Entering: stepping off a plane, through a door, into a swimming pool. What happens when you pause at that moment of entering to notice it? This moment can be compared with the slight pause at the end of a gentle exhalation; the pause is part of the entire round of breath. So is the mini-moment of transition between then-now, here-there, past-present. Jessie Lendennie's poem "Anchorage" captures that moment.
Anchorage
And when you get off the plane
And the air is so icy
You can barely breathe
But so invigorating you're instantly high
Out of body with the purity of it all
And the streets
Wide like highways
Waiting for something to fill them
And you want to be part of this
Whatever it is that moves the light
That brings the snow
Daily Prompt: Choose a moment from your day. Even a seemingly mundane moment like stepping onto the stoop to retrieve the newspaper or entering a cafe for lunch is a moment full of possible noticing. Borrow Jessie's line, "And when you ...." and start your poem of the moment. Enjoy.
Note: Poem first published in Walking Here; used by permission of the poet
To think imaginatively, to engage the poetic mind, is to participate in the inherent human praxis of making--igniting and acting on the desire to create. Through words and images, artist, poet and teacher Susan Kelly-DeWitt joins across space, time and culture with 18th-century artist Komai Ki to celebrate the moment, which is every moment, the one(s) we mark by noticing. Thank you to Susan for permission to post her poem.
The Fortunate Islands
Here
each red maple leaf
five fingers begging alms
even the crescent moon
slicing a cloud
is a fortunate island
through which I draw
my prime meridian
my zero-line
In the ink-dark temple
the past seems far away
I can cross the wooden bridge
in either direction
(after "Maple Leaves at Mt. Takao, Kyoto" by Komai Ki, 1747-1797)
- Susan Kelly-DeWitt, from The Fortunate Islands
Daily Prompt: Stand still before something that interests you, a picture, a tree, a scene. Enter the moment. Then describe it, borrowing Susan's first word "here." Or, read Susan's poem aloud, perhaps to a tree wearing autumn foliage. Writing, reading, you're engaging your poetic mind either way. Enjoy.
