Saturday, May 23, 2015

Its a beautiful Spring day and I'm reminded of this poem by Rumi called the Music we Are.

Did you hear that winter  is over?
The basil and carnation cannot control their laughter.
The nightingale, back from his wandering,
has been made singing master over all the birds.
The trees reach out their congratulations.
The soul goes dancing through the King's doorway.
Anemones blush because they have seen the Rose naked.
Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the courtroom, and several December thieves steal away.
Last years miracles will soon be forgotten.
New creatures whirl in from nonexistence,
galaxies scattered around their feet.
Have you met them?
Do you hear the bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle?
A single narcissus flower has been appointed Inspector of Kingdoms.
A feast is set. Listen The wind is pouring wine.
Love used to hide inside images. No more. The orchard hangs out its lanterns.
The dead come stumbling by in shrouds.
Nothing can stay bound or be imprisoned.
You say, End this poem here, and wait for what is next.
I will, Poems are rough notations for the Music we Are.

Monday, May 11, 2015

Late March Snowscape
This Oil painting depicts an outcropping of precambrian shield at Mistik Creek, near Cranberry Portage, Mb.  I managed to find my way up there a couple of months ago to visit old friends and the countryside where I was born.  I took many photographs and plan on painting some of the scenes I came across.