moonwash

Found this in my notebook. Written over a year ago, I sort of remember the images that inspired it. The last line just sort of fit the picture in my mind's eye.

But there is more. The "reality" was from the story written and read by a friend. I love the power of language.
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.
.     winter treetops
.     point with long fingers
.     'cross the white field
.     moonwash
.     this lonely night
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Thanksgiving for Love

I awoke from a dream with gratitude. But I thought I had forgotten to post anything of this occasion, Thanksgiving Day -- because it already happened in the dream and I was thankful. But I forgot to relay it to those I love. Now I am grateful that the day has just begun. And a good day it is.

For Love

I am grateful for Love, and the Dream of Love

Thank you, Dream Master. I am filled with this love.

I love my family. You fill my heart completely.

Yet, there is still room. It grows.

I love my friends.

You keep me on my toes.

Life is rich in this journey with you.

It really never ends.

I am grateful for the comfort

and your counsel.

I love you and I thank you.

The mirror shines more clearly now.

I am grateful for this opportunity to get it right,

to recognize the Source of Love in everyone,

to love all as I love myself,

I love myself and try to live it.

To love right.

And left.

It is never wrong.

Even in confrontations

with those I thought opposed.

Mind only thinks--but does it know?

I am Soul and still learning.

In Love. In gratitude.

I thank you.
~

This Love (a re-post)

Thought not guided by mind.

Art. Poetry.

Spiritual function. Form. Expansion.

Interpretation of the non-material through the material.

Translation of truth.

Shifting consciousness.

