February Poem of the Month

The weather this month has been anything but usual. Here in Oregon, we have been warm with little precipitation. Our mountains have maybe 15% of the snowpack they should have, our rivers are low, the rain comes in a misty drizzle. While I was in Pennsylvania the weather was odd; minus zero temps, little snow, lots of sunshine.

But on my yoga mat I find stability in my own weather patterns. The fluctuations remind me to return to my breath, to return to the only thing that seeks my attention, the present moment.

This month’s poem comes from my sunrise yoga practice, from within the storm.

Namaste
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A Piece of the Storm
By Mark Strand

From the shadow of domes in the city of domes,
A snowflake, a blizzard of one, weightless, entered your room
And made its way to the arm of the chair where you, looking up
From your book, saw it the moment it landed.
That’s all There was to it. No more than a solemn waking
To brevity, to the lifting and falling away of attention, swiftly,
A time between times, a flowerless funeral. No more than that
Except for the feeling that this piece of the storm,
Which turned into nothing before your eyes, would come back,
That someone years hence, sitting as you are now, might say:
‘It’s time. The air is ready. The sky has an opening.’

January Poem of the Month

I am not a consistent blogger; this I know of myself and fully own. As such I have been contemplating how to best proceed within the blogging sphere.

I am, however, a consistent yogini, and attend a sunrise yoga class each week. Our teacher, Brie, is a poet and periodically reads poetry to us during final relaxation. The poems she has shared recently have moved me, sometimes to tears, as I rest and renew on my mat.

And so, the Poem of the Month. I hope you find them enriching, or perhaps offer you a space for contemplation.

Namaste
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Quiet World
by Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.