The Uncarved Blog

Thinking of You Today

Looking out onto the world
between the slats of the blind—
too beautiful a day
to stay inside—
the light white on everything
the wind almost nowhere to be found
the trees stand motionless
some leaves slowly undulating
like the waves on the surface
of a calm ocean
reflecting sparkling lights
off the thin skin of the water

I think of you today
and how your world will be
when you awaken
three hours later—earlier
three thousand miles apart
as if time and space
had their own domains
and consigned us
confined us
to our own
separate
realities

But you and I—
our consciousness—stretches
across time
across space
weaving our own connections
under the surface fabric of things
to always remain
one singularity
separate—but joined
at the trunk
of the tree
of this universe

© Ken Chawkin

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ODE TO THE ARTIST
Sketching Lotus Pads at Round Prairie Park

Black lines briefly sketched on paper
capture our appearance but not our essence.

Your attention interests us,
although others have never before.
Your watchful eyes tell us
we are apart of you.

Can you feel our thoughts?
Can you think our feelings?
We do yours
and we thank you for committing us to memory.

For long after we’ve gone
and transmuted ourselves back into nature
our likeness will remind you that we were.
And your response will touch our hearts.

© Ken Chawkin

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Sometimes Poetry Happens
(Sequel to ODE TO THE ARTIST)

Some poets can write
from reflected experience
referring back to what was written.

Others need to be there,
in full view of their subject,
opening up to what’s being given.

Sometimes poetry happens between the two.

It’s then you don’t really write the poem.
It writes you!
You just put it down on paper.

When you see it there,
You’ve captured it.
Or, rather, it’s captured you.

What really happened between the two?

To explore that space
between you and me
is to discover who we are.

For deep within,
at the source of the gap
lie the togetherness of the three—

the seer, the seen, and the poetry … in between.

© Ken Chawkin

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CRYSTAL MORNING

Winter crystal morning bright
after raining night.

Dark tree branches frozen tight
in shiny shells of ice.

A strange and wondrous sight.
Transparent bones of light!

© Ken Chawkin

For more poems about trees see Being in Nature—a gift from a tree, with links to others.

Cold Wet Night
A Tanka

Rain on the trailer
Beating down its dismal song
Drop, by cold, wet, drop

A monotonous rhythm
Driving home … the loneliness

© Ken Chawkin
Fairfield, Iowa
Dec 20, 2006

Published in This Enduring Gift – A Flowering of Fairfield Poetry, 2010. See my other published poems in that book.

This poem was written in the presence of my muse, Sally Peden (Sali), as I was demonstrating to her how easy it was to write a haiku, which extended to this tanka. It tells the story of what was happening at the time. It was a very blissful process. Nothing depressing or lonely about it. I just selected the words that best conveyed such an image and accompanying mood.

Three years later things would change. On Jan 19, 2010, Sali would have to move into Parkview Care Center because of her dementia. Over 9 years later, I wrote this short, sad, 4-line Teapot Poem. In the 5th Response, I explain how it came to be written. Using the creative process described there brought relief from the grief I was feeling at the time.

^{— Written and compiled (citing sources) by Ken Chawkin for The Uncarved Blog.}