When I am alone
I clench tightly to the nothing
seeking
I Am
what I seek
have left
within, gnarled and knotted driftwood thoughts
Driftwood
Pine, the fear of being lost
The Ancient
splinter
I Am
All
I ever was
Alone.
–Elisabeth Connelley
i sit
looking out
of a window
fine rain drawing lines
down
down
from the sky
drips drop falling
from single sand-cherry leaves
plumb
also to the ground
one here
one there
does the rain decide
where to fall
does the drop choose
when to let go
does it consider
or does it simply do as it is meant
to do
and fall
is it directed beyond itself
by the flowing Tao
do i worry myself about lists and inventories and intent
do i fill my time with lists of pains
may i stop looking for what is wrong
and stop trying to make it right
and simply be
I wonder if it is too much to ask to simply notice the simply being
the drips singing
down
to the ground.
–elisabeth connelley
snow snow
snow snow……snow
snow snow
…s
…n
…o
…w
snow
listen to the scuffle of the shovel
the skitter crack scattering salt
sizzle melting
steam rising
after
from tea
–elisabeth connelley
noticing the rosy rim
a round thing
draws my eye
creamy whites and gray shaded stone
line
hefty thick-rimmed glass
comfortably cradling
remaining
precious and fertile
soil
of summer past
holding seeds
of basil
yet to come
–elisabeth connelley
waking to quiet
shiny
slick
not yet dried glazed doughnut thick coated
sidewalks and roads
slurping tea
taking breathing treatment
watching as if
waiting for
something
even the birds
hold
their breaths and tapping pecks
a crow scolds
an errant fat splatting drip drop of rain
daring to fall from a branch
then silence returns
–elisabeth connelley
Dirty Keys
Rosemary
Thyme
A Round Red Pot
Cobalt Blue glimpsing out from behind Ruffled Curtain
I follow my eyes, she said
Soft yellow lamp light, from an old right bulb
Pooling on Deep Orange Red and Almond Blossom
Fabric covered seat
Achievements
Showcased
In the corner
I follow my eyes, she said
Discarded Cane
Three styles of shoes
Steady now
Dried Red leaf long straight stem
Propped and top tipped over
At right angle to worn baseboard
Where it fell
–elisabeth connelley
Breaking with my own manner here. I wrote this poem listening to the music in the following video. I think, that for me, it’s part of the poem itself. I did NOT make the music. I only felt it. It felt me. Promoted an expression in the moment.
enclosed in your fist
i was safe
what if
i feel abused
and then you sigh
and you carefully open a space between two fingers
and i peer out
and i see
that I am being
held
up
close
in the light
of the sun
there is no ground beneath me
there is no where to run
there is not yet
any safe space
to be put down
–elisabeth connelley
I forgot somehow to run and to play around and around, up and then down laughing at you watching me as the flame rises and I float off in union. Maybe I can remember how. Please forgive me. I cannot forgive myself. At least…not yet.
bright sun
and one
degree above
zero
nothing
and yet
blue
fantasy and yellow
warming sun
slash softly
to make
undulating snow
respond
touch
is everything
–elisabeth connelley
today is wet
the gloom
it sticks to me
like nesting scents
of gathering
and herbs
comfort
comfortably
clinging
green of grass
newly orange leaves
cooling pavement
and rot
just beginning
the breeze
light contrast
the mind alert with
creative comfort
happy gathering
soup and song,
nestling precious
items worth feeling
bringing and
sharing back again
the dark center cones
upright
magnificent
yellow flares around
to show the way to ground
–elisabeth connelley
Purple Profundity 