The Poet's Room

       The interrelatedness of all being can be seen in the bumble bees harvesting nectar from the blue asters. In the harvesting pollen sticks to the bee. The bee then flies to another blue aster where pollen rubs off onto that flower. That pollen fertilizes that flower so seed develops then matures to grow next years beautiful blue asters.     Nature is where I get into the moment, the eternal now. A meditation where the noise between my ears slows down frequently stops for a while. The video, "Take A Walk With Me!"   shares some of those moments.     Always curious we human critters investigate explore nearly everything. An observation at an abandoned farm led to the following poem!       The Ugly Fruit! On a September Saturday morning, At a former farm Now public access To the Sugar River, As two grandsons Get fishing tackle I walk over to The recently abandoned orchard Curious, why one tree Lacks those bright red apples That so tempted Adam and Eve; Instead I find A brow

Click for video:   Meditation  !        Truly not all that long ago, only native Americans lived in Wisconsin. Names of their villages  forgotten. The modern city built on the isthmus between Lake Mendota & Lake Monona we call Madison. The chain of Lakes fed by the Yahara River retains Native American legacy with the names; Mendota, Monona, Waubesa and Kegonsa. An expression of reverence Native Americans created large earthen mounds in the form of animal/spirits surrounding the lakes. For them the Great Spirit infused everything: All the four legs, two legs, wings of the air and plants rooted in ground. Inclusive in their habits of  thought and speech they frequently began prayers with the invocation to All My Relatives. The chain of Lakes in Madison fed by the Yahara River has one anomaly; Lake Wingra which lies to the west of Lake Monona.  Created by many springs that cool water gathers to form Lake Wingra then overflows eastward into Lake Monona. Native Americans who lived near

Sitting inside, I grow into my chair, Crossing the threshold, Outside, Along my every path, Wild flowers walk!  * September opens first with a cold snap followed by a long needed rain over several days; a steady soaking rain, at times so fine appearing as only mist on my glasses, at other times hard enough to encourage staying  under roof.  On Friday the heavens relent allow sunshine with a freshening breeze. Ground and vegetation remains thoroughly wet still I need a walk. Recalling that last year I’d discovered a local patch of nearby prairie I drive body and soul to nearby Anderson Farm County Park.  Being human is difficult. We have three aspects to our being: 1) body; 2) intellect; 3) spirit or soul. Some say four, but let’s keep it simple for now!  Our challenge to harmonize all three. Meditation can  facilitate that process.  In spiritual practice talking to the higher part of being is considered prayer.  Many terms exist to conceptualize this part. A few examples will suffice:

  This week while walking in my neighborhood I spotted a yard sign depicting a young black woman with an afro, with the message Black Lives Matter. Nearby stood a Little Free Library, a project done by a local girl scout troop. A page in the window explains these girl scouts created the Library “in response to our Nation’s issues with racism.” “This little Free Library is dedicated to providing you with books from diverse voices.” Thank You Neighbors!      I am Caucasian, of the white race, a definition  based on skin color. An obvious distinction only in comparison to other skin colors. Skin color associated with race, ranges from black to brown, to white to red with many subtle variations. In the United States before the European immigration the red skin peoples now referred to as Native American dominated the landscape. People have immigrated from all over the world to live and raise families here since that time.  Some came voluntarily, for opportunity and a better life. Many came

P erception stimulated the poem Wonderment last week while driving through southwestern Wisconsin. Fondly known as the Driftless Area, land missed by the last glacier, a rolling countryside of coulees with an abundance of spring fed trout streams. The drive led me toward …. here let the poem explain!  Wonderment! This body drives, Through Richland Center, Turns onto Highway 56 Towards Viroqua, The continual questing, Seen through  Windshield As black paved road Winds over Around hills, Past fields of corn Grown green, Forest covered steeps, Gravity carved valleys, Conducts Sparkling waters Toward Oceanic dreams; This beginners mind, Rides to crest another rise, Transcends the known, Rolls down silence Into profound being, Where wonder Resides At home. T he visual stimulated perception, aroused informed emotion to produce the word “Wonderment.” With that word plus associated feeling I wrote the first draft of the poem. How well does the poem convey my experience to the reader? Not be