Porch Swing Therapy

[dailymail.co.uk]

To rekindle hope,

to regain optimism,

come sit

on my porch swing

and listen

for five minutes

to the joyous

small songbirds

of the

season.

They are

singing

their hearts out,

because

the earth

has warmed

and turned,

and spring

has come again.

They live

in the now.

They are busily

building

their nests

as if there

will always

be a

safe branch

beneath them.

They are

laying

their eggs

as if

there will

always be

a tomorrow.

They remind us

that we

must save

this imploding planet

so they

- and we -

may continue to live,

continue to hear

the beautiful

songbirds

of spring.

The Birds of Winter

[image from stwilliams.net]

Raven's gobble-cry

calls from

the topmost tree~

hungry birds

of winter.

My Beautiful Bird of Birds

Well, here is a treat. I was poking through my papers, looking for a particular piece of writing, when I came across this poem my son Jeff wrote a few years back. Thought I would post it for your enjoyment.

My Beautiful Bird of Birds
by Jeff Siddhartha Crazy-Horse Marr, who is much alone, but dearly loved.

My Beautiful Bird of Birds across the sky
In what distant arbor rests your golden wings?
In what far field rings your precious pipe-notes?
I think the wind touches coldly your black hair
And weary for pillow is your gentle head
But why do you tread alone through forest darks?
What is the sunset to you if all alone?
Do your eyes scan the far horizons in vain
For an echo to your solitary heart?
I too take my lonely footsteps in the world
In my home I burn my lantern in the night
Look out! I'm looking out for you. Come to me!
Are you not seeking most a warm homecoming?
Then find upon my breast a sanctuary.

LOVER OF THE SKY

2002

I am a lover of the blue sky,
perfect clouds
like a dream sail by;
of a green walk in the wild wood;
of trees dripping on me
where I stood;
of mist rising up
where the river bends;
of the small sweet song
of a striped-headed wren.
I am a lover of the burning flame
lit for world peace
in hearts the same.
I am a lover of the morning sun,
already radiant
the day begun.
I am a lover of the whale, leaping,
of the blue, blue hills
in the sunset sleeping.
I am a lover
of the eagle's cry,
who sweeps and soars
without a Why.
I am a lover
of life alone,
of the heart's peace
when it's at home.
I am a lover
of my old dog's smile,
of his warm brown eyes,
of his lack of guile.
I am a lover of the warm spring rain,
of the smell of earth stirring
to life again.
I am a lover of the ocean's roar,
of the sandy beach
stretching all before.
I am a lover of rock and log,
of driftwood shapes
looming through the fog.
I am a lover of clouds, of stars,
of the falling dark,
of soft guitars,
of the meadowlark,
of the summer's breeze,
of days of struggle,
days of ease,
of heartfelt love
gone away too soon,
of goodbyes under
a slice of moon.
I am a lover
of fresh-cut grass,
of children's laughter,
of dogs I pass,
of babies all
innocence and rapture,
of the bent and aged
who tremble after,
of the falling leaves,
of a job well done,
and I am a lover
of beasts that run,
of water that moves
and creates its own way,
of the journey made
and the price I pay.
I am a lover
of brand new books,
those journeys that
I never took.
I am a lover of music that sings,
songs of the heart,
the hope it brings,
and the flight of poems
for a brand new dawn
that knows this life
is Moving On.
Like the heron, stalk-still
at the water's edge,
makes a sudden leap -
I am the same.
Poised to dive
from a tilting ledge,
the horizon lit
with a golden flame,
I'm waiting
to hear
Someone
call my name.

forest trails......

May 2001

Fresh, mint-green, new-leafed canopy
brown well-trodden path winding ahead,
birds singing lyrically, darting among the branches
and, at knee level, tiny bright blue butterflies bumble about
like beings with no eyes
among the pink-flowered
wild raspberry canes.