The Touch of Winter

A paintbrush of white dusts the landscape in crystal celebration of the season.

A paintbrush of white dusts the landscape in crystal celebration of the season.

The Touch of winter
A Crystal water caress of snow
The sunny silence of a cold winter day shines in a new coat
Icy wind crystallizes dreams of warmth
A dusting that covers the ice surface
A country skating rink marks a spot where the shore kisses a hill
Near a lake inlet which drains from frosted wetland
A wondrous place in natural flux of seasonal changes
A sacred place where giant granite boulders hold sway against manmade hand and the storms of nature
Mark the passing of glaciers past
The tick of a wall clocks seconds break the silence
The only reminder that this perfect land at waters’ edge has been touched by human
Dreams of ownership
Nothing but a single frozen vaporous breath or a seconds tick
In this lands grand timelessness
Yet winters icy grip cannot stop a heartfelt spirit or dissipate
The crystal dream of touching the infinite

A winter blanket

A winter blanket

Winter blanket makes an XTerra a snow cave

Winter blanket makes an XTerra a snow cave

Frigid Footprints Etched in Time

Frigid Footprints Etched in Time

Time to reflect find meaning

Ready and gather strength for future seasons

Time to live in a present moment built on the past

To find bliss each day in just being

In feeling hoping loving

In gently holding to patience and faith

Touching natures surround unbound

Time is infinite change in an expanding universe

Like the lake surface blanketed in snow from transient storm

Change in flakes and crystals of water mixing moving gathering

Little twisters of white move in gusty gestations

Infinite equations of changing destination and motion

Eyes watery and face worn with lines of season old and the days cold

Manmade mirror of glass in shore side ice rink

Altered the blanket by pulling it back for gliding space

Tuck in the edges to border and shape

Sore eyes gaze in wonder from weathered countenance

Great spirit of nature and all uses a whisk brush of gust

A vehicle of wind and a wispy medium of snow

To draw-paint a picture in the tenor of the season and flux of time

Transposing a lake shore rink into an ever changing etch a sketch image of life

Shaken by wintry blast infinite design is cast

Late Fall Boat Ride

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DSCN1410Oct Nov 2012 330Boat Ride on a Sunny Windy Sunday

Fall is changing
Winds have pushed and pulled against it
Side currents and cutting winds buffit
as I cut the engine
Drift to the wind’s whine and whim
Beware the shore and hidden rock
Trust experience
Focused keen observation
a close call but a shift in the wind
moves us to safety
Two paddlers in a canoe
battle and shift then give in and drift to natural intent
Gusts and gestations of the nature of October late
Drifting past to future and season to season
Leaves have changed in color
Fallen in flashy death
Float move and shift as we do from where they land on the water
To become little ships and armadas at the mercy of the months manifestations
Bursts of beautiful in the last trees to change
The brilliant reds orange and yellow
have given over to the ambers and browns
Once again we drift too close to danger
turn over the engine shift and throttle up
Set a new course in adjustment to wind and the chops of lake surface
The boats ripples are lost in wave translation
Mark a course each day
with patience and without fear in mindful meditation of the present
Warrior ready we tie to the dock
and await whatever the seasons next present

Poem–A Search for Healing in So Much Sorrow: Writing 201:Poetry: Future

A Search for Healing in So Much Sorrow

The light both rises and falls on hopes horizon

So much sorrow and too little truth,

Need with so much greed

Sometimes I mourn for these sad days. These troubled times and the human race

My Big Dawg ‘Bruce Springsteen’ playing on the radio

Singing about ‘Devils and Dust.’

I write of broken hearted rust

In a search for healing I

Find revival in songwriters’ words we are

‘Born to Run’ from ‘Devils and Dust’

Find spark from song and the

Common ground of the common man

With a ‘Boss’ who lives truth from ‘E Street’

To Main Street

In stories of real people,  the

Heart of a country

So far removed from mindless spin of zombies

The right that is wrong

Sometimes you must mourn for the people of this world

All alone together

‘Devils and Dust’ filling our souls

Tough to breath and to know your roles

Dream our dreams and fulfill our goals

Come together, communicate and connect

A day at a time one step forward, two back

Dreams held and drifting we must

Resist, believe and persist in clouds and blue sky and in Shadows and light

Souls in danger with spiritual cost

Lives at risk with spirit lost

Strive to maintain faith and learn to love as we touch each day

The Shadow of our dreams, those we love and those whose love has touched us

Sadness of our own and those we wish to reach

We give our all each day alive but alone

To go down in dreams each night

Awake looking for the morning light

Cherished grace of charity and compassion

Quiet in our desperation

Energy spent with little residual

Sore wounded scorched spirit

Soul searching

Heavy load train of thought and emotion

Going too fast to just stay on track

We move up the next hill just to see hopes horizon

Hold on

How much sorrow can we bear?

