From This Moment On...

A month ago I stopped writing on my blogs. I just was no longer driven by my love of words and I needed the time to assess whether I even wanted to continue blogging. I’m not sure that I’m totally ready to begin again because nothing seems to draw me in to explore or discover like it use to, but I think I need to at least test the waters once more.

As I sit here this evening I’m listening to Radio Celt and the wonderful traditional tunes they share all the time online. Music has always been one of the real passions in my life. The notes from the strings, the pipes, as well as the heartfelt words the balladeers and instrumentalists are the only thing holding tight to my heart and mind at the moment.

You see, that is the extent of my life today…well, not quite because I am still a grandmother and mother and I’m spending quite a bit of time serving those little ones who need the ride to school or I’m there as the occasional babysitter, too. I have only a few moments to write and I am sad to say that I really don’t miss it as much as I thought I would.

Like many these days I find my heart is in the music and usually find myself working out daily difficulties through some fiddle tunes as well as the jigs and reels that flow to my ears and heart through my iPod Shuffle.

So, this is my long way of saying that I will be by my blogs to share a note or song from my heart, but it will not be as often as I use to because my life and its purpose is in flux and changing daily. I’m not yet sure where this new path will take so I hope you’ll bear with me.

Oh, and Go raibh maith agat as do chuid ama, (Thank you very much,) - for being a listener to my past written madnesses and also for the scribblings that are to come. I hope you’ll still be with me as we move forward and try to discover how this hand plays out, together.

Why Not Devour A Poem?

What is a poem? Is it lines in meter, or rhyming words? There are so many things a poem is - and isn't. Words can be wonderful prose, but in my opinion, without a soul of its own a poem simply isn't.

For me a poem can touch the heart or can give us thought for up to the next week! One such worker of words is Wilfred Owen. His poem DULCE ET DECORUM EST, (a Latin phrase from a poem by Homer) written during World War I is graphic and poetic at the same time. He experienced the gruesomeness of that war first hand as a soldier and died as the war ended. Though uncomfortable, it puts you right in that place that many soldiers live while at war.

But why get stuck there? The light poems also give images that can give me pause. One such poem is small and descriptive. Carl Sandberg was a Chicago native with a love of his city and of nature. My favorite poem of his is centered on a weather phenomenon that many of us see but seldom envision as an animal. His poem Fog fits the silence and mystery that a cloud seeping through any city is like a curious cat that sits watching, and then walks on to somewhere else.

Small or large, visionary or grisly these words we call poems can organize into huge thoughts of a few precise words that can take someone to another part of town, or to a totally different world. For me they often give a sense of escape or of getting to know someone new - but that's why I love to devour them!

Windows to the Soul...

A window looks out on the world.
It is the eye of a house -
The picture show that gives safe views
Of every ball game
played, and every dream
Hoped for yesterday, today, and tomorrow.