Poetry Friday - Looking Long

                Poetry Friday this first Friday of July is hosted by Tricia Stohr-Hunt at her blog, The Miss Rumphius Effect. Today, she shares a triolet, inspired by her grandmother's stories of experiences in the Great Depression and World War II. Thanks, Tricia! Hope everyone enjoyed their Independence Day celebrations.








           When I taught, my students and I spent many hours outside with field journals, recording what they observed, questioning, doing further research, sketching. I used the following poem by John Moffitt often, hoping it would inspire each to settle in a quiet space and "look long".  

To Look At Anything

To look at any thing,
If you would know that thing,
You must look at it long:
To look at this green and say,
“I have seen spring in these
Woods,” will not do – you must
Be the thing you see:
You must be the dark snakes of
Stems and ferny plumes of leaves,
You must enter in
To the small silences between
The leaves,
You must take your time
And touch the very peace
They issue from.

~ John Moffitt ~

         Many of you know I spent the past two weeks at the beach, first enjoying the house by the shore myself, then with my family in the second week. I wrote many things, some simply to capture the moments, but one poem came through my own 'looking long' and appreciating more than I had in the past. Perhaps it is the political climate today that also inspired, but my thoughts during this 'looking long' made new connections this year.

Looking Long

I walked the shore

taking care not to bother  

the ibis having breakfast

or the scurrying sanderings

as I leaned and wandered,

searching for new shells.

Granddaughters and Grandson 

splashed in the water

playing catch with that superb ball that

would

not 

sink.

Grown children watched from

the chairs under the umbrella

grabbing cans of Negra Modelo,

talking, talking, catching each other’s news

after long months of separation.

I found one conch, no chip,

two slipper shells, faintly blue

and an auger, about four inches long,

super find.

So it was not impossible that I 

would fill a small bag to take back,

to add to the many already in the glass jar

back home.

They would be cleaned,

appearing untouched by rolling waves

that crash shells together.

Then I began an inner query of why--

why only perfect?

Why not look for the beauty within the imperfect–

the faded blue and yellow circles in the clam;

the hint of a boring worm or a barnacle

seen in a second, closer look.

I daydreamed about the possible size

of a broken shell, a wonder at something

I might never discover.

An important crossover reminded again,

to look longer, but at each human contact, 

finding new beauty.

Linda Baie ©