Here’s an example of a small step I took recently.

Green

Careless, for years I wandered past
but today I stop and stand
at the edge of the marsh and watch
reeds shake in the wake of the passage of birds.

How do they stand so steady? The reeds, I mean,
every season like this, again and again, green and alive,
a stage for the performance of ducks and dragonflies,
a curtain others can swim through
that parts and closes again, fades
in the fall to brown to rise again, open
in spring. It’s no big deal. A resurrection
no one bothered to write a book about.
No Hallelujahs here.

But every spring the birds know it,
and the insects and fish: there will be green.
And my part? What is there to do but stand,
shaken by the wind and give thanks for green.

Kate Braid
Kate Braid´s last post … Vancouver Readings – October 23, 2009

Leigh-Anne, it’s so delicious to read your poems, and to see the arc developing through them. Thank you.
Hiro Boga´s last post … Sunday Poem #7

By day I see your grace in another’s perfect movement.
Other heads echo dimly the golden glory of your hair.
Bright eyes seen briefly in the crowd are very beautiful,
And yet are shadows of the two that they recall to me.
And there a lovely skin brings memory to my finger tips.
So is the time between us filled with you
While I await the joy of our reunion.

My heart jumps at the light footfall,
The laughter floating on the air–
So nearly yours–enough to conquer sadness
At the closeness of its image to your beauty.
And so the time between us lessens and grows greater
As I await the ecstasy of recognition
When all the years and tears and loneliness
Vanish as a whisper and I reach out
And touch your hand again.

DVB
Douglas Buchanan´s last post … Emergency! S.O.S. If 2 + 2 = 4 You may be in Trouble

Quiet – you reveal the secrets
They spill out of the glass in your hand
The glass the world is held in
You turned it to the side
Tipped the balance

Quiet, you were waiting there
At the door, weren’t you
Waiting for the right moment
Hand on the latch
Like the hand tipping the glass
Waiting, waiting to ride through
With every ounce of the sea within
Pressed against it
The thunder in your ears
Didn’t bother you, did it?
Pounding rhythm of this
Swirling inner sea
You swimming forward
In translucent momentum

It was in the question that
You found the key –
The one, the million that are the same
You dared not to ask – out loud
Quiet – when the last of the waves
Finish their chaotic dance
What will be left?

~ la tyson