Friday, February 27, 2009

On Top of A Hill

Through the lens of my camera I now live on a one lane paved country road with tall evergreens in the front yard. Through my eyes there are Blue Mountains in the distance with leafless tree covered mountains just before. The air is cold and the windy gusts send me deeper within my new winter jacket and the gray scarf made by Victoria.

The clouds cleared only for an hour or two today, only the first or second time since relocating. To say that it is "gloomy" or "dreary" would not be incorrect, yet without the negative feeling attached. Off the back patio I look down and see leaf free grass. There are so many trees lining the perimeter of each property I can only imagine the effort that went into clearing the yards of all the leaves. Feeling the wind makes me think there were natural forces to help with this effort... on the top of the hill.

Out From Far

i can not see what is in front of me
when i always look back
yet i must be going somewhere
i must be seeing something
a memory or a dream
which could it be
i may have lived a thousand lives
and yet i still hold this one so dear

a voice calls out from far
i have not heard a more welcoming sound
from just next door
a man comes out
speaking to those who can hear
yet all is silent
and there is no one here but me

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Just Moved to NY

Originally written 12/13/2008
There is a constant cold breeze blowing on this clear blue-sky morning. Coffee is getting cold quickly in the handmade ceramic mug from my pottery days. The steam rolls off as the sun shines through the bare branched leaves and the crows move west. A perfect reflection on the glass table of a beautiful naked tree and blue sky - like the still water of a frozen lake.
My fingers go numb as i write - trying to find clarity - trying to find comfort... Trying to find meaning.

© scott garrette 2008-2009

Thursday, February 19, 2009

in the woods again

In the woods again

In the woods again I follow
a trail that seems to have been made for me
or for three...
so peaceful here, so colorful
I don't speak to show my gratitude
it is known and not misunderstood

© scott garrette 2009

Friday, February 13, 2009

when the earth shook

when the earth shook

as the blue sky appears
the moon dips into the clouds
just behind the mountain top
the earth shook as it came near
in the darkness of the early morning.

she closes her eyes
for a new day
lay your head down
song birds sing their greeting
as the baby of my soul awakes
a squeak and anoter toucan appears
watching and protecting the moon
the black bird and the earth shake
with a golden beak we wake

Written in Jan of 2004 in Costa Rica at a beautiful farm called Finca Ipe. It was the first and only earthquake I've felt. More of a shudder than a quake, but strange none the less. The moon was full, and everything was quiet. I remember thinking that there were wild animals running through the woods nearby, that was the sound that woke me from my sleep. We were sleeping in an open air stilted shelter made as a yoga retreat house. Oh, it also sounded like hard footsteps on the teak wood floors, but there was no one there. The serenity of the experience is what I remember most and how out of tune I am to natural happenings. I think I can tune-in... if I try.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Ginger Bread Houses

so much exchange
of self-interest
goods in excess
from foreign halls
we want it all
but make not our own bed

give me this for that
and put out your welcome
mat when a neighbor
comes by to say hello
charge him $20 for the stay

It's all commerce
the American way
building family values
with ginger bread houses
we'll eat it all
don't forget the bed
get yours before i do

I'm not sure when I wrote this, but I'm pretty sure it was 2004-ish. Luckily, many of my writings have survived all of my moves. My collections begin in 1996 while in college at Baker University and randomly cover personal thoughts, subtle observations and some social commentary.

Friday, February 6, 2009

music to die from

music to die from

Up on green mountain
I hear the music
of the gasoline instrument
that sputters perfume
to melt my skin

They come like the gusts of misty air
around the bends
through the cloud covered hills
gently caressing my internal
combustion chamber

Originally written 1/10/2004 in Costa Rica.
It is hard to escape diesel fumes on mountain roads.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

the waves are blue

Just over there
the waves are blue
birds jump from tree to tree
I'm barely shaded by these giant leaves

What are those words I hear?
sudden laughter then a pause
Where are all of my friends?

Some of the birds don't flap their wings
The wind is hot
someone left the heater on

There are few people playing in the waves

The first of a series of "words and pictures" using imagery and words created by Scott Garrette.
This writing comes from a visit to Costa Rica in 2002.