the warm hum
of a quiet wind
lights an empty field
with a recipe
of whisper.
Anything sings
when you let it.
--lks March 2012
This is a found poem I culled from Maurice Manning's book of poetry, Bucolics.
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About Me
- Laura
- Georgia, United States
- I live at the edge of the forest in a little town in the north Georgia mountains. I teach sixth grade Language Arts and am writing a memoir of sorts about family, spirituality, and narrative. I am also exploring a possible writing project having to do with contemporary lay contemplative experience and how it might be informed by the Desert Fathers and Mothers of early Christianity. I am a relatively recent convert to Roman Catholicism and an admirer of Pope Francis, Leonardo Boff, Joan Chittister, and Richard Rohr. I'm a Lay Associate of Our Lady of the Holy Spirit Monastery in Conyers, Georgia. I am interested in indigenous cultures, narratives, and spirituality, especially how these can inform my spirituality as a lay contemplative. I write, read, take pictures, play around with creating ephemera from paper and cloth and other organic things. I cook, hike, watch wildlife, and collect random bits of interesting oddness, both tangible and abstract. I am a seer of smallness and a caretaker of ridiculous minutiae. If you want, e-mail me at riverrun67@gmail.com or lksorrells@hotmail.com.
i wondered about the anythings and then realized it is perhaps most likely because it is a found poem (?) but then i like that it is not simply everything. the unlikeliness of the word causes me to stop and reflect, to recognize.
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erin
well, it was a typo. should I leave it? I like your take on it. indefinite pronouns can be manipulated in interesting ways. I wish I'd had the creativity to use it as you read it.
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