The urge to learn or experience new things moves us forward. Don’t let lack of know-how, age or fear of failure stop you.

CITYSCAPE

Yesterday, with fingers numb from April wind,
a winter which stubbornly stays,
I planted herbs in terra cotta pots.
My garden, a concrete balcony
barred by a metal railing,
above a concrete walk.

This urge to plant, (not knowing how),
I follow directions in a book.
Awkward hands scoop moist soil,
earth-stained fingers hollow a well,
place the seedlings: rosemary, chives,
pineapple-mint to mince onto strawberries,
and the big-leafed basil, whose scent
recalls a trip to Umbria.
Gentle patting down of topsoil,
like tucking a warm blanket
around a sleeping child.

There must be as many poems about gardening
as there are poets. But for me, who blooms
late to everything, this sudden need for green—
it is the first.

What have you done that was new, a first for you? Did it surprise you? What would you like to do but haven’t yet?

Things all around us which can give moments of pleasure or peace.


WHAT FEEDS MY SOUL

Yesterday it was the little red-headed bird
that lit on my balcony and poked its beak
among the sweet alyssum.

Last week, the December rainstorm,
water curtain spilling
from the leaf-filled eaves.

Last month, the bowed head of a classical guitarist
suspended over his instrument,
waiting as the final note disappeared.

It’s always something.
Every day there is something.

What “something” takes you out of the routine
and mundane and feeds your soul?

Detail! No matter where you are, there are sounds, sights and activities occurring which may carry meaning for your own life.


LAST DAY OF MARCH, 5 P.M.

A dove sits on the telephone wire,
conversations zing beneath her curled feet.

Slats of garden chairs slice shadows
through a low sun spread against the hazy sky.

Houston Person’s jazz sax glides
over Ron Carter’s bass counterpoint

as that standard, “Spring Can Really Hang You Up
      The Most,”
slides from the stereo.

I think of “embouchure,” delicious word
for forming lips and tongue around the mouthpiece
       of a wind instrument.

I lick my own lips, run my tongue around the outline
       of my mouth,
circumscribe myself in this stillpoint.

Look around you.  What do you see or hear?  How is it affecting you – does it bring a memory, a solution you’ve been seeking, an insight?