I grew up at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. It was there I discovered my first love, nature. Nature has been a consistent source of pleasure, solace and wonderment. As a young person I was an avid hiker and remain an avid birder. It has never failed to give beauty and meaning to my life. In the last few years I’ve been concerned about the beleaguered state of nature and the environment. It has been a theme in my poetry and art.
I have spent most of my retirement as an active artist learning how to master collage. I began writing poetry six years ago to explore how words give depth to life and loss.
Three of my favorite poets are: W.S. Merwin, TS Eliot’s Four Quartets, Denise Levertov.
Inward Sea
All people have an inward sea - Howard Thurman (MLK’s spiritual director)
Imagine a sea closer than our breath, filled with hidden
desires, unchartered places, inventions of a
mind free to roam.
How appealing, an inward sea, boundless, mysterious,
pulsating with possibilities, a spiritual playing field,
a place to lose the self.
A sea of wisdom, dormant, struggling to become alive,
or where great swells of love engulfs darkness, a special
place to retrieve lost memories.
There, a receding surf where light tip-toes in and nothing
returns to the way it was. Here, a shoreline edge illuminates
troubled perceptions.
A vast inward sea at its deepest depth, churning darkness,
elusive, powerful, hungry---
View a video of Norma Kahout reading this poem
To Fly with Snow Geese
“In my beginning, is my ending.”
Our gathering place for the trip is Pt. Reyes,
a place of incomparable beauty.
February is radiant here, emerald fields
covered with lupine, heather, and scotch broom,
a trust of ancient skies clearing
to embrace our flight.
Our four leaders are young, strong, fat-heavy;
the oldest and most experienced will lead us
across the channel. My place is in the middle
of the formation, in the company of elders.
Preparation completed, a heightened excitement gives
us the “alert”. We are aloft. The relentless wind surges,
thrusting us forward. We move like a mighty arrow
across the sky.
A staggering whiteness surrounds me, like a blizzard of spring
snow, breathless purity, a rhythmic beat of powerful wings
pushing through the wind. A wing on its down beat
strokes my face, like a caress from God.
To be enveloped in the serenity of white wings, to float,
to let go, to be.
Dream
Silence of Memories
Memories seek forgotten dreams;
to meet challenges of snow-caped peaks,
to hear the song of mountain bluebirds
and know it’s spring, to find once more
a self free from expectations.
Memories seem to be fated to shuffle
mostly through dark places, recalling
all the endings that didn’t work
consumed by endless repairs. A life
can be warped by “shoulds”.
Memories can guide the heart toward love.
They can nudge you to remember the
embrace of love, can find etchings on
the heart that soothe wounds, and
remember the way of life is love.
Late Arrival
When I was young
and my heart felt grieved,
and sorrow pledged to
follow me
in an endless turning,
of the wrong-side out,
like snow geese flying high
in formation,
I discovered, I had a place
and found joy in my flight.
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