Before doing determined best

Yielding we just put it down

Where the light both rises and falls

“God bless us and save us”

Grandfather said through Two World Wars

And through a grandson

“Great Spirit of all bless us and save us” from the greed and hypocrisy

So much sorrow

Help us to resist, believe and persist

Strive to maintain faith and search for healing

Learn to love as we live

Cherish grace of compassion and charity

Come together, Communicate and connect

Find the courage to believe in yourself and in others

On common ground

Where irreconcilable differences

Diminish, disperse and disappear

On hopes horizon

The place where the light both rises and falls

{Attribute: spark to years of listening to the music of Bruce Springsteen and the E Street band and the rest to the genes inherited from the ancestors}

Hard Wood Writing–Poem

Hard Wood Writing

Feeling lucid under pressure
Moments of sheer horror and panic do pass
Drawn on ousted emotions to draw-paint words to paper
Form scenes opened felt by me
Acts of art for others to observe-see
A word play called ‘New Hope Spring’
On a clean cool clear and cloudy canvass of Papyrus
Framed pages with words
Book cover borders
Times Temperaments Torments Trusts
Loss and Rebirth
Felt and Palpable on written page
Hopes spring grows and flows
Words in mahogany and oak
A writer’s true rings of hard growth memory
True to a vision of what has come to pass
Hard Wood Writing on soft textured page of one person’s past
Written Word Etched for Eternity by Scribed Survivor
Mahogany Voice Rises from Oaken Experience
From scribbler to Scribe the Survivor Crafts
The soft subtle textured pages of a life’s
Lessons Learned and Shared
Now and Then

The Exothermic Energy of Seasons

Days of Spring Rain End

Hampton Beach Sunrise

Great Blue Herons Wings span the seasons

The Exothermic Energy of Seasons

Sunshine start to another day

Evening last lit with burning branches, glowing embers, music and moonlight
A fire of our own

Embrace the light of soul spirit rising

Glow meets rays expanding
Convergence of energy in the present, the gift

Synergy promises potential for another day

Warmth of nature and love intertwined
Wisteria vines enhanced in a mix of Spring and Summers

Soul spirit rising

Excursion into Time

 

Excursion into Time

 

Glowing island to mountain meditation

In transition to feeling strong

Believing in self

Years and tears pass

 

Swept up in swirling storms of change

Swimming in waves of possibility

the way in which we live our lives

Is what will last

 

Reach out for balance and confidence

Knowledge to rise above turmoil

In calm contemplation

With tools of pen and patience

True communication

Connection

Diplomacy

Respect for all

The way

 

Strong hands and open arms

Spirit heart gathers strength

In years overcoming fears

Potential energy flowing to kenetic

Uniting the divides

 

String theory of life

We must vibrate good

Shimmering shining glowing radiating

Together resplendent in the light

We live our lives

Only Those Hands-A tribute for Mothers day

 

Only those hands

Only those hands fed eleven, made a million meals, and kept a home clean and organized

Only those hands washed, dried, folded, and sorted the clothes

Only those hands signaled firmly when we were out of line

Only those hands wiped away tears, hurts, and fears

With strength, without weakening or whisper of complaint

Only those hands encouraged and held our dreams

Now those shaking hands turn the pages of the novels that keep a mind sharp

Mother, Mama, Mom, Ma, Betty Boop

Lived in the moment and made them all count. Early on she learned to be strong for her brothers, sisters and mom because her dad was away at war

Each moment connected in a life of constructive acts of selflessness

Each of us shaped by her focus

She remains the heart and foundation of a family

Only those hands are shaking now as she turns the pages of the books where she travels in focused tuning of an aging mind and answers the phone to listen to how our dreams unfold

 

Memorial to Donald Murray with Poems: His Time Was Write and Hard Wood Writing

Never a Day Without a Line
When a mentor passes on–A Memorial to Donald Murray

I heard it on the 11 o’clock New Years Day news. Donald Murray died of a heart attack at the age of 82. He had submitted his column ‘Now and Then’ to the Boston Globe the day before he died. He never stopped working, learning or sharing the knowledge he had gained.

