Thursday, October 9, 2014

You know how I like barbed wire


You know how I like barbed wire, how it twists
    Around old wood

How fenceposts lean; how I like to find a good place
To sit down on the sandstone


A mouse ran up the stone, sat right next to me
Whiskers flicking


"Do you know the tall and the dark under?" it said.
"No, I don't think so," I said.

"Just wait. You'll see."




I wonder: are we having a dialogue on the dead, here?



I  hear a hawk screech, or is it
An owl?

Under my feet are millions of voices, but 
All I hear is this brown mouse

Glancing sidelong and running like hell to
Slip into the shade.




*Photo location: Abiquiu, New Mexico



12 comments:

  1. I like that you hear the brown mouse, Monica. Think of those who don't. Do you have any idea what you've taught me about texture, about an eye for texture? How that barbed wire you see feels like a shard of truth? Thank you.

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  2. Funny you're here coz I've been thinking about you lately; the girl who doesn't know she's a guru, the common one who is teaching me persistent peace (but she doesn't know it..ha!). A long message is in order.

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    1. Whoa! Gosh, I am glad I came back to read this barbed wire treasure again during a moment of thinking about YOU. Heck, I'm just learning persistent peace along with you, sometimes getting pricked by that barbed wire and sometimes able to see its glory. Do send me your thoughts some fine day.

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  3. When you weave together images and text the way you do so wonderfully, there's a bigger picture I always see, in this case, something about expansiveness and enclosure, with those, dark mysterious places a mouse (metaphorically speaking) can take us.

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    1. I rely on you to see that bigger picture, Deborah. Your thoughts always enlighten me. Thanks! I will explore the expansive/enclosure theme...I'm sure some good material is waiting to be discovered.

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  4. The images are beautiful, the words intriguing. Unaccountably, they remind me of yesterday's strange emptiness. I've been feeding doves, sparrows, a squirrel family, in a little spot near where I park my car. Shelled sunflower. No mess on the ground, happiness all around. They've been increasing in numbers (the birds, not the seeds), and then, suddenly: everyone is gone. Just gone. There's not a bird in sight, not in the trees, not on the rooftops. The squirrels have abandoned their limbs. Maybe they're run for the shade.

    And you reminded me of T.S.Eliot, and his lines from East Coker: "O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark..."

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    1. The theme of death comes up so frequently in my work; always exploring the mystery. We live between 2 bookends of darkness, don't we? Thank you so much, Linda

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  5. Lovely piece, Monica! I send a soul hug! I've been exploring the meaning behind these kinds of meetings in a book called "What the Walrus Knows." According the the author, an encounter like yours with Mr. Mouse might represent goodness multiplied, ideas in abundance; allow the good to flow through you to the world; satisfy yourself, body and soul; delve into darkness and seek hidden places, tend your own fire; quietly pursue what matters; incline towards desire; focus, hold.

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  6. Oh, how luminous, Terri. Thank you! Quietly pursuing what matters..desire...focus...hold. Doing that everyday on my walks, airing out the sheets!

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  7. Your photography is stunning Monica. I always love your posts when I stop by.

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  8. Nice to hear from you, Amanda. I trust things are going well your way and many children's stories are unfolding.

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  9. Such a descriptive and interesting piece! Very nice!

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