Nebraska Sandhills

The swirls appear, briefly, to my eyes

As we pass

Nuggets of former lives reveal

Themselves on this rocky shore

Where cattle and antelope roam.

Before the world turns west

And oh so dramatic.

Little darlin’, take a walk with me here

Where the grasses grab the sand

Where the tumbleweeds still have roots

Where all has not changed much

In a millennium.


The land, the former sea, the sky, the air we breathe.

Deeply we are here

As observers and partakers and always, always,

As creators.

Credit where credit is due.

God-like in me, God-like in you.


Forget the stories, the histories galore

Remember the patterns repeated now

And forevermore.

The biologies, the topographies, the geologies,

The sky’s clouds look as sandy

As the hills

Wisps today and curlicues

The great swath, fresh

Desire moving towards intention.

-cwa                                                        copyright Colette Wright Adams 2024


Snowy

Snowy evening
Without the snow.

Elegant memories hold me spellbound.
The gloss of flakes in the moonlight.

The dark contrast whittles away any
Doubt.
Forward images — time manages this
With or without me.
But the feelings are mine to feel.
The sounds are mine to hear.

Rhythms flow and I respond,
Lyrics don’t matter when you know
A truth so deep.

"On the Night Before" (winter solstice)

Hard and fast, the rule of thumb

As I watch the heavens’ tide shift

An irony, wrapped in early winter

Tomorrow begins our trek towards spring

It’s blessings abound, so readily seen

But I am sitting here, in the hard and fast

joy of winter winds

Making the whole world appear alive

As it slumbers

-cwa 2018

"More Driftless, Memory"

We could keep the subtle canyons in mind,

Strewn across the backdrop of the Driftless.

As rudimentary as time and as elusive.

A construct in thought, perception and stone.

The calligraphy of the mountains,

A forgotten language,

Beseeches us to not dismiss the nuances of space.

Autumn Again

Over land and over sea

Shadows fall and rise

Winds of time and circumstance

Among the golden leaves apply

Their force, tethers me and frees me

As the boughs come tumbling down

The ripple effect circles around the street

And more amber leaves fall

In Autumn’s breezey sweep

Two more "How to Listen to the Universe" poems

#3

How to ride the wave to my desire?

Easy does it, one foot in front of another

And then the rush of wind grabs you

Pushing you from behind


I am a four leaf clover

And a watchtower

Where the blind lead the blind

You are an empty vessel waiting to be filled

You are a calm sea, having moved along great crevices and canyons

Waiting in the shadows keeps you cool in Summer’s heat

It allows colors to appear and disappear

Waiting allows arrival

We are not a train station depot

Remember, we are in this together 

#4

Rising above all your dreams and desires

A great bird soars

Its wings expand to their fullest width

Their mouth tastes the air,  determining the direction

They know they could fly all day in the sunshine

But rest comes too

Be unshakable but true to yourself, your nature

Spread your wings and fly, it is your nature


On calm days and stormy, winds alway blow

It's the nature of Life

A current carries you further than you think

You are not traveling alone in the wind of time

You are bolstered but not carried

Many paths are cleared and you choose one

It goes where you want or doesn’t

Leave your mind behind, move with instinct

Get out of your own way

Fly-by-night

It can be the shortest path between two points



Thoughts (AMBULATORY)

What is a volcano but a creative force of nature. It doesn’t need to be anything else besides what it is. It may have consciousness but it’s not here to teach, to warn, to soothe, but to erupt.
Even in it’s silence it embodies creativity, it’s own eruption. Volcanoes appear in various landscapes. Some are active today, some are dormant and some are dead. People continue to live near active volcanoes. Other people, scientists, study volcanoes. Botanists explore within the volcano’s trajectory and region. Conclusions are drawn and not drawn. I’m just an artist walking up the lava path. Hardened and cooled into a black carbon walkway. I’m here to research emotions that arise around volcanoes.

At some point I bend down far enough so I can press my lips to the hardened lava surface. Really, I’m prone. Dusty, earth warm, a little granular but smooth at the same time. But the aroma! Acrid, deep, primordial, hard to describe. Uniquely it’s own. I always say, when I can’t adequately describe something, “It’s like trying to describe the flavor of milk. What the hell tastes like milk?”

My inner being never looks back :)

Throwing
Caution to the wind

But, you know
he married a cautious woman
and always hounded her
about it

But, really
his family was shrouded
in accidental tragedy
and continues to
this day

When I realized this
I was afraid
how this happens seemingly
out of control

But, even under
this mistaken view
I knew this madness
created intentionally obtuse

But, its only now
after the past is so
past, so done
I see their agreements
and mine

I see my husband’s desire
for safety, for caution
for no more tragedy
even through his ridicule

But, I am
overly cautious
its just that now
I see it serves a purpose

Empty Spaces

The empty spaces

between Autumn and Winter

between past and present

The spaces between trees

Evergreen branches swaying

A folded garden umbrella

on the deserted patio

Out the back door

of my mother’s house
A house that was ours

Once.

She always wanted a pergola

We kids wanted an ice skating pond

A place to ski in winter

A dog to run around with

A baby brother

A younger sister

A bigger bedroom

than my brother

Which I got.

