....original photography except where noted....


Wednesday, December 31, 2014

among the gratitudes



silence….

holy….

out in the yard,
under a crystal sailing moon,

under the silent
blast of starlight eons old….

black branches etch
the night

and call down the silence….


i stand amazed again
surprised
by this
ever available
presence

it waits
always patiently
for my notice….


perhaps
holding a spot
for silence within

serves the greater good….

amid the cacophony
of modern life

amid the chatter
of thoughts

amid the ten thousand
worries

among the gratitudes

between the gasping breaths
of laughter

a space of silence --

evocative:

reverence
reception
reflection….

oh my heart,
my heart –

how to hold all i love
inside you….

and how to wrap you
all about

with this
most precious
silence….

________________
©2011, 2014

beth anne boardman

photo courtesy
keara harrington 

Friday, December 05, 2014

juniper dreaming


  
scent of juniper
on the night wind –

velvet elk in the
near shadows….

rolling voices
distant

jingle of bells,
crack of gourds

grey dawn
on ceremony day….


juniper on my pillow
at the black

of midnight –
reawakening

reviving
retying me

to the past
the future….

messages crossing
time, distance, rocky bluffs….


recalling
scrub juniper

rocks and sand
my companions

mists and winds
my mantle –


never alone
with a lifetime

of miracles
memories

priests
shamans

poets
goddesses

children
ancestors

replete with images
adventures

alive
waiting….

juniper
calling….

i,
arriving….


___________________
© 2011 ©2014
beth anne boardman

Monday, December 01, 2014

ribbons and stardust



they visit me at the oddest times,
my ancestors....

a song, a scent, a waft
of southern breeze upon my cheek....

it takes stillness
to sense them....

so that is something to cultivate—

maybe when i seek stillness,
i invite them?

i like to think that. 

in my mothering,
i sometimes sense my mother....

sometimes her sadness and despair
creep across the corners of my eyes—
but less and less
as i uncover her love
and my love
and our love....

and how much she taught me
about preciousness—

of life, of love
of music, of rosy cheeks,
of handmade things,
baking,
sheets....

how she and my father
made birthdays and holidays
the two special times in a year
when we laid aside strife
and embraced magic—

and when we told stories
of our ancestors....

how the hills around bartlett, texas
crept so far into my grandaddy’s heart
that he spent the rest of his life
writing about them....

how music flowed like blood
in my grandmother’s being,

and my mother’s—

how,
living at the foot of the lake,
my father’s extended family circles
entwined their
wreaths of history—

how woodworking
land-walking
dairy farming
hunting
popcorn and
mincemeat
all settled into
our fireside stories....

how i ache that my life
and my children’s lives
have rippled away
from any center....

life took me out beyond the
currents of family,
and now as i get older,
i remember them—
and i want to tell their stories....

especially on their death days,
it seems, as i remember parents,
and their parents,
and theirs—

the winding strands of their dna
loop and twine within me,
within my curious children....

mulling on ribbons and stardust,
on past and future,
sadnesses, losses,

i bless them all. 
i bless their errors, their callousness,
i bless their love and
their best intentions....

standing at the edge of the sea,
i bless and bless—

they ribbon backward 
as well as forward in time—

they rain like stardust on my children....

_______
©2014

beth anne boardman