Category Archives: ANN ARBOR

From the Pacific to the Great Lakes


jeannes little books 126

Serendipity finds the touch ancient familiar

Even in the not having made skin to skin

The familiar holds the magi’s stone vibrating

A long ago gives call to natures rising touch

 

There is no matter in how it goes or doesn’t

Way past that portal in the Awakening soul

There is a beyond yet seen by this mortal

For Earth’s call to life holds that mystery

 

And in the still of wondering of your vast Pacific

The shore that tides your here and now

The fresh lakes wrap around my mitten

Where the seasons beach upon my shores

 

Maybe touch will find us in the winter of our years

Or hold us up to the Light’s fantastic radiance

In the meet again of what we have always known

Holy is the wholeness or our wander here

 

Destiny lurks between our shores

 

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make way for what thrills your soul


 

DEASE LAKE FULL MOON

Make way for what thrills your soul

Cradling the chaos and fear like

a mother who loves her child

pouring out the love and light

when darkness makes way to threat

and the world collides her grief

in an ocean of extinction

 

Make way for what thrills your soul

when the fabric of life tears at the center

to bleed great loss and betrayal

puddling the sea at your feet

Treading the night looking for stars

in the great beyond that holds your light

waiting for you gather It All

 

Make way for what thrills your soul

for everything else is passing

and but a flash of yesterday

and not one true glimpse of tomorrow

Now holds the breath of you.

Inhale deep the air that we all breath

Be here now.

 

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Filed under ANN ARBOR, AUTUMN, BE HERE NOW, EARTH CHANGES, GRATITUDE, JOY, PEACE, SPIRITUAL

ON THE FOURTH DAY OF AUTUMN MYSELF SAID TO ME…


GLENA ARBOR 07 042

 

On the fourth day of Autumn myself said to meeeeeee

Feel the nippy chilly

Hear the squirrels a racing

Watch the leafies turning

Breathe the change a comin

Allow it All in and BEeeeee

 

Hope it doesn’t go too fast, Hope it stays awhile

Autumn with her dancing spice

Wears her colours in my favorite style

 

There’s something in the air that’s right

There’s something that flows in my blood

When Autumn finds her days and nights

Her harvest season brings quiet light

 

I think it’s the nippy chilly

the pound of squirrels across the roof

The brilliance of leaves that fall

My breath caught up in smoke

 

Hope it doesn’t go too fast, Hope it stays awhile

Autumn with her dancing spice

Wears her colours in my favorite style

 

 

 

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AUTUMN’S CALL


 

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A week has come and gone, with no feeling that time made such a quick departure from days tiding away into the sea of yesterdays.  There is no holding on to it, on this sand shore, turning to see the spice of red and gold, orange, and green, waving from the woods, calling from the beach into The Autumn of life.   With all that Sun pouring on the pulsing brilliance of a forest in Autumn’s seductive allure, Feeling the wave of it enfold in the breathy chill of this Season in the acceptance of it.  The call is loud and will not be ignored.  Thank the Goddess that I am becoming my favorite Season.

 

The days whip on by

Late Autumn is this body

Winter circles life

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BE HAIR NOW.. haiku


Hi ya everyone.

I have been off writing this novel I started in 2007.  I like it and it called to me back again.  Novels are crazy things to write.  Getting the story out, and not over editing the first time around, going back, and editing it, getting rid of the lil’ darlin’s that really need to not be there.  Write the darn thing over again.

eTC..etc. ETC.  It’s an intense process and I admire the millions that have done.

 

My heart is still that of a poets.  I have missed being here letting the poet muse have me in the morning and take me where she wishes.  It is my way of refreshing and feeling the spirit of the moment have me and let me roll some words out here in the Now.

 hair as milky way

Hair as Milky Way

Spiral above as below

Infinity calls

 

Infinity calls

A swirl of third eye knowing

In Oneness we are

 

In Oneness we are

Many Milky Ways unit

Be Hair NOW

 

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it’s every other days these days..


Setting sun on a Blue Moon rising

Setting sun on a Blue Moon rising

It’s every other day these days

when days blend into each other

in the other way the mind plays

out the way of the dance of age as it

weaves a little faster, a little faster

 

So, it’s every other day these days

in the get to it of the way some rituals

yawn and stretch out in this new say

of how it might go and then again not

of the way the bones creak and the neck

 

Finds it sag and the crow flies along

eyes that have seen decades of coral skies

and gasped at the Milky Way making

night caps in the cup filling and pouring out

in the hush of love and tears of sorrow

 

Of when we did the clever sash-shay

with youth a blush and wink laid out

on moist sheets tossed over the sprawl

of naked lust in hungry repeat of

never enough, in the never ending play

 

There is sweetness to the remember

with the every day occupied by the

sooth of age and the settle of wrinkles

that don’t iron out and the map of veins

surface to display the long winding journey

 

Eyes adjusting to the new light rising

and letting every other day be fine

Wise to the fact that perfect is imperfect

slowing down in the speeding up fits

the pleasure of aging wisdom

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Filed under AGING, ANN ARBOR, EYES WIDE OPEN, HEALTH AND WELLBEING, MEMORY, michigan, PEACE, SPIRITUAL, SUMMER

remembering what needed remembering


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The path home is so unlike the path through the trees

and ferns, the intense voice of green calling up

all and every bit of lush and bloom. Up and

out for Spring’s few weeks of rising in her

Northern exposure.

