Robins Robins Everywhere

I so wish I had a photo

so you could see what

I saw

yesterday

in the meadow:

dozens of robins

landed there

in the brown

stubble of

winter.

Every which way

they crisscrossed

the field

coming close to

the house.

I would not

say they

were bobbing.

But rather, they perched,

magnificently,

their rust-colored

breasts

tbrust boldly

forward.

Never in my entire

life have I seen

so many robins

promising so

much

spring.

And maybe never

again

will I see it

which is why

I so wanted

a photo

which is

why

I lay

down

these words

here

to save

the moment.

Poetry on an Icy Bridge

The award-winning literary blog, Two Drops of Ink, has published my poem, "Poetry on an Icy Bridge."

Wonder

The first thing I saw this morning

as I parted the curtains was a

herd of eight deer,

spread across

the brown winter meadow. The dog

miraculously didn’t bark so I

watched as they grazed.

A few minutes later, a pair of

cardinals landed at the feeder.

It’s been many days since we’ve seen

birds so this appearance felt like

another small miracle.

And one other: as I sat in meditation

just now,

the clouds shifted

and suddenly

I could see

the soft baby

blue color

of the sky.

The forecast didn’t predict

sun. I wonder

why not.

Lately,

I’ve begun to try

to live in a constant

state of wonder

documenting the little

miracles, one by one.

Surrender to Blue

At first there is a curved rim of grey,

And no matter how much light I see inside the ring,

there is  

that edge that stays

and I wonder

to myself

how I will ever get rid of this stubborn shadow?

I continue breathing and breathing, just focusing on love on love, 

on blue on blue,

and in some moment it occurs to me 

that I can let the dark ring sit there, and just BE, I can stare at it, and

stare at it and stare and smile, and

smile,

it’s right there, I swear I can still see it

even as I focus on love on love on love on love 

on golden light

I watch and feel that light that heat crawl wider and wider around my heart see it holding more and more

LOVE. Let it flow boldly now,

if you let it, love swells and swells and swells inside and all around. 

My chest glows in every direction my body grows lighter and lighter

and warmer and warmer until I feel it in my shoulders and hips

Lips knees elbows eyes teeth toes and belly.

One more morning, the ring disappears. I make the transformation to blue

by surrendering.                       

Fingers Against Strings

Here I sit

wondering what to 

DO

NEXT.

It used to be that I was

busy 500 percent of the time.

But now that I’m trying to cultivate

AWARENESS

by

STOPPING

by

BEING in the present moment

by

feeling the sensations of flesh and muscle and bone 

inside my body

by

watching the things my mind says and

wants to do.

Now that all of that is going on

there are moments 

when

I am confused about what to do.

I think I should be accomplishing

SOME
THING.

SIGNIFICANT.

When really all I want to do is

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

Recently I started guitar lessons

because I love the sound and feel of

fingers against strings.

The first lesson was fun

But then I HAD TO LEARN A SONG.

I had to focus on counting

And chord changes

And strumming.

SOMETHING DIDN’T CLICK.

The fingers against strings

and the resounding of the guitar

around my heart

were missing.

So now instead of lessons.

I am gong to pick up the guitar

And cradle it against my chest like it is a baby

And I am going to set

my fingernails against the strings

and see what happens

NEXT.

"Whatever Heaven Offers"

This is how the dream feels:

simple but full

of a strange

mystery too.

I keep reaching into some

kind of bottle or box

for new

blue contact lenses.

I lay them in my eyes

to see

the color of a pale sky.

I am seeing myself 

as a teacher of writing again too.

When I wake up, absolutely

everything feels possible.

I am skywriting

I am rewiring

I am uncluttered and

bathed in

rays of buttery light.

I tell Mary about the

dream and she says

think about this:

contact has a double meaning:

it describes the lenses yes

but it is also the condition

of new touching.

You have fresh vision in a

blue that is

cleansing and purifying.

It’s a wash that makes you

ready to deliver

whatever heaven

offers up.

More Naming Poems!!

By Sharon Flitterman-King, Ph.D.

The Swampy Cree Indians of northeastern Canada are known for their wonderful “naming poems,” simple narratives of how people earned their names, often in childhood. Here are a few poems I composed in the tradition of the Swampy Cree.

GIFT OF ROSES

Always when she walked, the roses
followed her—
bright and fragrant,
you knew when she was near.

At the end she left
a painting, full of roses

on her easel

A gift
for us to cherish—
all of us,
forever.


CHEERFUL WITH BUNDLES

Singing he went
cheerfully
with bundles
on his back

Laughing, sometimes
chuckling. The creatures
that he met
would greet him
when they saw him.

Scampering,
they followed
as he sang.


LOVED ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL

Morning moonstone
sky, evening sunset,
clouds ablaze
with color, flaming
gold or russet.

Always she was
capturing
the beauty with her
camera.

Walking in the woods,
a leaf. All weathers
were her friends.

That’s how we came
to name her
all things beautiful.

Sharon Flitterman-King, Ph.D., ia a writer living in Hillsdale, New York, with her husband, David King.

Buzzing Inside

Outside the sky is dripping white ice.

Inside, it’s so nice and cozy here by the fire of the words

that are steadily burning.

What a yearning I have to share this feeling that

gallops throooough me this morning.

Try this: close your eyes and focus for a moment on your fingers.

Linger there.  

The energy may come up as a buzzing

or a gentle tremble.

Keep your mind there but now stare into your toes.

And after a bit, go now to your feet.

Can you see where this is leading?

Hands. Legs. Arms. Torso. Head.

No matter how busy you are today, stay alive to your body.

Pause for a moment whenever you can and

just breathe and just feel steadily grateful for that breath.