Transcendence

~~~

This Love

The form

A woman I love

Have always loved

Even before I knew her

And still don’t know her

Eyes glance recalling

The secrets of my past

Journey in the valley

Of the stone bridge

Almost hidden

By her smile

Almost

Soft

Her hand

Gentle Supple

Just to touch her sleeve

Or mine hers

A thread

Hair brush

So fine

Many In array

At the cedar easel

Just through the window

Mona Lisa

Da Vinci

Her love

His

And mine

© 2011 Ardi Keim (6/4)

~~

First posted on 6/4/2011 as "Art and Primary Function"

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Dreamer

In a dream I was dreaming of a hero.

Awoke, I found me asleep,

So got up to find myself here. O!

There's a dog in each heard of sheep.

So if all characters in a dream are the dreamer, Am I the hero, the dog or a sheep??

Late Summer Light

Two weeks past – a glance from car window to prairie color.

Still I see it, and took this long to write.

late summer light (1)

stripes drawn rich from west
rust tints tan and red
grass bent seed heads
curly dock scepters moderating light
silver shone white from aspens in the draw
as if quaking to would-be cumulus
but not

heads of red clover
burnt chocolate brown
and crisp with insect wings
golden rod tilted till tomorrow’s
deeper shades of gray
shadowed in yesterdays hays
of dreams now spent

rasp-rough trunk of solo ash
in prairie sentry watch
sun-jaundiced leaf on elbowed branch
sensing rest in 4:30 fever
where every morning's due
aspires to starlit skies
then it falls

© 2012 Ardi Keim 9/6/12 (rev. 9/13/12)



late summer light  (2)

Love the late summer light
color and textures rich with insight.
People and plants stressed
and easy to see both sides of good days.
And better ways to show it.

Green in the valley
where river still runs. Slower now.
And cottonwood leaves 
turn yellow to tan.
Tree cover thin as mother's lace.

But it's cooler at night
when we rest in our dreams.
Sea breeze and gulls on the mast.
And hope for tomorrow's meaning.

© 2012 Ardi Keim 9/13/12



late summer light  (3)

Evening news. Talk radio. 
NPR. Press and tube.
To hear and read
the state of things Yahoo.
And yet to be 
and see . . .

Then today. Unplugged.
The heads of shadowed hue
in morning light.
A mourning dove.
Willow--where the fawn walks. 
Red blades on dying grass.
Sumac turning.
It's real.
With true color. 
And right.

© 2012 Ardi Keim 8/20/12 (rev. 9/23/12)

One With Sea

Recently, in our first cruise vacation this life, I was concerned about motion sickness because as a child I could not handle wild carnival rides.  But I was surprised. I actually enjoyed the motion of the ship, even when the seas were rough.  Like I had been there before -- in another ship on ancient seas.   Have any others had a similar experience?  

One With Sea

The sea.
.     The waves.
.          The ship.

I cling by soul,
by rig and rope.
I rise the swell to peak
and crash with pull and press
then fall to trough   
jack standard deep
and heave from bow to stern.

Roll and pitch   
to stress the deck,
its rack and roar,
creak in mast   
and timber truss support..
Salt-wind soaked,   
mainsail, mizzen
jib sheets full and taut
with tiller lashed to fast.    
This fleet
I ride a voyage   
high and trying.
See its triumphant end.
At sea as Soul I am in peace
and one with sea and wind.

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The Other Garden

A recurring dream has been of a garden that extends beyond the one in my back yard. I realized its spiritual significance one morning.

The Other Garden 

Don't forget the color patch 

Green and earth, rainbows match. 

Another garden harvest soon. 

Across the road and by the moon.

I till the loam and plant and weed 

To culture seeds of daytime dreams.

-ak 6/28/12

Magic in Light

Magic in Light 

Burst in air's light 

a thousand displays 

arranged to top my day 

sunlight fades on green

but beauty still holds 

in each magic flare

of my delight. 

Dandelions 

are my garden 

tonight.

Why Do I Love You?

THINK & feel -- How can I voice it? Poetry is an attempt at recording or relaying truth by sound in speech or writing. But words are really so inadequate. An attempt. Perhaps in two different voices.

THIS FEELING: PERCEPTION--A KNOWING light of eyes DIVINE NATURE IN ALL curl caught ray ABOUT LOVE AND ITS MANIFESTATION IN YOU. scent and smile WHY  DO I LOVE YOU? one syllable on your voice HOW TO EXPRESS IT--YOUR BEING a sigh IN PERSON . IN LOVE. even a tear IN RELATION TO OTHERS held on cheek HUMANNESS. HUMAN BEING then descending DOING. REALIZING. the side of your chin MAKING MISTAKES AND LEARNING to touch OVER TIME OR BEYOND your shoulder IN A FLASH -- ENLIGHTENMENT a hand INSPIRATION IS A VISITOR TO ALL uncovered CREATIVE EXPRESSION by cuff BY MATTER AND MOVEMENT every thread BY LIGHT AND SOUND and wrinkle IN HARMONY alert my being IN GRACE to love IN LOVE your love ETERNAL and mine.

ak ~ APRIL 2012
rev. addition may 11, 2011

Love This Season

some say
winter without snow cover is like life without love

for my zip code weather.com says 0 inches today, tonight and tomorrow
I miss it

snowed-in might be nice.
??
try me

but even this:

how often snow
soft and gentle? slow
before a storm's report
and nature's current need
a force to pull and push by gale
nor'eastern west and empty in its rage
then again to pace for down soft fall
to cover sins bruise bare still raw
and harsh before its start
a budding quick
to Spring

then it could be the passion of love
making snow by poetic invocation


---------------
I wrote and posted the above poem on Saturday. Tuesday morning we had 5 inches at our house. Not snowed-in, but grateful anyway. --a

Fall Leaves Smolder

Have you ever had a scent freeze the moment, yet take you by vignette to another time and place?

my photo, Eugene, Oregon













Fall Leaves Smolder

Didn't see the smoke
while passing
through its neighborhood --
the earth-locked scent
recalling an evening walk
in Ubon.
Families gather
sheltered in open air
char pot lit
returning to reclaim
this evenings peace.
The air is still heavy, but cooling
to rich brocade of character
extracted from the day's labor
in commerce and stride.
Anticipation of now
still seen in midday
bikes and taxi samlors racing
water buffalo soaks up to ears and horns and nose
in noonday sun
a whisk of smoke
and hemp fiber drying
noodles on wooden racks.
Savor kow paht gahp gai
lemongrass
cilantro
slow the time
but no less intense.
Thailand --
this evening's walk.

photo from makanaka.wordpress.com

In 1966 I was stationed in Thailand with the US Army Signal Corp. These are typical scenes of my time there. Close to the earth, rich in culture.  I remember the scent of burning vegetation.  The smoke of fall leaves burning brought me back 45 years.