 

The last of the trillium bent down to give

her final breath to earth till her next year.

While the poppies make a field of orange

and purple heads up to seek the sun

in it’s path across the northern sky.

 

I made words to stories of childhood amidst

the quiet of this place of Clearing and creating.

Feeling the spaciousness beneath forest wild

with the dappled blue of sky and the floor of

hungry life rising green for the carpet

 

Childhood didn’t know this place.  I held her

hand as we walked the paths, sat together

in an arbor of green, inhaled the wonders

of how those days brought us to these days

We remembered what needed remembering.

 

 

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THE BLUE CANVAS


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I remember a lot and forget everything

Remember again and sieve through

the necessary.

Decades of gathering life in my cells

in my body, my brain, heaps of stories

real and made up.

What is made up becomes real and the

real, if painful, or edged with bizarre

can not be so.

And so it goes, in the roll of life’s gathering

in all the season’s, sunny and light

grim and gloomy

Held to this moment for how the blue sky

is canvas to the wild green of Spring

to the chirp and chatter of morning

The bitter hot of my favorite coffee

and the quiet surrender to morning

rising with me

I remember a lot and forget some

Remember again, and let it settle

breathing deep.

Letting go of what I remember

for the fresh smells that rise around me

on the blue canvas

 

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CAPPUCCINO OF LIFE


I read a newsletter on line by an artist Robert Genn.  http://clicks.robertgenn.com/studio-rituals.php  todays newsletter.  He has many offering to artists of many talents and today, he asked of our rituals as artists.  I actually, wrote him an email describing a bit of my morning ritual to get here and lay a poem down.

This is what I said… you can skip this if you want (go directly to poem below), or read it and share with me your ritual.

cappuccino

I do write every morning.  I shift the ritual around just a bit to stir me up, and not fall into a habit that becomes ridiculously boring, and obscenely predictable.

The demand of my pets to feed them wins, followed by making coffee.  I let the dog out. Some mornings with the door wide open, I yell out to the neighborhood, “I’m Alive”.  If I need to, I yell it out again with a little more fervor least I forgot.  I took the idea from Rabbi Joseph Gelberman, who did this every morning till his death at 98, in 2012.  Honestly, it makes me giggle every time I do it, and I wonder why I don’t do it everyday, and maybe through out the day.  

Then… I sit down to write.  I’m a poet, I blog my ‘free fall’ poem nearly every day. (blog is posted below).  I let the morning give me my prompt most of the time, sitting in the same chair, facing southeast, noticing the day rising, and what business is happening with nature and the neighbors.  I’m not nearly as nosey as this sounds.  Well, maybe a little, I am after all, an artist.  I may find inspiration in my dreams, or a conversation I had the day before.  I let what wants to be written rise up.

When nothing really rises up for me with a tap tap of words falling outta me, I resort to various other things to tickle me into some poetry.   I have a  little book which I write ‘found language’.  What that is (now I’m being really nosey) is, me listening in on conversations that are happening around me in public places, and ‘stealing’ someones sentence that I deem worthy of putting in my little journal.  I take that little sentence and work some inspiration around that into a poem, or two.

Lately, I have a woman that is in my creativity coaching class, (another thing I’m doing) send me one word in the morning via texting.  I very much liking this.  I was resistant to this texting thing. and now find that it is a great way to deliver a prompt to a client or receive one. 

I did steal a line from his letter, I will use it as my inspirational prompt today.  Thanks Bob…

“…spending a steady day trying to make the cup froth over.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A double ‘Cap’, short, 2%, not ‘too wet’

That’s how I like mine with the

seductive froth in that swirl of a

heart I imagine expanding mine.

I give a lick to this heart to feel

the expanse and let the heat

of the mix fill my mouth.

That expresso race to the

pump pump acceleration

pushing the git it going

pulse through my body.

 

I ready my day to get

the steady going rhythm

of filling and spilling

filling and spilling

what calls me to life

Froths me up in the

churn of Creation’s

call to the daily quest

of a grail found, full,

an ever flowing froth

of this groove I’m in

in the Cappuccino of life

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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WATERHILL, music to live by


ROOSSPIRIT kath Roos

ROOSSPIRIT
kath Roos

 

 

Water Hills flow in to the city of trees

We are a river of music on this Spring day breeze

We are the flood of joy in the dance

We are the Brook that babbles

We are the Fountain over flowing

We are Spring’s song made to fables

 

We are the Cherry on the cake

We Gott  all the music it takes

We are on the streets where you live.

We are the drummers, the flutes,

We are the  song, and the dance

and oooo how we sway, shimmy and prance

 

Water Hill comes in four hours it’s gone

Still in my body I feel the joy and the songs

In this city of trees where sweet waters flow

In this neighborhood of friends,

In this neighborhood we all flowed

An Ocean of pleasure on this sea did we rock and roll.

 

 

 

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