Cold Mountain Poem

Cold Mountain Poems
Han Shan

Sometimes from down below
I catch the flash of the stream's flow.
Sometimes I sit like a stone on the cliff.
My heart is like the orphan cloud,
with nothing to lean on,
so far, so far away,
what of the world's could sway it?

translated by J.P.Seaton

Sixty degrees and sunny today. It's pretty clear how the crocuses feel about the whole situation!

Magician's Dove on My Head

The Magician's Dove

I have one white domestic dove, Stella, saved from starvation, probably after being released at a wedding. Domestic doves can't fend for themselves in the wild. It's a much better idea to release white homing pigeons at weddings. . .Anyway, she had a companion dove who died. I went on line and found a dove for adoption at an SPCA who had just been surrendered by a magician! Picture is of the magician's dove I named Clara. She loves to hide in soft white fabrics and sings all night long. Secretly, she is teaching me real magic!

Rain, not snow

This winter has gone on for one hundred years. Fortunately, there are only three more days to spring. And today's downpour, though heavy, is NOT snow.

And here is a gorgeous poem by Anita Skeen to tide you over until spring does come.

What the Seed Knows

by Anita Skeen

winter plods on like a Russian novel, spring
hints, haiku

tight blouses unbutton, jackets unzip,
skin is not just skin

rich soil proliferates
in the heart, in the hand
that can never let go

rivers flow unseen, underground, unfettered
unfathomable

some dig down, some rise up
some survive

sleep is not dreamless:
how else the orange, the dogwood?
the phalanx of asparagus?

coddled in the pod,
all the seed needs:

darkness, more snug
than light

grit splits the rock, raises
a tiny fist, screams
the world into profusion
of petaled racket

to uncurl and unfurl
to unhusk from the crust

to inhale, exhale
turn toward what's bright.