Let the lung air wander through your body.

So when the weather outside is so much

worse than frightful

we can keep paddling along inside

finding new life in the wave of every single moment.

With thanks for inspiration in part from Eckhart Tolle, especially his book, "The New Earth." Do yourself a giant favor and read it!

Naming Poems

By Sharon Flitterman-King, Ph.D.

The Swampy Cree Indians of northeastern Canada have a rich tradition of storytelling. Some of the most wonderful stories are told in their “naming poems,” simple narratives of how people earned their names, often in childhood. Here is an example of a Swampy Cree Naming Poem:

QUIET UNTIL THE THAW

Her name tells of how
it was with her.

The truth is, she did not speak
in winter.
Everyone learned not to
ask her questions in winter,
once that was known about her.

The first winter this happened
we looked in her mouth to see
If something was frozen. Her tongue
maybe, or something else in there.

But after the thaw she spoke again
and told us it was fine for her that way.

So each spring we
looked forward to that.

And here are a few of mine:

PATIENT WITH SHADOWS

She lived 
among the shadows
which she feared.

She lived
among the shadows, loving them
for what they asked
of her.

It was dark,
and it grew darker.
She grew light

And tranquil


DREAMED GREAT THINGS

He went
out to the mountain, dreaming
of his past

adventures, bold and
love—
such tenderness.

This he leaves,
and
dreams.


Try writing your own naming poem; think of something about yourself or another person to use in creating a name—a physical characteristic, personality trait, something you like, something funny, silly or heroic you’ve done.

             “To say the name is to begin the story.”

Sharon Flitterman-King, Ph.D., is a writer who lives in Hillsdale, N.Y., with her husband, David C. King

Reference: The Wishing Bone Cycle: Narrative Poems from the Swampy Cree Indians, gathered and translated by Howard A. Norman.

PRAYING FOR ANOTHER MIRACLE, Please Help!

This morning during meditation I picked two angel cards at random.

The cards read “GRACE” and “EXPLORATION.”

At once I thought, something quite wonderful is being asked of me, but

WHAT IS IT EXACTLY? How does one explore the very core of divine mystery?

Then I looked down and realized that a third card

just happened to fall out of the box. It read

“SISTERHOOD BROTHERHOOD.”  That’s when the task became as clear as holy water.

It’s time to pray in poetry and prose and art and music for my sister Karen, who suffered

a very serious stroke last September.

She was struck on the weekend

of her 63^rdbirthday.

At the time, doctors were hardly encouragaing.

The neurosurgeon removed a clot the size of a tennis ball from the left side of her brain. It disrupted the area of her brain that controls language and motion.

So the doctors told us not to get our hopes up. They said they didn’t know if she would recover at all.

But then the miracles began. She found the strength  and will to recover much of the motion in her right leg, so that she can walk with assistance.

And she began talking once again in longish sentences.

Just recently, though, she has grown discouraged that she has no motion in her right arm and hand.

She carries them in a sling resting against her chest. Just a few days ago she saw a doctor (an orthopedist) who told her it was doubtful she would regain use of that arm.

NOW IT”S TIME TO EXPLORE GRACE. NOW IT’S TIME TO FACE THE PROBLEM SQUARELY. THE DOCTOR, YOU SEE, COULD BE WRONG. ACTUALLY, THE DOCTOR ABSOLUTELY WOULD BE WRONG IF WE COULD JUST WORK A MIRACLE.

Karen has already achieved several miracles in her recovery – just ask the neurosurgeon who saw her last week for the first time since the surgery.

He was amazed at her progress.

So how about we begin a campaign right here and now to achieve another miracle.

We focus our prayers on Karen regaining motion in her right arm and hand.

We picture her using the arm in all kinds of ways: throwing a ball, catching it, using a yo yo, shuffling cards, drying dishes, swimming, sewing (her favorite pastime), folding clothes, holding a baby (her daughter is pregnant), painting, planting (her other favorite pastime.)

Key to this miracle: we must get Karen on board with this visualization activity.

Maybe that too is part of the exploration of grace.  Maybe my job is to pray for a healer to appear, someone who has the power to convince my sister that she can go beyond the physical plane, that she can occupy the realm of the spirit. I am asking right here, right now for such a healer to appear. I am laying down lines of words in the hope that they are being heard in the sphere of the divine.

My sister isn’t a stranger to miracles. She came alive in October after she managed to say these two words out loud: BOUND AND DETERMINED! I wrote a whole poem about that, and about the extraordinary progress she made. She went from a feeding tube to solid food in less than three days. SHE FLABBERHASTED THE SPEECH THERAPIST!

So IT’S POSSIBLE TO INSPIRE HER.

Coming home from the rehab center, Karen has lost touch with that gung ho spirit of recovery that filled the air there.

We need a cheerleader. Somebody with credibility and somebody my sisiter respects and believes.

Please, God, I am asking for such a person to appear.

I am also asking that all the people who read these words think of my sister shrouded in love and light. THINK ABOUT HER FULLY HEALED.

Your prayers worked wonders in October and November.

So now I ask you, say another prayer, in any shape or form it comes out. Any prayer you can think of would be welcome, but make it as powerful as you can. Make yourself see my sister waving or digging or eating or doing anything else with her right hand.

And if you feel moved, write to her care of me. TELL HER HOW MUCH YOU HAVE INVESTED IN  HER RECOVERY. TELL HER HOW HAPPY YOU ARE THAT SHE HAS MADE SO MUCH PROGRESS. TELL HER TO KEEP THE FAITH. TELL HER TO GET IN TOUCH WITH THAT BOUND AND DETERMINED ENERGY ONCE MORE.

I am so grateful for your help!