The world lost Leon Russell eight years ago on November 13, 2016. He was and will always be the absolutely gorgeous Master of Space and Time. He is so very missed. I hope that our collective and continued love for Leon offers his family some small comfort as they remember his life. We will never forget him or his musical genius that still brings so much joy.
According to his mother, Leon Russell’s first words happened as a result of observing some birds…“What’s the matter little birdie, you cry?” She was shocked because Leon had never before spoken. For some reason, that sweet story touches my heart. Maybe it was a bluebird.
Credit to the photographer
This Mary Oliver poem about a bluebird seems to convey what I can’t figure out how to say.
What Gorgeous Thing
I do not know what gorgeous thing the bluebird keeps saying, his voice easing out of his throat, beak, body into the pink air of the early morning. I like it whatever it is. Sometimes it seems the only thing in the world that is without dark thoughts. Sometimes it seems the only thing in the world that is without questions that can’t and probably never will be answered, the only thing that is entirely content with the pink, then clear white morning and, gratefully, says so. — Mary Oliver
Bluebird by Leon Russell
*Featured photo credit to Enchanted Seashells of scrub jay
I heard a whisper Coming from the trees And, in that moment I was gone Gone away To return, to where I’d come from.
A little Poem by Athey Thompson Taken from A Little Pocket Book of Poems by Athey Thompson Photo credit to Enchanted Seashells of magical tree at Big Sur
Yesterday’s angst is over; problems solved — today is Friday the 13th, a day that was once considered unlucky until we learned that its negative image is rooted in the patriarchy suppressing the power of the female.
Rather than being afraid of Friday the 13th, especially since its ruled by Venus, we could instead manifest its magic as a day to connect to our beauty and nature.
For me, that’s always been the easiest route; my animal family is all about love. This IS home, along with art and a poem.
I shall Gather up All the lost souls That wander this earth All the ones that are alone All the ones that are broken All the ones that never really fitted in I shall gather them all up And together we shall find our home
“Gather up” A Poem written by Athey Thompson Taken from A Little Book Of Poetry Art by Elaine Bayley curated from Pinterest
“Whence October is upon us, There shall be magic in the air, why it shall be everywhere. All ye leaves shall fall as Autumn does call. And as the faery folk are now gathering up and foraging, tonight I shall be leaving them a wee offering. Why, I shall leave them a few freshly hand picked Bramble berries & a wee tipple of Whiskey, Oh why how merry they shall surely be.” –Athey Thompson
First I’m hot and then I’m freezing. I confess that I’m having a hard time locating the magic in October. Not yet.
Because I wasn’t very smart last year and didn’t get a pneumonia vaccination, I ended up really sick with the most horrible case of double (bi-lateral) pneumonia, so bad that but for the fact that I’m incredibly stubborn, I would have been hospitalized,
THIS time I got the vaccination, reluctantly, because I always endure side effects for about thirty-six hours: headache, chills, fever. Most people only experience a sore arm but my immune system likes to give me a more ambitious taste of reality.
That’s why I’m now wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, drinking ginger tea and binge-watching my new obsession, Blue Heelers, an Australian TV show from the 90s about the daily lives of Victorian police officers working at a police station in the fictional small town of Mount Thomas.
I think I’ve pretty much exhausted all the available British shows, so I had to search in a completely different hemisphere. Yes, it’s outdated with the gigantic brick-like cell phones, floppy disks, and scrunchies, but I’m learning a lot of new words like “mozzy” for mosquito, “esky” for Eskimo cooler, “slab” for six-pack of beer, “good on ya” and “you beauty“. I had to look up “it’s my shout, mate” to learn it means whoever said it will pay for the next round of drinks.
Previously my DIL and I loved A Place To Call Home, Rake, The Newsreader, The Doctor Blake Mysteries, and of course, Bluey.
I’m bracing for more vaccinations next week because it’s better to have a robustly active immune than the alternative. The first Covid vaccine sent me immediately to urgent care with an allergic reaction (read about that here) but the rest of them have been well tolerated except for the thirty-six hours of subsequent hell.
And, one day We shall look back and see It was always those little moments That mattered the most Those little fleeting moments Of innocence Of happiness Of laughter and dance.
A few years ago UC Berkeley hosted an Eco-Poetics Conference. My son was invited to participate and while there he was honored to meet the poet, Robert Hass.
Hass served as Poet Laureate of the United States from 1995 to 1997. He won the 2007 National Book Award and shared the 2008 Pulitzer Prize for the collection Time and Materials: Poems 1997-2005. In 2014 he was awarded the Wallace Stevens Award from the Academy of American Poets.
I love the way his mind works, it’s as simple as that.
From Hass: “This poem is called measure – I think it belongs to my learning as a young writer as to where I felt poems were coming from.”
Measure
Recurrences. Coppery light hesitates again in the small-leaved
Japanese plum. Summer and sunset, the peace of the writing desk
and the habitual peace of writing, these things form an order I only
belong to in the idleness of attention. Last light rims the blue mountain
and I almost glimpse what I was born to, not so much in the sunlight
or the plum tree as in the pulse that forms these lines.
FYI: Enjambment…From the French meaning “a striding over,” a poetic term for the continuation of a sentence or phrase from one line of poetry to the next. An enjambed line typically lacks punctuation at its line break, so the reader is carried smoothly and swiftly—without interruption—to the next line of the poem.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 