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space When a whale dies in the deepest of seas her fall is the song that angels us all. No longer buoyant with air from above, her bulk is down- ballast for great depths. Falling slow—weeks, sometimes months— sharks and crabs … Continue reading ͛... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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   ace   In the still place I seek truth is beauty but beauty isn’t poetry. It’s more. Sleek meters and curved sound, tapestries of tale, description’s torc of rolled gold: All of that just gets me up to the … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space My chapel by the sea is a conch fresh set on wet sand by the day’s first tide. I see it there from this dry chair so far inland, surrounded by nothing of the sea except the music of … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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 ace In the still place I seek truth is beauty but beauty isn’t poetry. It’s more. Sleek meters and curved sound, tapestries of tale, description’s torc of rolled gold: All of that just gets me up to the rough oak … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space I’m learning to write the way I always yearned to play piano. Not the upright in the family parlor that I banged on trying to read sheet music for a year.  Nor the spinet in a college rehearsal room when … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space On perfect days like this—after the coldest night of a short snap, temps rising gently into the 70s, wan and sunny, skies so blue and still and pure—I think of the day after the night my brother died now … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space The dream fish nudges the rushes of my sleep and breaks a silver bubble in my mind. Spends the rest of the night beholden to a depth so marrying I leave all breath behind. But then the wake fish nudges … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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    … to be wild and perfect for a moment … — Mary Oliver     Once, a girlfriend read “Peonies” by Mary Oliver to me over the phone, sharing the poem in our ritual last daily moment of loving while … Continue reading ͛... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space She came up from the sea of night to teach me her wet druidry. “Here is Womb,” she rasped through a larynx of gale, pointing to the sea inside her scales. “The water of birth and firstness, blue glitters … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  Spring in full rout here in my emptied town, full and warm and busting out to nothing. A car here or there and then just streets framing a desolation no longer the world’s as if some new balance had … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space Blue is not an image to indicate the sense of the holy. Blueness itself is the holy, in virtue of its gathering depth which shines forth only as it veils itself. — Martin Heidegger   On mornings like this … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com