the smell of parsley

When Emily, transported to heaven in Thornton Wilder’s play Our Town is asked what she misses most on earth she says, “The smell of parsley” And in Under Milkwood Dylan Thomas has one of his dead ship-wrecked sailors call out from the underworld
“What is the smell of parsley/”

Parsley apparently was growing wildly in the Mediterren Basin before man. It is a herb so common, like other ordinary things such as youth, such as spring,
we miss them only when they’re gone.

The message for me is enjoy life for it is short. Take time to smell the roses, to smell the parsley , remember to be as much as you can in the present moment so when your time is up you have no regrets. You have the beauty and love with you always.

parsley

the smell of parsley

tend the garden
after the rains
knee deep
in wet grass
up to your elbows in soil
and worms
and snails
and ruff of compost

marvel at the ramble
of a pumpkin vine
a stray seed gone free

linger in the fragrance
of chives and basil
coriander rocket and mint

and the smell of parsley

what is the smell of parsley?

savour their bouquet
be jubilant
with the flirt of white moths
and the canticle on the branch above
dwell on your knees
as if in prayer
tending the garden

zen moments

Zen is a way of being and can be seen as  a state of mind.  I think for Blake it is seeing ‘the world in a grain of sand,  and a heaven in a wildflower’.  For Eliot it could be ‘at the still point of a  turning world.’   For Frost’s ‘Two Roads’   it is taking the one less travelled’  For Michael  he suggests it is the moment at the bottom of the driveway when he is out and  on  his morning walk.

My zen moment  this day was watching a single tawny leaf on its journey.  And all I could do was breathe out slowly . I felt a sense of everything and nothing.  It could be like my heart and gut just connected very satisfyingly. And so I wrote. . .

 

 

IMG_0092

 

zen moment

a tawny leaf

clothed
nourished
the tree

lived its time
served its purpose

takes its leave
surrenders

falls

how gently
falling
falling
its fluttered spin
air-cushioned down

received
lightly
silently
by the earth

Colleen Keating

 

leaf

Photo taken by Elizabeth Keating-Jones

winter morning walk

 

The winter walk was sensually intense, the colours and sounds, and the potential of birthing buds ready to burst out in all glory.  Below the brambley Wisteria I did find myself on my knees and smiled to myself. It was early morning and I like to think the walk sounds as if it was in some very important place. You have to read to the end of the poem to find out where this special experience unfolded.

winter walk

 

winter morning walk

come with me
feel the shrill bell-tingle
of the morning on your face
leave your ears bare to listen

unfurl yourself
like the pocket magnolia bud
peeping from its birthing cocoon
its curiosity insatiable
knowing it is glorious

distinguish whips and chortle and chirps
notice the screech of the yellow crested cockatoo
high above in the blue gums

smile at the showy red camellia
its carpet of colour reflecting its flamboyance
take in that orange blossom scent

kneel before the snow bells
profuse like lilies of the field
below the wisteria’s bare brambles

rub hands
with the pepper tree foliage
let its aroma play in your mind

ah what joy
is this winter morning walk
around the block

winter walk 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

listen

The first of 9 poems in the section of the Anthology   A Call to Listen. This section is called The Smell of Parsley and focuses on poems that call on our senses. Enjoy. This is my favourite section.

The poem   listen   was inspired by a walk through the Tall Timbers Walk between Eastwood and West Ryde  with my labrador Millie.  She was a wonderful model  reminding me to slow down and look and listen and smell the wonders of nature along the way. It began with the crunch  of leaves under my feet and  the crack and rustle of the tiny skinks out sunning rustling away  from me  as I crunched through the fallen leaves  . The poem ends with an interesting, ambiguous yet cosmic line. Enjoy.

 

autumn
listen

bowed trees sleep
tresses crunch at their feet
hound of wind moans
rhyme with rustle tones
come closer
listen
snick on grass
wake of bird
seed on wing
leaf brush on air
crack and rustle of skink
in their leaf litter rush of hide-and-seek
cricket-croaks
fruitfly-drone
frog-plonk in pond
snap of seed-pod
kerplop of fruit and berry
and in the underworld
rub of beetle and ant

the only other sound
easy drift
of vesper leaves
settling
to a hush

this seasonal paradigm
whispers its arrival
no fuss
except it’s time