Wednesday, March 25, 2015

The Precious Secret of Blooming

—Poems and Photos by Martie Ingebretsen, Sacramento


Sturdy         yet fragile
a face of grace
holding on to air that moves
petals like wings
she loves wind’s hands upon her face
but with tenacity's fingers
crumbling clods to slowly build gates
listening she yearns toward the road the river takes
wanting to travel someplace unnamed        like him
to follow the sound he makes         her whim
maybe a mean wind she thinks could take one small part
an orange piece of heart
that could go with the flow
even where cement would ransom beauty
into the arms of the sea
but she turns away instead
to dance naked with the tree
one arm still holding tenacity.


The earth has breath night-blooming
so fair her night turns light within

Through the heat of day she has waited
the changing
then finds some sleep-drenched man
half undone     wanting

The light of air so sweetly seeds discovery
no moon will despair the grace one gives another

She appears with her shiver true
and topples the fence and the window screen
following the sheets in rumpled sleep to a dream
I dream of you

With her instinct made from purity
she knows that distance is man-made
and so she magic-melds both time and place
making together lift the longing
with just one breath


In it comes
(the window like a welcome)
the Santa Ana of the day sky warm
across my resting skin
hot tub breath of healing

He wakes me to my might
a touch that I dream about
is the music playing in my hair
if I could just reach far enough
light sound laughter all singing there

The sunflowers are thinking water
I can hear them grumble
speaking in yellow,
the dirt loves the hose
where a tiny trickle of neglect
is like a mountain stream
to its need

Watch him like a rock to my river
calling to me from within my own neglect
I can feel it running up into me
and I am wet again with love

I will be the queen today
and witness the subjects of my crown
all nestled around the sprinkler,
oh, the power!
to turn it on just right
and waste not the precious secret
of blooming

The wind knows the curves within me
and his power folds my bones
until I am sky too
blowing beloved into trees


Into tendril I eclipse and more
And lit to fond with color blue adorn
The sky a dye of time and also magic
Beaming with bees I lay down with romantic

Close my eyes now into slivered moon
I’ll untie each celestial ribbon soon
While night and shadows hold me in my sleep
Knowing we are only in a prison when we keep
Our feet from feeling earth as opening gate
Into the pulse of mighty music’s till
A song from bless of meadow’s lift and still

The stroke of air is changed within this place
And breathing is the beat within the sound
Where peace distributes moisture to the glade
And I pressed to the garden god am made

With the love made sweet in time ecstatic
I'll cover each bulb to cool in time elastic
They'll open green and graceful
Colors blooming from the dirt
The wonder of this pleasure is
This birthing does not hurt


Today's LittleNip:


A meadow of winged monarchs
and bloomed-out purple
withered upright
faded to periwinkle iris

I would bed with such color
bogged and drowning green
breezed with wild rose

Listened stream of riffled rocks
I am song too


—Medusa, with thanks to Martie for today's poems and pix!