carnival of the Cats; Carnival of the Dogs; Friday Ark. Have a pettable weekend.

Snapshot 23 February 02005

Crows dig in the cottonwoods
while tall millet still stands
on the river bank. Everything
hurts. Dreams have hooks,
they pull me, though the sun
is high and shines on this page.

When we turn back and I see
my house at the end of this long
block, it seems far. The neighbors’
house is roofed and shingled; workers
move inside. Someone tells me I write
about coyotes and sighs. I know one

well, and I know the other is not
to be trusted. Two squirrels share
the seed I scattered for birds. Rose
cane shadows stripe the wings
of the bronze eagle. Shall we cross
this water by bridge, or by boat?

A Matter of Meaning

K. and I were discussing religion and philosophy, when one of us mentioned the aphorism:  The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Luckily, we listen to one another, and so discovered that we had completely different understandings of what this means.

K. grew up under this, much disliked, adage that intentions are insufficient; one must act for the good intention to be meaningful. But I was taught that even well- intentioned actions can have evil consequences (as so powerfully depicted in The Sparrow.)

And so now it becomes a reminder of how easily we can, unknowing, talk past each other.

Tuesday Morning

If in our daily lives we can smile, if we can be peaceful and happy, not only we, but everyone will profit from it. If we really know how to live, what better way to start the day than with a smile? Our smile affirms our awareness and determination to live in peace and joy. The source of a true smile is an awakened mind.  Thich Nhat Hanh, Peace Is Every Step 

We take it as a given that the way emotions work is like this: We have a feeling and we may -- or may not -- express the emotion on our faces. But what this research suggests is that the process works in the opposite direction as well. Emotion can also start on the face. The face is not a secondary billboard for our feelings. It is a partner in the emotional process.   Malcolm Gladwell, Blink

Listening

I forgot again. Here is an audio post of Listening, below.

Listening

The caravan winding narrow
canyons, animals stumbling
with the weight of this dream
cargo and you always, sky eyes
sea eyes, cold creek eyes, in this
dream who are you? I am saying

Yes. I am saying No. I am painting
this room the color of your eyes.
The furnace needs repair. A snake
is loose in the house. Outside
I am dancing with Artemis. I know
my warnings will be unheeded, we

are overloaded and I have so much
more than others. What can be left
behind? There are rules about what
a woman can wear and I break them,
defiantly. But also, this is all I have.
We have come so far. I am taken out

of the human world. Young and lean,
sky in your eyes, when you walk into
this dream, who are you?  Lust, longing,
lost forever, you swear to me, forever,
this kiss the universe, the whole of all
the love there is. This cold crescent

moon is gleaming like an upturned
palm in the western sky, everything
wrapped in a kind of glow. Does blood
know vessels; do muscles know bones?
Listen. There is a hum in the deep
woods, in the high desert.