Spirits In Peace Blog

Picture From BigFoto

Spring is such a source of inspiration, for poetry both of nature itself and that of spirituality. This is such a rowdy, colourful season after the quiet, dignified whites and grays of winter. Robins arrive, and who does not welcome that sight and sound? Even the hoarse call of grackles has its own vernal charm as their deep purple plumage glitters in the longer hours of sunlight. The heart cannot help but leap at the sight, and many of us are filled with hope and optimism at the start of this welcome season.

For the poet - and I suspect many poets love nature - spring may be a time of poetic rebirth, in a way. Often, longer, more labourious projects are undertaken in the winter, when one is pretty much guaranteed uninterrupted time to work, other than the obligatory rounds of snow-shoveling, of course.

In spring, I find inspiration all around me. The first crocus or daffodil may inspire a poem, as may the marvelous chartreuse of the first greening of new foliage. Today, having spotted the first plucky robins to venture onto my still snow-covered lawn, the following pair of etherees emerged :

Incipient Hope: Two Etherées

That
welcome
appearance
of a large and
very cheeky flock
of robins creates an
element of hope for the
clement season to follow a
harsh seemingly interminable
icy winter we grumpily survived

And
cheery
red tulips
beginning to
bravely erupt in
spite of the quantity
of moldy snow and icy
patches lingering forever
lift spirits into those colourful
auras of incipient springtime hope

©Carol Knepper

How out of whack things are! In this area, we have snowfall such as I have never seen, with little break and almost no melting between storms. Icicles at least six feet long are dangling from eavestroughs, and spring flooding is anticipated due to the incredible snow-pack.

Oddly, the conditions often give rise to a poem on the theme of nature, as I am deeply concerned about global warming. We are clearly seeing devastating effects, and have been for a good while now, but yet governments argue over carbon tax and people continue to drive gas-guzzling vehicles.

And still our Aboriginal Peoples, who understand nature better than anyone, are excluded from conferences and symposiums on the matter. Yet we can hardly think of looking seven generations down the line…

Recently, I was watching some of those killer icicles melt as the late February sun grows stronger each day, and it gave rise to an etheree:

Thoughts On Icicles Melting: A Reverse Double Etherée

On noting the melting of several
large icicles this mild afternoon
I contemplate the patterns of
nature and therein observe
that each single aspect
is perfectly planned
our human greed
being the bug
that upsets
this fine
form
and
knowing
that my own
role in mayhem
is no less than that
of most I simply stare
at the incessant dripping
and know that similarly our
planet is trickling away surely
as the icicles will soon disappear

©Carol Knepper

Those of you who have pursued some of my poems will notice that I often make mention, or develop an entire poem around, the theme of the colours of nature.In fact, I have an entire e-book, appropriately entitled Colours, devoted to that sort of idea.

Earlier today, I had written an etheree which focused on winter as a restorative period of necessary dormancy, and in it I entertained the idea the human beings also go through such periods, followed by a period of growth. A friend’s comment on the etheree, in which the term “winter blues” was mentioned, immediately prompted the piece posted later in this entry.

I must admit to having suffered from those winter blues, and this year I have gradually developed a different attitude, as life is simply too short to go around disliking an entire season. I must say the process, which was a matter of spiritual work, and comes down essentially to my love of all creation.

My Winter Blues

My winter blues are cerulean-clear, unlike
summer’s cumulus-climb of saturation’s shower.
My morning blues are crystalline azure-gray,
when ice-encrusted alders glitter-gleam in solstice
morning sun. My sporty daytime blues are denim-steel,
on frozen pond where some ingloriously strive to glide
on faltering flat of blade, while others curve and carve
on elegant easy edge past wobbling clumsy crew.

My winter nights are cobalt-rich, with sparkling stars
appearing well before repast, the supper hour spent
watching dazzle of Big Dipper and Orion’s awe.
As inky indigo creeps across such scintillating scene,
I thank Creator for the winter blues He brings to me.

©Carol Knepper

Photograph http://www.bigfoto.com/

Nature poetry can be inspired in most unusual ways. In my case, I do not necessarily gaze at a sunset and then proceed to write about it, although that can of course happen.

Oddly, physical work often causes a poem to spring to mind. Poems write themselves in my mind when I am washing the floor, vacuuming, folding laundry, shovelling snow, raking leaves or mulch, or doing other relatively mindless chores. Just recently, while chipping ice for the umpteenth time this winter, the following piece began to tweak in my brain, and presented itself in its entirety a short while after, while still in the heavy jeans and sweatshirt I had donned for the occasion.

Yearning For Yellow

I dream of drip of icicle and sigh for slop of snow,
as March gales begin their gust-shift into welcome
waft of spring. I yearn for yellow crocuses, stamens
saffron-stained, and pine for push of peony
through sodden April soil. I acutely ache for
elegant evenings, heliotrope-heavenly, and thirst
for trill of wood thrush in search of wiggling worms.

