The rising sun hit the door of my pantry where I post pictures I want to
remember, enjoy, take in and hold.
The sun is golden, hot, so present in its greeting of this day. So, after a dry spell, I headed for the shelves
holding poetry books.
Because I wanted to stay in the golden hue of a born-ing day, I picked one book at random, simply opened it to a page, 192.
Here’s what I found:
” I can feel my ship about to come in.
A white ship in a snowstorm
moving in.
The ship is made of gulls
huddled together
in the shape of a ship,
When it arrives, they will fly out into the storm,
leaving a space inside it
clear as reason.
I can tell there’s going to be a blizzard
of being somewhere else
any minute
because of time’s noise eating itself up
that is the noise of listening
that looks like a seething, florid whiteout of wings.”
– JACK MYERS….and the poem was entitled Writing or not Writing. (thanks, Deborah, yougave me this anthology on my 90th birthday)
It’s already a good day.
always with love,
Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette