Books by the old Leather Chair

  • Snow In The Summer
  • My Bible
  • The Power of Silence
  • What Comes Next and to Like It
  • Encore Provence
  • A Year in Provence

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Onward

Now that I am free to be myself, who am I?
Can't fly, can't run, and see how slowly I walk.
Well, I think I can read books,
   "What's that you're doing?"
the green headed fly shouts as it buzzes past,
I close the book.
Well, I can write down words, like these, softly,
"What's that your doing?" whispers the wind, pausing
in a heap just outside the window.

Give me a little time, I say back to it staring, silver face,.
It doesn't happen all of a sudden, you know.

"Doesn't it? says the wind, and breaks open, releasing
distillation of blue iris.

And my heart panics not to be as I long to be,
the empty, waiting, pure, speechless receptacle.

Blue Iris by Mary Oliver

A chilly day here by the woods
a chill that seems to penetrate my body.
reminding me that Winter is not far away.
Not much accomplished
mind blank a lot of the day.
In the afternoon I pick up my Mary Oliver books
poem after poem is underlined
and little papers sticking out of the pages
pointing to poems that speak to my heart.

As I read
this one is touched with sadness
seems I relate to much on these written pages.

I am not really sad
just not pleased
that I never arrived, never accomplished
and never understood
so much I have wanted in these last years
and I guess
I have expected too much of myself.

Peace and answers to some questions
just seemed to never arrive
guess I know the answer
really quite simple
but why do I continue to question
and not accept
because much in my life I did my way
and a lot I had no control over.

But so grateful for what has transpired over this lifetime
just seems
I longed for so much more,
probably more then most people
and realize I am different from most
maybe
thinking too deeply
even though I try to live in the moment.

So at this moment
I will stop typing
and go and pet Callie
she is always the same,
 always welcomes me,
and
expects so little.

On a lighter note
I brought in the hummingbird feeders
washed and put them away until next Spring.
Have not seen them for 5 days at this time
and frost due in the morning...

.


9 comments:

Chip Butter said...

Love the poem and the post...so well written and so very meaningful. "She is always the same, always welcomes me, and expects so little." Lessons to be learned here, for sure!

Balisha said...

You probably did expect too much of yourself. Remembering your son's words, "Lower your standards" Maybe these words apply to the way you lived your life. Sometimes we set such high standards that they are unattainable.....then frustration begins,
I am so thankful for you sharing what your son said to you about your gardens and woods. Every time I do more than I should....I think of his words and stop myself.
Have a nice evening...Balisha

Judy said...

I am stunned most of the time that I am where and how I am. I don't know how I got to this state of being. Looking back at my young and younger life, no one would have predicted that I would end up living in poverty. Some days, I would just like to lay back, go to sleep and not wake up. I cannot see much of a future for me. I must stay here though, I planted Tulips and Daffodils and I must stay and see them bloom in the spring.

FlowerLady Lorraine said...

Dear Ernestine ~ Your lovely post speaks to my heart.

I need to relax more and not stress about the way things are now. Things could be a lot worse. I have much to be thankful for.

Love and hugs to you ~ FlowerLady

One Woman's Journey - a journal being written from Woodhaven - her cottage in the woods. said...

ChipButter, Balisha, Judy and Lorraine, each of your comments so special to me.
Balisha, yes I think of my son's words almost daily as they make me smile and I try to obey. I am better then I use to be but in no way like I want to be :)
Not able to just sit like the old monks in the mountains in China
that I often read about...

Tabor said...

Your thoughts are much like mine at times. Our expectations do not meet our accomplished goals. As we get near the end we want more accomplished, we want our lives to account for great things. I try to accept I am just part of mankind moving through. I try not to look back with such a harsh eye.

One Woman's Journey - a journal being written from Woodhaven - her cottage in the woods. said...

Tabor, I agree, just late afternoon thoughts yesterday
as I read Mary Oliver poems.

Rebecca said...

I shall find me some Mary Oliver....
She wrote my life in Blue Orchids!

And your words have a bit of the universe in them, I think...or maybe it is just this stage of life?

One Woman's Journey - a journal being written from Woodhaven - her cottage in the woods. said...

Rebecca, thank you so much for
visiting and your words..