Carol Bass

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

red-bellied woodpecker

woodpeckera

flying miracles

I watch the suet feeder in the backyard 
while Bobby covers the small oak tree out front
where one perfectly round hole is located 

front yard tree
over the roof to back yard suet
back and forth, mama red-belly
flying nuts and bugs to the babies
while daddy roams lush woods for other bugs



backyard pond

Backyard-pond

the neighbor’s pond

way back and the frogs
from all over have gathered making crazy music
one would question any sanity of sleep, but God
the beauty 
way back in the backyard when the sun goes
dark and wet and wild

Shared Energy

CORCORAN 3 copy

two of them

we call them great white egrets
infinite beings, creatures from our universe
we shared a mystical energy for a few seconds
mystery happens
when stillness opens your heart  

awed by the marsh, the water was rising
thinking about the moon, drawing water hither and yon
how the salty liquid of my body moved, noticing
two lovely creatures, closer, closer

Post 226: miracles

Mall-Tar-1

one reason I love it here

here in this universe
when you open your heart the vibrations
come in and make you tingle
the tide flows in and out and back and forth
your bones feel the phases of the moon lovingly pulling you
all you must do is rejoice
joy is your business
and connections with the ones you love
that transference of energy
that touch of life








post 225: wind, water, ripples, energy, life force

SOMEWHERE OUT IN THE MARSH

a day for chips and pickles

around the middle group of grasses
a smooth band where no breeze makes ripples
a satin shimmering border
disappearing in seconds

mergansers bobble, venture into the quiet band, dive
pop up in other ruffled water around the marsh

I imagine a small group from ISIS
joining us, having thrown their machetes in the back of some truck

lots of clattering
we talk about beavers and kingfishers,  cottonmouths hanging from branches
we hike Spenser Mt. with Patrick McMillan
lie down in wildflowers
so their souls began to rumble

on top of Spenser
still lying in wildflowers we discuss  black holes
and merganser mating practices, and Alain de Botton’s books

we play touch football
drink sparkly water
dehydration must always be a problem for them
actually causing their brains to act strangely
could it be so simple? merely dehydration

we hug and plan another trip down the Edisto

post 224: mist, marsh, white birds

new bug approaching

through early morning mist

before rains, predicted for days
way out in the marsh
five glowing ibises
probe the mud for fiddlers

they bring to mind
white sheets and pillowcases
forced off the clothes line
by gusts of wind

dipping down into dead grass
gliding along
through the fog

I smell the leftover sun in the white sheets
and imagine the Pakistani weavers, the ones that smile easily
joking, speaking about westerners

I wish we could meet
and discuss the ibises
how their beaks, like tools, explore the mud
like the weavers’ instruments explore the white threads

post 233: doves, statues, garden, theory

Marsh 2015-1 copy

NEW SOUTHERN GENTLEMAN

I’ll tell you a story

early yesterday, while applying eyeliner
watching light sparkling the walls
I noticed seven mourning doves
underneath the bird feeders
each one pointing in a different direction
still, silent
small cement garden statues
you know
those songbirds always bobbling, wobbling through irises and day lilies
pecking for seeds

but these seven were still, still
they remained, clay moulded from the earth
soft bellies
orangey-red legs and feet
squeaky wings flying them to hemlock tops

ok please, become a dove yourself, exploring cornfields
breakfast for your babies
suddenly, violent pelting
piercing soft brown breasts
ripping tender flesh
the shooting stopped
then someone kicked and stomped on you
blue skies turned black
as your head was twisted, ripped off

placing my eyeliner on the windowsill
I noticed the unmoving seven
my theory….you’ve been wondering
several hours earlier, at daybreak,
many shots of dove hunters in the cornfields by the bay

the birds in my garden were in shock
partners killed, frightened babies left in nests
survivors of a nightmarish war

Ye Southern gentlemen,
oh, ye football men, ye GARDEN AND GUN MAGAZINE,
ye SOUTHERN LIVING
our small sons don’t need this tradition, this KILLING
to raise them up
to make them men
the doves won’t last forever

Post 231:banana leaves, ant, crumb, afternoon sun

SOMEWHERE OUT IN THE MARSH

Mama called late afternoon “technicolor time”

the banana tree shimmered
as the day darkened
patches of blazing yellow
jumped from leaf to leaf

nearby, on the back deck, an ant tussled with a crumb

when he came to the crevice where the floor boards met
he would  hurl the crumb into the crack
swing his hind legs up to next board
travel backwards a few steps, turn around, resume speed

on and on for about 15 feet, miles to him,
he walked
finally disappearing off the deck into the leaves

what miracles were down Toogoodoo Road
I could only wonder

Post 230: grapevine, green beetle, jardinere, rain, praying mantis

SHADOW-OF-THE-BUTTERFLY-cop

yoga outside in morning sun

doing stretchies outside
under limbs of oak
on one is a stretching grapevine
like me
it is reaching toward heaven
toward millions of miracles

the vine resembles a giant dancing praying mantis
jiggling in the wind with red legs
and moving leaves its costume
a graceful creature with a life too deep
for bigotry and judgement

no less is the almost drowned green beetle
floating in the green jardinere
who’s been there since midnight
but once out
is stretching too
its waterlogged legs

Post 229: quiet morning

In The Air copy

the honor of quiet

a screech owl the night before
grunts and tiny squeaks of a week old baby
gentle wind through rustling bananna leaves
fluttering hummingbirds in the salvia
settling rain clouds
singing with your daughters
singing with your friends

a slow curving line
that will always bring you home

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