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Open Poetry #5
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Her Shoes are not so Different from Mine
| Open Poetry #5 |
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Her Shoes are not so Different from Mine |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California 
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Her Shoes are not so Different from Mine Across the chaparral toward the mountain I can picture a young girl’s bouncing pig tails a skip from the covered wagon. She brushes against white sage, turns to the pungent perfume that dances in the air unseen then turns again to the mountain’s molted color of many browns, with yucca spikes staking towards heaven. A candle she thinks into the bright day then catches her long stocking, now dirt stained with new holes, old with tatters already darned by her own hand, at her ankle the sharp tongue of a prickly bush like the porcupines from home. In the night in grandmother’s quilt wrapped, rain had tapped the creosote bush and turned the air into a strange and wondrous smell that woke her and took her to breathe, deep and perfect breaths into the soft black night. In the morning she tossed her head at the chill and emerged with a change. She had fallen in love with the smell of this land with distance in sky that is larger, more open then she has ever seen, where no trees tread on the magic glimpse of the horizon and the sun traces its path from one side of the earth to the other without biding time in twilight’s hilly sky. Across Rancho Santa Ana a garden of California Natives, I think I am one of these too, a California native, a child of this earth full of acorns, a sweet and keen land that still lives in spite of asphalt and the rise of steel. I can feel that little girl I never knew but imagined in her long skirt and her shoes are not so different from mine. < !signature--> In the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. (ee cummings) [This message has been edited by Martie (edited 01-03-2000).] |
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| © Copyright 2000 Martie Odell Ingebretsen - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Skyfyre Senior Member
since 1999-08-15
Posts 1906Sitting in Michael's Lap |
"a child of this earth full of acorns, a sweet and keen land that still lives in spite of asphalt and the rise of steel." Between that, and the last stanza, I am convinced! This was beautiful ... --Kess You cannot choose the way of your death, but the path you choose will determine its own end. |
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Songbird Member Elite
since 1999-12-15
Posts 2184Missouri |
I really love this! Reminds me of my California heritage. We California natives got to stick together now and not let it all become concrete and asphalt. |
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Elizabeth Santos Member Rara Avis
since 1999-11-08
Posts 9269Pennsylvania |
Oh Martie, your writing is so beautiful. You are a true wonder. I am still in awe Liz |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California |
Exquisite work, Martie. Beautiful imagery in this story. Michael |
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Deborah Junior Member
since 2000-01-03
Posts 41 |
What a special poem about your home. You have a beautiful way with words that really brought me into your poem, almost like a song. Thanks! |
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
Beautiful, Martie! Your words and your thoughts! I love how your mind works! Denise |
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Balladeer
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-05
Posts 25505Ft. Lauderdale, Fl USA |
not bad.......... TERRIFIC!!!  |
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Seymour Tabin Member Empyrean
since 1999-07-07
Posts 31720Tamarac Fla |
Martie, Wonderful poem, beautifully done and I agree with Balladeer and Elizabeth. *L* Sy |
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Mike Member Elite
since 1999-06-19
Posts 2462 |
Wonderful... a true enjoyment to read. |
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Meadowmuse Member Elite
since 1999-12-27
Posts 3263 |
I enjoyed this...especially liked how you incorporated so many of the Earth's fragrances. Very well written.  Claire |
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whiskey
since 1999-12-28
Posts 1278Australia |
WOnderful poem Marti, Great imagery , a pleasure to read thanks Julie |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
We are lucky enough to be able to harvest from this beautiful garden (Rancho Santa Ana Botanical Garden) My husband is making White sage smudges, 75 of them. American Indians have said that the smoke is usefull not only for the purification of the body, but for material objects as well. It is considered a sacred plant to many tribes. Just a little history from the sage. In the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. (ee cummings) |
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hoot_owl_rn Member Patricius
since 1999-07-05
Posts 10750Glen Hope, PA USA |
I like |
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Severn Member Rara Avis
since 1999-07-17
Posts 7704 |
Martie my friend - you need to start handing oxygen with your poems!!! This is fantastic! She had fallen in love with the smell of this land with distance in sky that is larger, more open then she has ever seen, where no trees tread on the magic glimpse of the horizon and the sun traces its path from one side of the earth to the other without biding time in twilight’s hilly sky. - Love it. K...I am not a painter, I am a poet... F. O'Hara |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Thank you so much for your comments on this poem. I am thrilled. In the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. (ee cummings) |
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Toerag Member Ascendant
since 1999-07-29
Posts 5622Ala bam a |
Well dear Martie....I've smoked some of that stuff the indians refer to.....and I'm not sure that it was good for my body....(definitely wasn't for my sanity or memory)....in fact, it may not have been sage?....but it was kinda "sacred" to me many years ago whatever it was?....does peyote grow on sage?....cactus?...... Seriously..this poem is wonderful...the imagery was almost picture perfect!!! ya done good gal!!!! |
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Echo Rhayne Senior Member
since 1999-09-17
Posts 1495Canyon Country, CA |
Martie, truly exquisite!! Did a fantastic job! ~*~ ^i^ ~*~ Love is such a lonely art, and death is but a taste. Minds are merely instruments that often go to waste! ~*~ ^i^ ~*~ |
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Marge Tindal
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Martie - Again you mesmerize me with the images you paint with your words. Super ... just super. ~Marge~ |
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