MJ blathers

dark poet who loves to laugh


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frost

water now with color
bright, penetrating white
crystal on crystal
intertwing, regulated clinging
dictated by structure
complicated by individuality
resulting in skim of white
edging a puddle
shimmering the back side of a leaf
disguising chaos and contamination
sparkling a fresh vista
simulating fairyland
shifting us toward hope
but holding us tied to reality
recieving us with thrall, and chill

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wind telephone

[a Japanese man who lost family to the tsunami set a telephone booth in his garden. many use his ‘wind telephone’ to speak to loved ones lost]

I don’t know why I am living. I don’t know why I am the only one left.

I don’t know why I am living when all I have known and loved — all my family is swept away to sea. Why did I survive? Why am I the one to wake up each morning?

How do I promise you that even in my sadness, I am surviving — I think because it had fallen on me to continue the family, to find strength within me to carry on so that I can assure you we will be well; to let you know that you may rest now and let go of care for the family and find the loving peace your souls deserve.

Please hear me on the wind. Please know that our family will continue. Join the winds of Heaven, beloved ones. Let our family’s love sustain and keep you.

Ah, me! How can I do all this?
Oh, wind, whisper peace to me, I ask … I beg you


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gray the day

i had forgotten

cape lookout’s gray-wild beauty

rousting waves battering

leaping at glistening rugged cliffs

rain-bounty falls parenthesize

their white-foamed poundings

 

i stand at the edge of rounded stones

looking up through scant-needled

evergreen doilies at sky of pearl

heaving grizzled clouds

harbingers of oregon’s lush

green-wild beauty

 


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WINTERSONG

Writers in the Grove’s 2nd annual juried reading event will be held as part of Forest Grove United Methodist’s cultural series this year, Saturday morning, January 21, 10:30 to about noon. Family friendly and free. Some fantastic work to be read. Books by local authors for sale, plus CD’s by a magical flutist. Welcome! ¬†17th and Cedar


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starstuff and dust

snow flake, gentle drifting

large enough with accumulated experience

to know how to fall

with grace and awareness

of what surrounds us

if not of what we can do

if only with hope that what i can be –

unique, myself, unduplicated –

that mote or particle unlike any other

yet somehow akin –

how this individual can grow, can add, build

quietly give in a world of screamers of ‘me!’

to a culture of ‘take, before you get taken!’

how softly this bit of starstuff and dust

can reach to help, to learn

perhaps only to realize – finally – how gracefully

to fall again to ashes and dust

and thereby hearten a youth to see

death as part of life

and thus to live

in laughter and love