There is a potted azalea in the living room That feeds my soul. All summer it planned for bloom. Month after month it gave itself to this. I should like to think It gave itself to me, Planned to reward me For the scorching days of neglect And the numerous hours it lay Tipped on its side by the exuberant wind, And crushed against the flagging of the patio. But the azalea is not concerned with rewards. It is content to be. It is in being that it blesses. I would like to give myself as completely to being. I would like to feed souls.
By Charles A. Waugaman (1932 – 2010)
WITHIN The Circle of Seasons Poems by Charles A. Waugaman All Rights Reserved.
2003, Elin Grace Publishing Collection copyright, Author This book is out of print.
In my previous post, turning the vase, I mentioned that some poems are simply gifts. Perhaps practice helps us to be able to create art from these moments, as we pay attention, work, and rest. Reflect. Revise as needed. Honor the time the work needs.
These are a few more examples, from my blog archives in general.
leaves of bleeding hearts now gold so do broken hearts mend so does grief heal Autumn grace
Published in Bell’s Letters Poet, WestWard Quarterly, and SMILE.
sometimes by sight in my life of faith apple trees in bloom
trusting God a little more with my questions fog rests on Spring fields