Between the Waters

Writing It Down

By: EarlB, 11:18 AM GMT on August 31, 2013


Whether with paper and pen
Or with black print on white screens,
When it is time to write,
The words have always come.

I'll tell you a secret:
Someone whispers the words
Into my ear,
The words aren't really mine!

When I talk of the moon,
And the door she opens
To lovers,

When I talk of the rains
Washing clean
Our doubts and fear,

When I talk of the wind
Stirring desire,
Stirring the heart,

It's not me.
I lay no claim
To the elegance
Of such an idea.
I am only the scribe.


Fly with me on gentle breezes
Through clouds,
Through showers.
Clear our eyes as we fly
Toward love's shining door.

See?


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Into the Unkown

By: EarlB, 9:33 PM GMT on August 17, 2013


How precious is the flower
About to bloom,
It is still the mystery.

How delicious is the flavor
That lives in the mind
And not yet on the lips.

How beautiful is the scape
That you imagine
Long before it is seen.

How dear is the love
Never held,
But cherished more every day.


as a post script:

voting is over and "winners" have been selected in the haiku
submittal for the upcoming NASA launch of "MAVEN" to orbit
Mars. Although only one of my haiku garnered a vote (it got
one vote, and I didn't vote!), that haiku was selected by the folks
running the competition for recognition on one of the MAVEN
web pages:

http://lasp.colorado.edu/maven/goingtomars/send-y our-name/contest-winners/

What a nice honor. (I wonder who cast that single vote??)


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Old Friends

By: EarlB, 2:23 AM GMT on August 04, 2013


My dearest Zoe,

I'm tired tonight after driving all day. I took the week off and went back
"home" last Tuesday to visit a long-time friend, you remember me talking
of Petey Boudreaux, don't you? Petey still lives in the town I once called
home.

It's been a long time since we've seen each other for any length of time,
there have only been the funerals lately, when some of our reminiscences
wouldn't have been appreciated!

The funny thing is that when we got together, I found that we had
less to talk about and remember together than I thought we would have.
We seemingly restarted conversations as if they were just ended the
day before rather than ten or fifteen years ago, but we didn't ever reflect
back on the already-plowed fields.

I guess real friendship is like that, you've shared so many experiences and
ideas that you form and share a combined memory, if you remember it, your
friend does too, no need to talk about it!

I've told you before about how so much in our (Petey's and my) hometown
has changed. It continues to change, too. After being stagnantly stable
for so long, even the changes are changing! Revisiting is like going to a
new town each visit. Not giving much of a chance for old memories to last.

Here at the farm, it's been three weeks since the wheat was harvested and
the soybeans planted. There is hardly a trace of the wheat stubble left, the
golden brown straw spikes now something that might only have been: the
field grows greener with each day and the green grows taller with each rain.
Calendar pages keep turning.

My firewood has all been split and stacked, so let the days slip by, I am
ready. But, don't let them slip by too fast, I'm still enjoying my sweet
tomatoes!

all my love,

Uncle Roy


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