Friday, March 30, 2012


Digitalized photo by S. Auberle
(new photo, old poem)
Snow on the south side
is melting tonight,
brown patches scattered
among the white.
Smoke rises from
the neighbor's house
joining a cloud
drifting over the lake.
I imagine Ryokan, the Zen monk,
two hundred years ago
in his solitary hut,
a fire made only of leaves
blown to his door.
His brush shivers
across the precious paper:
evening in the deep mountains
all covered in white snow.
I feel everything vanish,
yes my soul and body too...
The snow is melting tonight
in brown patches
scattered among the white.
Smoke vanishes into a cloud.
Why should we lament our passing?

Saturday, March 24, 2012


Photo by S. Auberle

Spring unfurling
one small promise
at a time...
~  mimi

Tuesday, March 20, 2012


Photo by S. Auberle

at the window
my orchid and I
gone mad with spring

~  mimi

Sunday, March 18, 2012


Photo/Painting by S. Auberle

After the first bike ride of spring on this incredible day, I came home and began looking through old boxes of poems and found this beautiful springtime piece.  But the real story behind it is this:  quite a few years ago, a dear friend was dying in another city far away.  I knew her death would be soon, and when the call came that morning I wasn't surprised.  What did surprise me, however, was that immediately after I received the call and went to e-mail other friends, this poem appeared on a website that I had accidentally opened (or not)...


A single chime of jade across the waters
as along this rocky shore the moment expands
and somewhere within it is hidden a dwelling apart
to which only the absolute ones make good their escape.
The Way seems not to exist (so the master taught)
and yet it is there--and springtime returns once more,
ageless and unreclaimed, to the inner lands.
What purity!  The peach trees are in blossom,
birds chirp and stir, and there by the narrow stream
two white-robed figures wait to greet my crossing...
Shall I not make my move at last, and join them?
 Frederick Morgan

Saturday, March 17, 2012


Photo from Wikipedia

Somewhere I have a photo of me kissing the actual blarney stone, dangling upside down, four stories up in a very old  Irish unforgettable experience for sure.  Still not sure what that was supposed to do for me, other than increase my fondness for poetry, Guinness, and Jameson's, which in fact, it did...but it was a soft Irish day, with good friends and family in one of the most beautiful countries in the world and I am grateful.  Come to think of it, that could be responsible for the six years of blarney I've produced on this blog! 


Thursday, March 15, 2012


Photo by S. Auberle

She is lean this early spring,
but bold,  black mottled
in her red fur
stepping gingerly
on one leg,
the other three
slender and quick.

We are neighbors,
share the same grassy field,
the benevolent cedar
that shelters her.
Perhaps something in her
remembers an ancestor,
pregnant one deep winter,

starving, and the kindness
shown here by a woman
maybe like me,
who felt compassion,
fed her that long dark time
until the kits were born

in that spirit place we
have in common,
that humans are good
now and then, leaving
an egg, a crust of bread
a bone sticking up
through the snow...

an old poem brought back into the light by the sighting of a fox in my yard...this first published in "Crow Ink"

Friday, March 09, 2012


Photo/Painting by S. Auberle

"There came a time when the risk to remain
tight in the bud was more painful
than the risk it took to blossom."
~  Anais Nin

Wednesday, March 07, 2012


Photo/Painting by S. Auberle

"How many times have you noticed
that it's the little quiet moments
in the midst of life
that seem to give the rest
extra-special meaning?"
~  Mister Rogers

Thursday, March 01, 2012


Digitally altered drawing by S. Auberle

Today is an auspicious day--Post #800!  I started this blog in February, 2006, and to this day am still not sure why I keep it up.  The heading at the top, I guess, says it all--"for peace and the planet--connecting through the arts."  I still believe that if I can get someone to slow for a moment; to stop and smell the roses or the dandelions; notice a mountain or a river--that it helps to balance this fragile planet of ours.  And I LOVE seeing the map of my visitors' countries--thank you to all!  For the 800th post I just happen to have a poem entitled "800 Moons" which is approximately the number of full moons I've seen in my lifetime.   (never was all that good at math...)


What I want to say is this:
remember me, please,
not for my mistakes—

though they loom large,
but if you could,
and if you would, remember

how I cherished poems
and how splendid I thought the small
things, like hanging laundry

in the fresh wind, the dance
of jeans and sheets on the line. 
Remember that I adored ice cream

with caramel and almonds,
and every one of the eight hundred
moons I’ve watched crossing the sky.

Remember me in your awe
of earth things—a procession
of cranes down a sunset river,

hillsides of wild, Scottish broom,
singing coyotes on spring nights--
not only the cheerful yipping of pups--

but that last, long, mournfull howl... 
~  mimi