photo from designeranimals.wikispaces.com
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Patch of Sky

What color pink-gold
was that patch of sky tonight
just after sunset?
Takes me back
to a childhood Christmastime
jigsaw puzzle--500 pieces.
Chimney white smoke
and pillows of tree-bough snow
four-pane yellow-lit window for grandma's pie
stone bridge and sleigh bells
that I can almost hear
and a patch of sky
through birch.

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Yesterdays Table

After Thanksgiving. Friends share and bless our day.
Thank you.

yesterdays table
blest by friend soul family
fine fare in feast
we share by voice
and hear each heart story song draw
patterns of love repeated
of love repeated
short and long
to polish the vessel
Soul precious
the metal in stone is gold
a choice
release or hold
fine memories rendered
thought lost
both sweet and not
can now take flight by suit
to distant lands

.

Thanksgiving

What is there but divine expression?
Comes any day. To any Soul.

Is Love.

And is in

The Turning


Treadmill cycles of rest and run
fits and starts, hope and exasperation
exhilaration -- trial in turning
till its weakness and strength
emerges opposed.
Exposed -- this Soul
longing to know
to grow
to learn the mystery
of its own being
in peace, in strife
in chaos and understanding
the unlimited possibility of truth
on both sides till the anointing
awareness of the Giver
is within each.
Divine expression of Love.

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Tale of a Tear

It started with the first words of a song at the memorial service for a friend's mother last night. The song was Highland Journey Home.

tale of a tear

this tear
released by the words of a song
and its journey across my face to my heart
on the path of love
remembered
slowly
high on the cheekbone of a child
nurtured in the age of joy
soft on the place of my own mother's kiss
sweet tickle
the corner of memory's smile
time collected and shared and held
more freely now to linger
little longer
on the chin of recognition
soul's loving light

.

With You

See. I close my eyes and you are there.
Touch. I hold your hand.
Hear. Your voice.
Speak your name.
We go. Aloft.
Soul flight.
The past. The future. Is now.
What love is this?
With you.
The journey of lives still calling.
These bodies in their biology.
Birthing and dying. Mating.
Surviving.
And mind in evolution of thought.
Was first the heart.
So many layers.
Waves on an ocean.
Lapping the sand.
Emotion.
And knowing your love.
See it. Hear it. Touch it. Feel it.
What is this love?
With you.
.

. a perspective on love .

Arbor Song in Light

September was lost in a wild ride of life's current state.  Hectic. Exciting. Challenge and reward. Ups and downs.  I realized today I didn't even post a single entry last month.  This morning, thinking of this beautiful season, some thoughts and feelings started to form.  First a title comes.

Arbor Song in Light

Days of change. Days of light and rain.
Movement and color.
And texture.
Thoughts rearranged.
Feeling of a new presence of being.
.   Well-being.
Predominant in the air, the light,
.   yet undefined by structures of mind.
Missed by most.
Yet, the simple,
.    the silent
. the slow  .  can hear it.
Hear it from the window
.   in the wind.
.  from the garden and pillow bed
. from the place of peace . and stress beyond belief.
Hear it from the heart and soul of toil's release.
The path, the way of walking
.   through the woods
. the way of calling to the trees.
As they stand through seasons.
of mankind's passion
living and dying
laughing and lying
love and war.
Moving only with the wind
and their last fall of returning.
Not death, but giving back
and keeping abundance collected
bestowed in blessing.
seed of kernel
meat of crossing
sap, the nectar
nursing soul.
And leaves.  In every color, but blue.
For sky is why and where the earth has ended
its grip severe.
Gravity is there, not here.
And the reason for trees to be
the bridge of crossing.
Both ways the wisdom flows.
Spring's rising of sap
October wisdom
Autumn's fall in color
and blessings only known
by the silent, the simple . and those who know to slow this pace of progress.
Hear it in the winter
in the summer.
Hear it in the night.
The song of calling
the arbor song of light.

Arbor Song in Light

First the title comes. Then I take the moment and the ambiance. And write.

photo by Ardi

Arbor Song in Light

A day of change
a day of light and rain
movement and color and texture
thoughts rearranged
to touch a new presence of being
predominant in the air
the light
yet undefined by
structures of mind
and missed by most
yet we can hear it
we of the simple
the silent
and slow
hear it from the window
the garden and pillow bed
from the place of peace
and stress beyond belief
hear it from the heart and soul
of release
from the path and way of walking
the way of calling to the trees
as they stand through seasons
of mankind's passions
living and dying
of love and war
moving only with the wind
and their last fall of giving
not death, but giving back
and keeping
abundance collected
by love
bestowed as blessing
seed of kernel
meat of crossing
sap--the nectar
nursing soul
and leaves in every color
but blue
for sky is why and where
the earth has ended its grip severe
gravity is there not here
and the reason
be trees the bridge of crossing
both ways the wisdom flows
Spring's rising
Summer abundant
Autumn's fall in color blessing
Winter wisdom
only known by the silent
the simple and those who slow
the pace of racing
hear it in seasons night
and the psalm of calling
hear it in the
arbor song of light
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Crow Glimpses

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Thought. Images. Glimpses.
Ebony in green.
What is worth the effort?
And always
a heart song lingers
this gray morning.
Crow calls to nowhere I know,
Yet hope is always
this love.
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Studio of Dreams

It was one of those dreams in which the reality shifts between what we know out here and a higher knowing.  Then there is the awakening process and its shifting awareness.  Often so much more than what we recognize as truth in our daily lives. Trying to retain it is a challenge.

Studio of Dreams

The setting is Love --
the forest, the temple.
The prairie knoll.  Quiet valley.
Is love.  In all its forms.
Ethereal and real.
Substance and color.
New now matures.
Still it is you.
So much to go -- this love
of Art and the Artist of Dreams
my Love.

As the medium.  The paint.  Clay.
A stroke.  I mold visions
of yours.  Dreams
are mine.
Memories
almost surreal.
Hands and cheek.
The back of your neck.
Strand of hair waves the light
to Eternity.