Carol Bass

a continuous flow of feelings and color, inspired by the beauty around us

Post 268: bright green lizard, big black spider


green lizard and black spider

there it sat, near the eave of the roof for days it seemed
but then, the black thing slowly started moving
it wasn’t a blob of mold after all
but a large, furry spider
frightened for its life

a long green lizard approached
with threatening bodily curves

the spider traveled in and out of the shadows on the siding
heading for shelter underneath the window trim

for me, a quiet morning with bird song
and sun crawling over gold marsh grass
fishermen in the creek
young male cardinals
hogging the feeder
coffee and honeydew
Old Woody, just sleeping
I understand living with song

but the furry spider’s horror
I felt the black fiery hell of it all

post 267: giant woman, magnolia tree, seed pods

photo (19)

how the day began

with imaginings
me being a giant, tree-sized woman
exploring thick woods outside the studio
cool misty rain
I was searching for a brush
large enough to paint the depths of my spirit
the twirling energies in my mind
big enough to capture my heart and its singing

I found a glistening magnolia, covered in pods
heavy with fire engine red seeds
rain dripped from leathery leaves
falling on my bare shoulders
gatheing into a pool in my navel
still being a giant, I considered snapping the tree
halfway down to use for dipping in a vat of paint

my soul cried, “no!
so the limbs and I embraced
I returned to the studio
shrinking to a calmer size
and had a cup of tea

Post 265: meditation, wood stork

wood stork

while you were away

for the last three mornings
the wood stork rested on your dock
for what seemed like hours
not fishing, maybe sleeping
easy as a dream, I meditated with her
becoming her
resting in her awkward body
made beautiful in her silent stillness
joy blossomed
there was nothing to need

Post 264: two birds, universe, mud, pink beaks, football, salt water, sun



I’m singing with two birds
in the marsh this morning
feeling their long, curved, rosy beaks

laughing, howling really
at their hot pink legs and feet
how they push their football bodies
bobbing through the oozy black mud

I’m ecstatic that I don’t know their names
I want only nameless things
for the rest of this life
except maybe air, ant hills and leaves
sun browning me
salt water leaving my skin sticky
lake water leaving it silky

end it all with the walls
and boundary making God, please
aliens, immigrants
black muslims, white jews
puritans, waspy witches
tutsi shite
red neck transphobics

only yes
only know
how light shimmers on water
how marsh grass changes a million color greens
how love makes the universe tremble and sing

Post 262: grunt fish, blue bike, cleats, squash, southern boy

the cows are dancing

old Southern Boy

he rode his bike down
asked Owie to make him some cleats
“my builder put the doors on backwards,
I can hold ‘em up with the cleats
and switch ‘em”

“grunt fish, good eatin’ ” he said
“reef dwellers, pretty blue lines
running through yellow,
I’ll bring you some.”

when he was five
fishing with his daddy, catching hundreds
jumping up and down
“Daddy, I wanna catch one, let me catch one!
now can I? how can I?”
Daddy said, “sure ok, sure, quiet down!
you gotta hear them biting!”

gave him his cleats
with a bag of squash
same color yellow on those grunts
and he left, riding that line
on his blue bike

Post 217: sea oats, bluebirds, marshes

Carol Bass:

more editing…….could work on this forever

Originally posted on PAS de DEUX:

sea oats

sowing sea oats

chartruese, electric, unreal green
rising up into dead brown marsh grass
half and half life death play
speechless again
at the world

I’m sowing sea oats
in honor of my children

these seeds will grow, give the bluebirds
places to rest

when my kids see them waving in the breeze
they will know

View original

Post 262: New Orleans, jazz, alive, Putin, turtles


New Orleans Jazz

wanted you to know that before dawn today
I thought about you visiting your sister in New Orleans
how she wears her lipstick, bold and thick and luscious
several ultrmarine silk scarves in varying patterns
’round her neck

you two always meet there for the jazz
some people know the art of living
the rest could take lessons

while you were gone
3 fishing boats quietly left together
underneath the stars
puttering out to sea in the dark before dawn

later that morning Mrs. Painted Bunting
visited the feeder and stayed forever
the cowpeas grew an inch
and the breeze never stopped
three foxes crossed the road
by BOBO’s bar-b-q right at dusk
a harrier hawk flew low over our car for 1/4 mile

I wish Putin was filled with wonder
and thought with such tenderness
ate BOBO’s pulled pork
visited New Orleans
and belly laughed more
instead of keeping the natural gas from his neighbors
so he could feel big

if he came to the beach
he might see the turtles hatching in the sand
hi tailing it the waves
his awe with such miracles
might overwhelm his not having been really loved as a child
then the whole world could listen to jazz whenever it wanted

Post 260: meditation, hitchhiking, Buddha,

On the Way to the Flower Farm


they don’t even know how they keep us burning

Gregory always walked from his house on Highway 174
to market or the gas station
I had passed him for months, even years,
me wondering, he wandering
he didn’t appear to be employed

never asking for a ride
walking like Thich Nhat Hanh
hands clasped
I had seen what I thought was a ceramic Buddha in his yard
I assumed he was enlightened
beyond us all

this morning I offered him a ride, it was cold
and the sun bright and hopeful
we spoke along the way
I learned his name
asked if he was Buddhist

our eyes locked for a moment and he said,
“I’m just trying to take the proper steps”

Post 259: little blue heron, coastal waters



does anyone know why?
the gangly and graceful wood storks like to hang out
with their friends?

but the Little Blue Heron chooses to be alone?
maybe she’s struck with the beauty of this world
and all she can manage is absorbing

her good fortune
having a body with celadon green legs
pale as the oceans of central america
her covering of stunning indigo blue feathers

she can squawk and squeal, unembarrassed
that her voice doesn’t match her glamour
and she gets to forage for tender fish
swimming in the new emerging vegetation of coastal waters
her awe that she wasn’t born a pack animal
a lumbering camel in the sub sahara

Post 258: Black River, dreams, singing, crying



feel the river as it pours shallow over sandy earth
over and through the branches
reaching other tributaries
like the spine of your lover
keeping love flowing
flowing through my dreams
hearing the water’s voice
singing with the swimming snakes tickling the currents
my body floating downstream
such life coming from down deep
giving water to everything nearby
the river cries now
cries out to us
we’re coming
hold on
hold on


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