Louise Erdrich, an incredible poet

This extract is from her poem  'Advice to myself.'

It is a wonderful poem and one I keep reading right now because it seems to advise me and my state of mind.

Don't keep all the pieces of the puzzles
or the doll's tiny shoes in pairs, don't worry
who uses whose toothbrush or if anything
matches, at all.
Except one word to another. Or a thought.
Pursue the authentic-decide first
what is authentic,
then go after it with all your heart.
Your heart, that place
you don't even think of cleaning out.
That closet stuffed with savage mementos.

Small Stone : 12

three envelopes with locks of baby hair weigh nothing

yet the contents shine gold, copper and dark bronze

Naming a child

Each name was like a rabbit hidden in a burrow, we had to coax it out with lettuce leaves.

Small Stone : 11

the dog found the basket of eggs by the back door and ate them all; the scattered shells make the child seek for a dinosaur that must have hatched

small stone : 10

The mist at six am shudders into daylight revealing the church spire pointed in faint reproach.

Small Stone : 9

all the male eyes are warm and brown and the females stare out of sharpness, blue

I wish it was summer and I was playing badminton like this ...

Small Stone : 8

the little girl's hair
hangs in a question mark;
I cannot answer

Small Stone : 7

I cut your hair and reveal your chicken pox scar, moon crater; reminder of your wet-eyed discomfort.

Small Stone: 6

The two year old child carefully picks up each bead he spilt in his sister's room; the blue ones first.

Small Stone: 5

Three clocks tick when stood at the threshold of the home, one, two, three, none of them in time.

Rose Red

My favourite fairytale.

Small Stone : 4

One bird flicks the seed toward the hedge to let the others feed.

Small Stone : 3

piranha fish thrash beneath a floating wooden house
a man on television laments the child who fell into the water
he will not say his name

I am in the grey place you can only sink into writing an essay

It is like an overwhelming mist of academic terminolgy that makes me doubt I have anything original or valid to write about

or even if I care.

<sigh>

I would rather play a game with my children who come to the doorway and ask me so nicely, whilst I pretty much beg them to leave me alone so 'Mummy can work.'

Work? on what? an essay about something most people don't care about.

Who am I doing this for?

Even though I assert the process is to enable better job prospects to provide a decent life for the children, the truth is money has never been in my mind. It is the learning that I love. The books. The peeling layers away to discover pearls and grit and still want more. It is as marvelous to me now as it was when I first read a book on my own and realised I could read any book I wanted to.

But as for writing my own essay, well that is always a battle. I get there in the end but I take a few wounds before I hand it in. Six days to go.

Small Stone : 2

joy is circular -
the dog, dumb with it, runs around me
my boys chase each other in a perfect O

Small Stone:1

at the top of the staircase

everything is white;
a lily unfolding

photo by Margaret Clough

A river of stones

This is an interesting idea. A small stone is a moment, an observation, noticing something you have previously ignored. The stones read like haiku, a fragment of poetry. I like reading them and they remind me of my diary. I write observations in it whenever I see/ think of something that inspires me. Later I collect them into poems but for this month I will post a new stone everyday, in the raw state of immediate thought.

You can read about the project here

It is not too late to join in.

Star Gazing

Pleiades, seven luminous blue tinted stars that can be viewed in the Northern Hemisphere during the winter months. The Greeks called them the Seven Sisters. I plan to wait for a clear night and take the dog for a midnight walk and look at them, but I keep falling asleep.

American Indians tested the keeness of their vision trying to see all seven. I doubt my short sighted eyes will see them all, but perhaps I will be lucky.

Janus, God of endings and beginnings.

I love the first day of a new year

The snow melted and seemed to transform into dreams, confusing fog. December was stressful and I spent too much time thinking of the past. Pointless.

Christmas was magical. Children were happy. However there was lots of flu in the house so we all felt very tired.

But now I feel like I have a new skin. The chill has fled, mild weather means I can see my garden again, imagine the work I can do in it this spring.

My chickens were baffled and depressed by the snow covering their garden. They stood on the threshold of their pen and looked out sadly. The snow was beautiful but cold as midnight.

January offers the brightness of a new dawn