The empty spaces are filled now,

before I empty them again.

Found Poems 2023

#1

Bother what

As memory, like an ant,  crosses borders

Traversing

The split tree cocktail table

That separates me from them

Bother what

Hybrids live here, nestled between

Kadafi and Gibran

Levant roots and shoots spread

As wide as this original tree

Now, not tethered to its earth

But allowing me support if not

Succor


#2

I might sit in the desert this evening.

I might cure an unknown disease

I might found a nation that stirs peace.

I might develop a skill that no one can detect.

I could arm the defenseless or shadow the mighty.

These vertical pathways exist, unencumbered

By disdain or wealth or priceless princes

That galavant and come undone

In this Spring moonshine

I might just sit in the desert this evening

Come what may.


An artist's thoughts on...

My artistic journey is deeply rooted in exploring  the relationship between humans, the natural world and the profound connection between them.

“We are immersed in a field of undifferentiated matter from which our senses gather bits of information…” * serves as a philosophical foundation for me as an observational artist.  Focusing on trees and botanicals, my perception of the world is a selective process, where I filter and interpret the sensory information around me. Often I  unearth patterns in nature.  Some  are obvious and others are hidden.  I like the idea of working on a series where I juxtapose the visible and the concealed.

 I invite viewers to see the world in a new light and appreciate the intricacies and patterns that often go unnoticed.  This perspective, conveying the interplay between humans and the environment, evokes a sense of mindfulness and connection in  viewers and can be a source of inspiration.  Including raising awareness about the importance of preserving natural landscapes.



*The Creative Act: a Way of Being”- Rick Rubin

Meditating on questions

Who do you love?    Life is who 

                                 which includes me and you.

What do you love?   Being captured

                                 being encircled

                                 being crowned 

                                 by the wind, by the sun.

Where do you love?   Anywhere

                                   in the pale

                                   and beyond the pale

How do you love?   Emphasis on emphatic

                                emphasis on calm

                                freely

Little thoughts

I love the way leaves get excited by the sun.
They arch their spines and point upwards, becoming inverse to what they were.
A cup for gathering sunshine.
My cup runneth over.

What if we’re unique but also interchangable?

What if we all start off with the same amount of everything, like intelligence?

The Light of the World

The light of the world is here.
The shape of it moves as the tree branches sway.
Its a soft lemon-yellow against the trees’ grey-green.
There is a dead branch resting where it fell, held up by other limbs.
A song, that is a prayer in a language I don’t understand, caresses the present moment.
I feel the sentiment of deep appreciation.
Small part of this vast world.

How to Listen to the Universe #2

Sitting on a high ridge watching the sun set. When I close my eyes I see fields and then white cliffs under fragile blue sky. In the distance, mountains.

Am I walking in a strange land? Maybe just new to me. I have a request. I wouldn’t mind a guide. I will not ignore them.

When I look further I see, filtered through the light of a sunny day. All is calm. I am at peace. I feel my heart beating. It is working well.

All the lands that lie before you are yours. No need to run, no need to take, simply look-see.

A rising sun, a rising tide, a rising breath. They all roll together. They are your green rolling hills.

You seek a place to be. You are that place to be. Open the door, enter. Leave, enter again.

You are a passage way always passing. Your steps follow a plan and then no plan.

Your head is in the clouds and then back down on earth.

Nothing is tarnished by your dream. Life loves you. Brings you success. You are all one of a kind.

Sleep well, dream deep.

He is a man dreaming too.

Walking Poem #11

The dancing trees once crouched beside one another.
Their laughter flies in the face
of our reality.

Their aching toes spread wide in preparation for the movement.
They plan.
They don’t plan.
They hope.
They don’t hope.
They Be.

In the endless dance, timeless and contemporary.
Futile and filled with meaning.
I come back to they physicalness.
One dark umber.
One a muddy sienna.

With tones of agreement between them.

Walking Poem #24

Its very quiet out here this morning.
All the chipmunks and squirrels are sleeping.
The humming birds too.
I have been grabbed by hope
instead of expectation.
Hope sometimes feels like lack.

I say this and the sounds of nature begin.
The gentle rise of the birds calling, “Hello!”.
The hum of the insects who do not pine for anything!
The crescendos of human noises far in the background.
A plane flies overhead.

There’s a ruby glow to the light on the dried grasses.
In the shadows, the trunks of trees reach deep into the earth.
They never think of the past.
They are immersed in the drenching nature of the present.
Drinking up all their needs.
Right here and now.

The spiders’ filaments shimmer translucent turquoise.
The hawk flies by six feet above the ground.
So swiftly but they do not meet.

Then I watch the hawk at work.

The Greatist Thing

Its the greatest thing in the world, to be an artist. To have an avenue for expression, passion and inspiration.
Don’t underestimate this gift in life. It can feed you emotionally, physically, financially and spiritually.

Deep in that space of creating is you. The essence, alive and kicking, waking up, being born. Again and again.
Forego the “Nay” sayers. They are only repeating their programming. Walk deeply into your life. Take it by the hands, lead, be lead. Roam and dream and make. Stay home and spin and create.

It is all one way of being. In spirit, in life, in the dark and the light.