This Summer I worked over by the coast of North Carolina in a little place called Lake Waccamaw. As a chaplain intern I basically built relationships with the children and the staff at the Children's Home that I worked at, along with normal church function stuff. There was another intern that joined me this summer, his name was Jon. Jon is a cool guy, and fellow English Major, so we had a little in common. But, what I want to talk about and what this has to do with poetry is about a little comment he made to me a couple times over the summer.
"Thats poetic, Nikki."
Being in a new environment and bombarded with free time like I've never had before set my vision off in a way I can't explain. Everything in Lake Waccamaw is beautiful and the loniliness I struggled with by being in a new place was comforted by things I would have never noticed before. So as I forced Jon to listen to my ramblings and observations (bless his heart) sometimes what I had to say seemed poetic. Ironically I didn't write one poem over the entire summer except for on my last day there. Most of my summer's poetry was found in nature, here are a couple of the things that became poetic to me this summer:
Puddles: Right after a summer shower the puddles would be clear and still. I typically mope about after it rains, until one day I looked into a puddle and noticed that the blue sky and fluffy white clouds were reflected in it.
Leaves: Did you know that magnoilia leaves smell like pepper and citrus? They do...go sniff one. I'm pretty sure that is what God smells like. The odd things is, you have to tear the leaf before you can smell it's beautiful aroma. hhmmm.
Rain: As mentioned before, rain in the summer makes me happy(unlike rain in the cold which I do not find as fun.) My appreciation for walking barefoot on warm rainy days grew exponentially, and my sneaking out to the back of the building where I lived to watch storms at night. And this is it's poetry for me: I sat under the awning fascinated so much by the water droplets and the difference in how the fell on the concrete and the grass that I ignored the 15 giant spiders that surrounded the top of my head. It was hard, but worth it.
There were many others from clouds to the color pink to specific children. I guess the point is that I have learned that poetry is everywhere and that if we just slow down and look around we can see it. I challenge you to take a day and try to find poetry...it is out there. While you are at it, comment and tell me where you see poetry.
Worship by Senses
Wind shifts the bronze waters
before me, envelopes my senses.
The smell of living beings
beneath the sun glittered surface
rises from wakes and peaks and
ripples of this shallow body.
Casting shadows, ever moving
bits of light, shape, and angles
move my eyes in all directions.
A continual hum of moving air
in my ears, only broken by
slaps and sloshes against the
pillars of the pier.
And my skin. touched. everywhere
exposed. at the same time.
Wind sends me into sensory
overload, pushing in my nose,
drying my eyes, tangling my
hair, cooling my skin,
every nerve in my body stands to
read my surroundings, observing,
collecting every detail, experiencing
a dance between water and air
in awe.
