Author: Tim
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Yet Another Nest
Fountain pen, colored pencil, watercolor, on Arches 10 X 14 coldpress WC paper. I have an endless fascination with houses hidden in trees, crafted by flying creatures who have no hands. This is magic, all around us.
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Mary Oliver: “A poem should always have birds in it.”
“A poem should always have birds in it.” From her poem “Singapore”, from the collection “House Of Light” (1990).
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Today I Waltz This Pot
(Barbara, Christmas 2013) If you put all my joy over all our pots together, It would not touch how I feel about this cast-iron pot. Let all my joy from all our pots be plopped together and it slops around, with room, inside this iron pot. I never thought I’d find a black utensil packed…
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Daniel
We ate our people’s roots but no-one’s meat or wine, and hung our harps on willow wands unplayed by winds. I read our people’s book and found the number there of years we must be slaved. From sorrow we’d forgot to look. I turned toward the wall and would not play. I told Yahweh it…
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Maundy Drinking Songs
Fragments overheard before the police came. I jotted down what I could, then I hid in the cupboard. Chugging song Come now, sing now, happy tunes and drink, drink, drink — we’re in our youth. “Fool, fool, deliberate fool: can you drink the cup? Or will it drown you? Down, down, three times down, take…
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C.S. Lewis: “…what you see and hear…depends on what sort of person you are.”
“For what you see and hear depends a good deal on where you are standing: it also depends on what sort of person you are.” C.S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew
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Mary Oliver: “…with your one wild and precious life.”
“…I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I don’t know how to pay attention, how to fall down Into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, How to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, Which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should…
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Mary Oliver: “When it’s over…”
When it’s over I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,…