I long for late-night lingering on patio or porch,
while viewing vermilion sunsets well past
solstice supper hour. I miss merciful mellow
moments of blissful bask in blessèd warming beam
of beauteous Brother Sun. And I passionately
plead for his rapid reappearance from winter’s
straggle-stray, whereas his cold and crooked walk.

Nature can be an inspiration even at times when the weather leaves a great deal to be desired. Right now, most of us have had winter, with its accompanying ice and snow, up to the proverbial ears. But yet there is a brutal beauty in the season, and life is too short to waste fretting over something we cannot control.

This winter, it has been my personal mission and mandate not only to see - for I have always seen it- but to enjoy without a trace of rancour or even spring wistfulness - the beauty in the crystalline trees and snow-capped cedars. Nothing is quite so magical as alders after an ice-storm, or tall black spruces draped in their snowy garments.

It helps if one can simply let one’s child come out and play, and let go, even briefly, of all the adult chores snow and ice entail. Do our lawns and gardens not involve chores as well? Do we not have to water petunias and tomatoes? Do we not rake those multi-coloured leaves in October? Why, then, do many of us consider winter work to be a special form of drudgery?

So this season I have let winter’s considerable enchantment in, just as I allow myself to be captivated by daffodils in May, lilacs and peonies in June, hydrangea in August, and the vibrant reds, oranges, and bronzes of the autumn’s leaves. I will not deny myself joy for three months of the year.

Nor do I have the right to dislike any aspect of God’s creation. After all, we are all part of this vast and mysterious Oneness, so in the end, to despise any aspect is to despise something of ourselves.

And that avails us nothing.

Study Of Spruce-Slouch

On this magical mid-winter morn snow falls
feather-silently on towering tamaracks, balsam firs,
silver pines. Through frosted window, I observe
bow of birch and slouch of spruce as branches
bravely bend under wonder-weight of white.

I note no bough is broken and detect graceful
arching drape of fully-skirted evergreens over dashing
dot of doe and drag of hoof. I study solid lessons
that such dazzling day as this surely strives to teach,
faith and flexibility its beauty’s beneficial themes.

© Carol Knepper 2009

Often poetry is designated as spiritual and I suppose such a term might easily be applied to certain pieces that clearly have this type of focus. I view every poem as a gift, my Muse being most generous, and those who are poets, as contrasted to simply writing doggerel or cute little ditties, are often very aware that poems often arrive as if almost pre-written in some other dimension. The poem, in effect, chose the poet, as opposed to the poet sitting down and laboriously composing the poem, with many corrections and revisions necessary.

Such pieces present themselves as polished gems, with little or no editing required, and that often involving merely the correction of typographical errors. In many cases, one cannot type fast enough, as the mental and spiritual processes are occurring with such rapidity.

Thus, are not all poems in some way spiritual? If I were to forget about Spirit (if such a thing were possible) and attempt to write, what am I doing other than playing at penning poetry, as everyone does, say, in elementary school? In that case, I am simply doing a creative exercise, rather like knitting a sweater from a pattern.

The poem cannot be separated from the poet. They are one and the same; as the poem arrives as a gift of the Universe, the Oneness of which everything is a part, the poet cannot be divorced from his or her work.

Such is the nature of One, and as such poems to me are gifts of Spirit, and in some way spiritual.

The final variation of the etheree to be dealt with in this series is the reverse double. I will leave triples and quadruples to the individual to pursue, as these are fairly rare and take a good deal of practice.

A reverse double has twenty lines, of course, beginning and ending with a ten-syllable line. Lines 10 and 11 each have one syllable. The complete produce will resemble and hourglass is properly configured. Like all the other forms, it may be punctuated or not, as suits the poem and the poet, and may be left or right-aligned, or centered.

The syllable pattern is as follows:

Line 1: 10 syllables

Line 2: 9 syllables

Line 3: 8 syllables

Line 4: 7 syllables

Line 5: 6 syllables

Line 6: 5 syllables

Line 7: 4 syllables

Line 8: 3 syllables

Line 9: 2 syllables

Line 10: 1 syllable

Line 11: 1 syllable

Line 12: 2 syllables

Line 13: 3 syllables

Line 14: 4 syllables

Line 15: 5 syllables

Line 16: 6 syllables

Line 17: 7 syllables

Line 18: 8 syllables

Line 19: 9 syllables

Line 20: 20 syllables

Here is a reverse double, let-aligned and without punctuation:

Saturday Recycler Thoughts: A Reverse Double Etherée

On Saturdays papers boxboard tins and
plastics build up at recyclers whilst
people divest themselves of a
great jumble of packaging
leading one to ponder
if companies which
blithely produce
such sundry
garbage
may
be
held to
a standard
in such issues
and if the shoppers
caring about this earth
must make a clear assertion
by rejecting merchandise which
is over-packaged and bring back the
old era of bottles used more than once

And a punctuated, centered one, in a much lighter vein:

Strike Up The Band

As Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
throbbed loudly on those record players,
I had not the slightest thought that
those aged sixty-four might still
be needed though far too
well-fed for their own
waistlines! Always
prepared and
prone to
be
a
willing
bridge over
troubled waters
at times, most truly
struggle to endure with
a little help from their friends,
while spending hours in Strawberry
Fields of wonder and accomplishment,
yet in due time to join the Grateful Dead!

