The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Wednesday, 27 January 2016
Guest poem (Vere Smyth)
What I particularly like about this poem is its appreciation in relation to timing: something I'm not so good at, myself.
Thank you, Vere, for the moments of stillness it brings, and the sense of deeper rhythms to which we're all attuned, whether or not we humans let them guide us.
A peacock butterfly
At the height of a hot summer chose
To take up on the wall of my bedroom
Just above the Popovici painting
(full of anguish about her homeland Romania)
And wait for the right moment
Month after month after my meditation I would look again at the butterfly
Just waiting, for the right moment
Then on the 23rd of December the right moment came
The sound of fluttering wings at the window
With a heavy heart I opened the window
Off with a purpose into the winter sky
And I watched as another individual
Dancing to a beat we all know but do not understand
Did what it must do
© Vere Smyth
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