Confession Tuesday - The simple and the complex edition

If you've come for the weekly confession, you're just in time. Come along...

Dear Reader,

It's been one week since my last confession and I have several things to confess this morning.

I confess that I remain in awe of the things in life that are simple and yet complex. A simple sunrise this morning (pictured here) greeted me. The layers of cloud cover with openings of sky soft pinks and orange and brilliant amber.

I confess that I am amazed that we (that I) can see with my own eyes things as spectacular as a sunrise like this. That these brown eyes of mine can take it all in and that somehow my mind processes all this and that I can in fact distinguish this as something of beauty.

I too confess that I am so impressed that we (people) can actually communicate such abstract things as beauty and hope and love and fear and desire and all these things that we take for granted as though they just happen and there is nothing complicated about the process of people coming to understand words that define such concepts.

Sure, I realize there are miraculous things that are happening every day in science.  But wow, you don't have to be looking through a microscope, a telescope, examining the contents of test tubes and petri dishes. There is awesomeness enough all around us if we just stop and take a deep breath and take it all in.

Magpie Tales 32

Time

A stingy creation of man
himself—

we are cursed
by its gritty currency
that will not be told
to sit still or held
but sifts through the fingers
and is lost in yesterday
and the days before
until reduced to memories
or specks of sand
one indistinguishable
moment from the other.


© 2010 Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales 32

Everything is Nearly Right With The World This Morning

The Giants are in first place!  Wahoo!

Poetry Books and Jelly Bellies

Tools of the trade at a poetry gathering.

Confession Tuesday

Tuesday again...  I'm off to the confessional... hurry along.

Dear Reader-

It's been a week since my last confession and I'm here before you with much to lay out on the table.

Last night Monday Night Football came to Kansas City. It's another sign that the baseball season is on the way out.  I've never been a big football fan. It's baseball that has my heart. A number of years ago I was into the 49ers Football when Montana was quarterback and before that Minnesota when Tarkington was QB but never have I felt about football the way I do baseball. I confess that I often get cranky about it encroaching on the last weeks of baseball.  And while I am feeling that way right this moment, my son texted me a few weeks ago and told me to keep the date open of the Chiefs-49ers game because he had tickets for us. Ok, I have to confess right here in front of the Gods  of the the ball diamond I'm excited about a 49ers game with my son.  I'm still thinking football has no business sharing the limelight with baseball as the season climaxes in the fall classic. I confess this leaves me feeling schizophrenic.

Tonight I attended a poetry group meeting of some friends. I was pretty taxed after work and a part of me just wanted to skip it but I confess it was nice reading poems and doing some writing from a prompt.
I shared a poem each by Marie Howe and Susan Rich. Also some of my own writing.

One of my writing friends named Pat has a book that has a page to read a day. She finds it especially uplifting and each day writes her own thoughts and observations in the margins, and these sometimes turn into poems. Do any of us write in margins she inquired? I confess to marginal writing on occasion.

Well, I'd like to confess to something that raised a few eyebrows  or started some gossip but alas, you just got all the juice for the week. Until next time, thanks for listening.

Love this quote

Ink on paper is as beautiful to me as flowers on the mountains; God composes, why shouldn't we? ~Terri Guillemets

Magpie Tales 31

I Saw


Framed within
weathered window panes
in the late afternoon
when shadows and light
toy with us—

filtered through a grotto
of trees reflected in glass;
I saw a veiled mother
awash in Kodachrome
as I imagined she might
appear to three children.

 
 
 
© 2010 Michael A. Wells
 
Magpie Tales 31