Sitting quiet,
thoughts flow with the tide,
nameless waters
broad to the horizon,
lift and fall.
Iris rise in spring sun,
their color purple,
as I study the depths
of moss and April flower,
shortening my sight
to the near at hand,
eye to eye with the Creator.
photo by Ann Babette Foorman
Reading of “Eye to Eye”
Don, your poem reminds me of a short-lived television series years ago, Ann of Acadia. I think that was the name. The plot had a regular New York university coed suddenly chosen as an instrument by God, who would appear in different guises such as a homeless guy in rags on a subway. In one episode, God is a young man who is asked by a scoffer for a miracle. God looks at a great tree and says, “There’s one.” The scoffer objects because it is just a tree. “Let’s see you make one,” God says. Amen, brother.
Traveling along a dirt road to my home I noticed purple in the fields, stopped and absorbed the beauty of wild iris. Maybe we could call your poem “I to I”. Thank you Don
“…eye to eye with the Creator.”
Nice, Don.
“Shortening one’s sight” is sometimes the perfect thing. Focussing in on a single flower can allow one to appreciate nature’s intricate detail.
I’m feeling this poem as a grounding question: from what do I draw my nourishment, and what will carry my answer to the great motion beyond my physical reach? The iris, in both its meanings. Beautifully done!
I meaningful lyric to honor Ann Babette, I feel. Love the slant rhyme between purple and flower!
I will never look at an Iris in the same old way, and I am looking at Irises daily!! Great meditation everyone! Thanks Don!