My connection to Donald started from a Now and Then column that he had written in late winter which mentioned a spring writing class and one of his favorite bookstores on Water Street in Exeter NH. A heartfelt feeling took me there and I bought the book he suggested and left my information. Fortune smiled and on a Monday nights for six weeks I found myself at Don’s house in Durham with a circle of writers and novices of the craft. Don in his chair teaching by drawing us in and sharing his life and the work he loves. A large man in both stature and heart held court as we listened and learned in a circle where he made us feel equal. No pretense, just the spirit of a man open and true. His words ring true in my head: ‘Find your voice and tune it to the situation’
‘Writing is personal-be as true as possible’
‘The voice must sound like you, if not something is wrong-you may not be close enough to the material’
‘I still sometimes look at the world as a soldier’
‘Write with velocity and lower your standards’
‘Good writers see deep important things about the human condition. They articulate the human condition for those who can not’
‘Surprise is wonderful, I want to surprise myself some more before the road ends’

I met with him three times after the class ended. Twice for breakfast at ‘Young’s’ in Durham where everyone knows his name. The morning after class ended I picked him up at 5:45 AM. He told me he had stayed up all night as enthusiasm about the class, father’s day trip weekend prior, writing, and using his new art supplies would not let him sleep. He insisted on paying for breakfast and said that my turn was next. As I dropped him off at his house and told him to get some rest he answered, ‘after I write a little’. 82 years old, up all night and his motto, ‘nulla dies sine linea’ and work ethic still ruled.
For me he is gone too soon, too fast but he will always be with me. It’s his turn again to buy breakfast and he promised to come for dinner and meet my ‘Maria May.’
He believed in his family, his students, his friends and his colleagues. He gave us a confidence devoid of judgments that we could find our voice and tune it to the situation.
I offer a poem written with Donald in mind and submitted during what would be his last class. He had taken up drawing and painting recently for the sheer joy and surprise of it. The last line was added today.

Hard Wood Writing

Feeling lucid under pressure
Moments of sheer horror and panic do pass
Drawn on ousted emotions to draw-paint words to paper
Form scenes opened felt by me
Acts of art for others to observe-see
A word play called ‘New Hope Spring’
On a clean cool clear and cloudy canvass of Papyrus
Framed pages with words
Book cover borders
Times Temperaments Torments Trusts
Loss and Rebirth
Felt and Palpable on written page
Hopes spring grows and flows
Words in mahogany and oak
A writer’s true rings of hard growth memory
True to a vision of what has come to pass
Hard Wood Writing on soft textured page of one person’s past
Written Word Etched for Eternity by Scribed Survivor
Mahogany Voice Rises from Oaken Experience
From scribbler to Scribe the Survivor Crafts
The soft subtle textured pages of a life’s
Lessons Learned and Shared
Now and Then

His time was write

Found a mentor, ol’ sage, life almost spent

He opened his home, gave a last class

Unconditionally he let us in and shared a successful career

“Write Short, Write Quick,” the mentor said.

The world has changed–attention spans are short sighted

Draw them in, hold them, set them free, with words from the heart

An old man’s spirit shared

His time was write

Now and Then taught me ours is then and now

The road goes on and I will be one of Donald’s Acolytes–Apostles

Nulla dies sine linea–never a day without a line

Share a life til the road ends

To be taken up by a spirit who’s time is write

Copyright by Ken Pothier

Moonlit Fire In Spring

Fall 2011 to Spring 2012 045

Moonlit Fire Spring

Fire and moonlight driven thoughts
Evergreen firs and budding deciduous
The trees are a family, birds their children
Nests held gently, securely
Protected by branch, needle and expanding leaves
A high home with expansive view
Welcome to spring warmth
Arriving light, a fire to meet the waxing moon
Waning glow of a fine early spring day
Blue eyes a picture window to cloudless sky
Walk the dock, a man’s shadow shows in ripples outward
Expanding across the lake touch the moon in reflection
Quiet calm, night peepers sing their song to water mirror
New life growing in glow of warmer days
Birds, bugs, turtles, fish, loon, beaver, musk rat, great blue heron, duck, duck, goose
Return from cold season exile and hibernations
Frame spring and merge in living creation
Changing in daily miracles as each circle comes around in warmth
Robins expecting, chirp and frolic, work the nest building
In chipmunk fall food supply intensity
No eggs yet but driven by hopes and promise of new birth
Spring dressings, building to please
Soon baby bird breaks shell as seedling breaks ground
Man cracks open the door
Leaves kitchen table picture window
Blue eyes see