Category Archives: nature

34–“Animals on the Journey Home” from “Frazzle”

“A hawk in flight,
red tail, full wing extension

lands on the bank
newly grass-sown and waits….”

From poem 34, “Animals on the Journey Home,” in my book, Thrown Again into the Frazzle Machine: Poems of Grace, Hope, and Healing. Listen here: https://youtu.be/1fiDmWt2BHI

To be in the moment as a witness, even in a car on the way to Michigan with husband driving and two kids in back. To notice and write down and remember…that exact time, the trip an awareness of its own, not just a destination.

For more poem videos in the “Frazzle” series

Poem Inspired by a Photo by Eric Whitacre

Inspiration comes from all around. It can be very insistent. I may hear some specific words line up, feel compelled to follow and see where that takes me. It feels good. Or I may see some light, shadow and pattern or colors and want to catch them in a photo.

Eric Whitacre is a composer, conductor, and charismatic speaker. He is the creator of Virtual Choir and an all around good guy. I have written many poems inspired by him and his music and the Virtual Choir experience. On his Facebook page he’s been posting photos he takes with his iPhone. Some are in color, some in black and white. On March 24th he posted a photo he took from where he was that day. This picture haunted me, insisting I write this poem. What inspires you to create?

3/24/16

Photo by Eric Whitacre
L.A., Thursday morning, in black and white

What happens before or after
we are not privy to, waves stilled
the calm water on the diagonal
the hard-packed flat sand with few lines
of footprints roughly parallel.

Scattering of clouds in motion
the sun muted and land-bound.
In the distance the Ferris wheel on a pier
precisely drawn yet in silhouette.
The solitary figure heading there or near
or going up to and returning.
The deep horizon both
inviting and ever-retreating.

An unseen witness
who catches this exact moment
between one sandy step and another
without comment except
the frame—what is in, what is out.
Is the man alone or waiting for someone
is he at the beach reflecting, making a decision
or regretting or anticipating?

What is the story this one scene
is part of, perhaps insignificant
perhaps the tragic or comic climax
the still moment before the world changes into
…before…and…after
and no going back to what was.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

Other blog posts with poems inspired by Eric Whitacre (also some photos)

“Startling Starlings” from Thrown Again into the Frazzle Machine

12/12/11

Startling Starlings
Everett Road west of Riverwoods

In the middle of a murmuration
landscape and sky covered by wings
myriad dark apparently separate bodies
climb and swoop and soar in evident synchrony,
how can that be? Mysterious symphony
immersed in all that majestic energy
a blessing particularly chosen for me.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

From Thrown Again into the Frazzle Machine

I am posting this poem here for Harold Grandstaff Moses who mentioned this phenomenon today on Facebook. This is my experience of murmuration. If you don’t know this term, it is that swooping, soaring sky-dance of a huge flock of starlings that stay in perfect synchrony. Amazing to witness! I was near my house, driving by an open field and into the middle of this awesome spectacle. I stopped the car to watch and laughed out loud at the wonder of it.

Thrown Again into the Frazzle Machine: Poems of Grace, Hope, and Healing is now available in print as well as popular E-book formats. (The paperback has black and white photos and the E-book has 11 full color pictures with the poems.) Check it out! And spread the word! Thank you!

THROWN AGAIN into the FRAZZLE MACHINE: Poems of Grace, Hope, and Healing

Treasures from the Past

All my poems are originally handwritten in spiral notebooks. Last week I was looking through old writing notebooks and discovered many of the poems from 2000-2002 were not in the computer, the only place they can be useful. So I have begun, in the midst of all my other plans, to every day enter at least a few. It is like time travel. Entering a life so different from the one I have now, and yet recognizable. More naive in some ways, some of the same truths coming through. My children were teens and now they are grown. I wrote differently then. Most of the poems I will probably not do much more with, just for me to see. But I am compelled to have the complete set. I seems important for some reason to find something or see something for the life I am now leading. Already I have found poems I remembered and had searched for and not found, until now. And today this one, which I like a lot, a buried treasure.

2/20/00

Midnight at High Moon

A thought to go to my window
and watch as I used to.

Two deer came to feed
on seeds knocked down

by careless birds
now laying on the crust.

The deer came dark and slow
against deep white of snow,

the storm from days ago
that melted on top and refroze.

They scooped up the seeds,
and still as marble

watched and waited
for what in the moonlight?

A third form
from the other side of the fence

slowly trod one crunching step
after another.

The two stopped feeding
and went over

and slowly, with no deliberate speed,
with no apparent notice

of bare slender legs and bootless feet,
all three made their way west

toward the forest
and the western end of the fence,

sharp soot silhouettes
blending into charcoal shadow.

And all was bright and still
under the midnight high moon.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2000

Deer in Backyard (C) 2012 Margaret Dubay Mikus

Unexpected Fierce Mother

Amazed, I looked out into my wooded yard today. At first I thought some crows were attacking a large rabbit. But it was the other way around. She (I assume is was a she) was chasing after two huge crows like a mini-sheep dog. Ah! A tiny bunny running scared along the brick of the back of the house. Cowering in the mulch at the corner of the step. Stay there! I urged from inside, but he kept on running along the edge of the house and out of sight. Fearless and tireless, the momma kept after those crows whenever they dove down with their black wings widespread. She stopped to rest only when the threatening birds were far up in the trees or flew into the field behind us. I was called away by someone at the door, so I don’t know what happened in the end. But I was rooting for the rabbits. Even though they eat our garden, they are such a delight to see, especially the magic of the babies.

The apparently fierce mother reminded me of this poem:

1/17/04

The Fierceness of Loving

Now you are gone
the silence has a presence of its own.

I have longed to get back
to my other life,

the one that continues when you leave;
my gift to you, this letting go.

I missed you the moment you left
and allowed myself that time to grieve

and keen and then as therapy
I began to clean,

partly restoring order,
partly to focus on something concrete

and unrelated, partly meditation,
fulfilling my dream of good intention.

I missed you before you left
and struggled against

the thoughts that brought tears,
for after all you were still here.

And now
to resume a life disrupted,

not to pick up the same threads exactly—
for the river of life continued to flow

carrying me to new harbors,
opening fresh possibilities.

Thank you for coming back to us,
what joy to watch you grow!

How much I have learned
about the fierceness of loving.

From my new book, Letting Go and New Beginnings: A Mother’s Poetic Journey
and my CD, Full Blooming: Selections from a Poetic Journal

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