Have fun with the different variations on the etheree theme. Try all the forms, and try some singles as series. When one finally looks perfect and packs a meaningful message, you have mastered the art.

Series © Carol Knepper 2009

Now that you have written a few single etherées and practiced the various permutations and combinations thereof, it is now time to tackle a double. This has twenty lines and forms a diamond shape when well executed.

The configuration is as follows:

Line 1: 1 syllable

Line 2: 2 syllables

Line 3: 3 syllables

Line 4: 4 syllables

Line 5: 5 syllables

Line 6: 6 syllables

Line 7: 7 syllables

Line 8: 8 syllables

Line 9: 9 syllables

Line 10: 10 syllables

Line 11: 10 syllables

Line 12: 9 syllables

Line 13: 8 syllables

Line 14: 7 syllables

Line 15: 6 syllables

Line 16: 5 syllables

Line 17: 4 syllables

Line 18: 3 syllables

Line 19: 2 syllables

Line 20: 1 syllable

Tips And Tricks

1. If line 1 has three letters in its monosyllable, try to use 2 -4 letters in line 20. If line 1 were to be 3 letters and line 20, 6 letters, then the desired diamond shape is not achieved.

2. The same applies, roughly, to lines 2 and 19, 3 and 18, 4 and 17, etc.

3. Keep lines 10 and 11, the two 10 syllable lines, as close to the same length as possible.

The following is a double that I think turned out fairly well, and, as is often the case, it is a nature poem:

Creatures Of Fantasies: A Double Etherée

Sky
of pure
azure with
delicate clouds
may create wonder
and awe as one’s spirit
becomes aware of beauty
as contained in the formations
resembling creatures of fantasies
ever altering as the summer breeze
or crisp October wind makes infinite
changes in a scene as each ripple
and shadow rapidly transforms
their enchanting abundance
the most inspiring source
of living dreams and
visions to each
astonished
amazed
soul

If I had opted to begin the poem with the word “on,” I would not have ended with soul, but with a shorter word, such as “sky.” One letter can make such a difference.

Now, double your toil and trouble -  and tackle one!

Winter has never been a season I have enjoyed, at least not in adulthood, and at some points in my life I have even suffered from S.A.D., having gone to work in the dark and come home in the dark.

Now that I can work on my own schedule, I see more of the limited daylight hours that this seasons offers, and often its majesty and brutal beauty give rise to nature and/or spiritual poetry. Such poems spring from a deep conviction that I have no right whatsoever to dislike any aspect of Sacred Creation, all of which has its purpose in the scheme of things. Winter is a season of rest and renewal. Not do I have enough years left in my life to waste them disliking much of anything, let alone anything over which I have absolutely no control.

I am in the icy moments that winter offers. I am part of the Oneness that is this season’s sleet and snow:

Each Icy Instant

I cannot will nor wish away such wintry winds
as bite and blow and blast with smart and sting.
I cannot command that merciful melting March arrive
with gusting western gales that soften filthy snow
and make it run in rivulets on roads and routes.

I cannot demand dark days to faster fly, nor can I
insist that beaming Brother Sun cut short his
crooked winding walk. But I can hold each icy instant
in my summer soul and breathe its sacred essence,
for in such season lies the rest from whence
resurgence springs. And soon enough sweet shoots
and sprouts will swiftly surge from rejuvenated soil.

copyright Carol Knepper

Without winter, how does one have an appreciation for spring?

In this lesson, we will focus on the reverse form of the single etheree. Like the original version, it may be centered, left-aligned, or right-aligned, and punctuated or unpunctuated.

One works exactly in reverse order of the single form, starting with a ten syllable line and ending with a one-syllable line. Thus, the format is as follows, and remember each line should be two or three letters shorter than the previous one:

Line 1 - 10 syllables

Line 2 - 9 syllables

Line 3 - 8 syllables

Line 4 - 7 syllables

Line 5 - 6 syllables

Line 6 - 5 syllables

Line 7 - 4 syllables

Line 8 - 3 syllables

Line 9 - 2 syllables

Line 10 - 1 syllable

Here is an example of an unpunctuated single reverse etheree, which was actually part of a pair:

Artistic Dreams

Hear
whispers
in your soul
of dreams telling
of untraveled roads
since your secret vision
is a bright enchanted path
leading to fantasies that may
open artwork’s portals releasing
the joy residing in the human heart

And here is a punctuated one, which was part of a series:

Variations On The Seasons

I love the varied tints of summer’s clime,
the gentle pinks of phlox and the clear
blues of fescue, sage, and catmint.
The mauves of foxgloves and tall
larkspur thrill my soul, while
bright crimson Maltese
cross form piercing
cries of sheer
August
joy.

Now, using the skills taught in the previous lessons, try your own single reverse form.