Showing posts with label a kind of self-talk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label a kind of self-talk. Show all posts

Sunday, May 6, 2012

more Nothing


A hesitant quiver of wilderness
circles the open window where
an inexorable blue
spends its sky.
Speak the word
your half-wild coyote soul
is unlocking,
in its faltering vein of dream.
More Nothing is loose in you
than you can hope
to follow.

I put together this found poem Friday evening using William Stafford's wonderful collection of poems The Way It Is. 
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About Me

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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.