Sara Brummer

Sara Brummer Jan 2019

Pale shadows of early spring –
a sense of unfolding into fragile hours,
not ours to keep.
White winter days of danger past
and still, that on-going uncertainty.
A word in every drop of crystal breath,
Caught and held a nano-second
and hope running back to a beginning
never found.
A glossy serpent bites its tail
in an endless game repeating itself.
This circle, this oval orb
Empty yet containing all.

#zen #spirituality #nature #belief

Sara Brummer Jan 2019

Nonsense Poem

Between the butterfly and time
there is a space for bumblebees
to cultivate the clockwise rhythm
of the sky, applying prose that
might provoke a quantum leap
to patches of baroque.

Between chateaus in Spain,
there’s room to contemplate
debris that might design
a whole new attitude toward
storyline.

Carefree, a poet might create
a category quite apart,
a gratifying rhyme
to warm the heart.
Which culinary genius can combine
the bittersweet of artichoke with wine?

When shall the force of fireflies
unite with world to advertise the value
of an enterprise producing wholesale peace
available for sale or for lease?

#nature #poetrypeacenonsense

Sara Brummer Dec 2018

Parkinson's

PARKINSON’S

One slow step follows another
Limbs still bound to earth by
The golden cords of love.
At night, my dream self,
Startled awake, I watch
From my window as one star
Tips the dipper,

My strength has gone
To well-water, frozen
In winter, convinced
That spring must arrive
By dawn, but hope has
Blown away like the petals
Of late summer roses,

As I watch that silly moth
Circling the candle flame,
Longing to become Buddha,
I wait for the cure, a guest
That may arrive too late.

#illness #spirituality #nature #parkinsons

Sara Brummer Dec 2018

Zephyrina

Endless she blows
Through tough rhizomes of marram grass,
Moving sand, making dunes,
Bringing storm clouds or sun,
She’s mistress of the skies.

Sometimes a temperamental adolescent,
She rattles windows, slams doors.
Sometimes an agile animal, she spins
Invisible nose over tail.
In her world she speaks her own language,
Rolling sounds, inventing strange songs.

No one really knows her
Yet she’s a stranger to no household,
Lifting awnings, skirts and parasols,
Rippling pools and swelling sails.

The Greeks called her Zephyrus
But surely she’s a woman –
Capricious, compassionate, creative,
Cleansing, sometimes invasive,
She’s the artist of dawn and dusk,
In her sweetest mood, soft of touch,
Gentle of spirit, mysterious forever.

#nature #mythology

Sara Brummer Oct 2018

Different Species (inspired by Gary Snyder)

Night poet moves the wand of winter moon
Across puddles of angry sky.
Day poet soaks up the dark
With white dregs of frosty grass.
Season’s poet is the cold of now,
And warm’s imagined past,
The rustle of wind in leaves,
Telling secrets of other worlds.
The poet of land masters gravity
Of earth and air.
The poet of sea tests colours and textures,
A seamstress of liquid cloth.
The poet of moods fills hours
With inconstancy like a crow pecking holes
In a discarded b-flat mattress or
A lark perched on a bright cloud,
Overflowing with allegro.
The poet of dreams holds
All the world spellbound
In a theatre of slow motion.
The poet of real things
Makes magic out of socks and onions.
The poet of beauty speaks of what is.
The poet of love speaks of what might be.

#poetry #nature #musicart

Sara Brummer Oct 2018

Contrasts

A silver moon sliver teetering
On the dark edge of night
Suddenly pierced by
An iceberg sword of dawn.
A snow valley caught
In the embrace of indigo hills.

Pearl flesh on silk sheets,
An ebony-faced servant,
Holding a huge white lily bouquet.
A pristine spring forest decked with
Delicate crocus buds,
A pale **** shattering
The sameness of black suits.

An abandoned chapel
Full of faded frescoes,
The grey smell of absence,
The thick stone faces of griffins.

A soft pause in the churchyard,
Among shadows, a black-eyed crow
Alights on angel wings, a fallen branch
Heavy with sable moss lies
Among the sounds of silence.
The pallor of age mocked
By purple blotches of skin,
The jaundiced yellow failing sight
And yet the heart still bright
With the ruby fire of love.

#artnaturecolors

Sara Brummer Oct 2018

Happy Endings

To observe the sun’s lightening
Sinking into steel night with laughter,
Browned by age, still clinging to
A treasure of ago.
To feel the dart of time and yet
Refuse regret.
To fold into a cotton peace
Whatever is easy to forget
Yet guard what still exists,
What the heart holds too precious
To escape… A question?
The comfort of reply may come
In sleep, if in darkness we can find
Our way without craving the return
Of day.

#spirituality #age #philosophy