As the Storm Begins

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

You know the storm is coming, it’s been in the news for days.

“A big one,” they say. “Blizzard!” But, there sits this little brown

bird, a winter wren, appropriate as that may be, atop a lovely

candelabra of crimson sumac berries. The first big flakes have

settled upon him. There’s something magical about that.

Something wonderful. You’ve been rushing about doing chores,

bringing in wood, filling buckets with water. He meditates.

What is it that you have not yet learned?

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

From "Wonderment: New and Selected Poems"

(A work in progress)

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Mockingbird in Winter

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

All winter, Mockingbird, in his steel-gray

suit, perches atop the tangled thicket of

multi-flora rose, swallowing bright red

rose hips and awaiting the next blessed moment,

brief as it may be, when the sun stirs

a drowsy insect awake and into a fine death.

It’s a rather odd thing to watch him in silence,

mine and his. We both have so much to

say, and hearts that have forgotten need translators.

I wonder about words pulled from the voice of

the world and words pulled from within.

Are they so different?

You give us the instruction:

“Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.”

I’m sitting with that, as the mockingbird sits not

far from my window pane, fluffed and

elegant, and fully aware that I am watching him.

And, maybe too, he knows that I am wondering.

It can be hard to speak without contempt for

this self-led world, but he does it all summer long.

And, I try my best.

What is it like to shake off shell fragments and

become the great celebrator of life?

~

I think the mockingbird needs another name.

And, I want to tell it to the world.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in "Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion"
Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

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The Pale Mists

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

We must have been two of those old poets of China. I remember

being in good company, sitting on a rough-cut bench, smoking 
long pipes through streaming grey beards, high in the 
cloud-cloaked mountains. They say that masters come in many 
forms. For us, I think that it was the pale mists. How they taught 
us to see what we couldn’t see. How they taught us to write 
about unspeakable things.

© 2016-2020/Jamie K. Reaser

Published in "Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion"

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So This is Fear

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

“So this is fear,” I say when the stand is taken.

“So this is fear,” I say when the next stand is taken.

Have you ever seen love take a stand?

Kneel. I have seen love kneel.  

© 2016-2020/Jamie K. Reaser

Published in "Conversations with Mary"

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