Carol Bass

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

darting mind


from Guggenheim to Australian Poetry
green, so green, waving banana-leaf shadows 
to machinery grumbles in a field across the marsh, 
birdsong and summer clouds to quiet 
here we go

fan, green, silent heat....
studio time
minutes to love
return to other worlds
of God and breath 
painting paper any way 
tearing into objects of no boundaries

love too small a word
for crickets, katydids, butterflies, tide, children
friends, woodpeckers, cardinal's nest
maybe if I say it this way
love, love, love, love, love..........





sometimes I'm large 
a bunch of marsh grass in gooey mud
snails sticking to me
egrets searching through 
tides rolling over, covering me for hours 
this morning I'm small
a banana spider on a porch that wasn't here last year
weaving webs over and over 
'cause mine have been ripped from the porch by the owner

also, I'm a batch of glue  
holding down ripped paper on a collage,
red brushstrokes so near 
green circles around me
painted by an artist trying to capture
spider, grass,
tide and mud




the turning day


all week I was stretching fate
pouring the milk and hoping…
today we fell over the edge
me, the coffee, the milk

such a fine cup, made by my son-in-law
with a handle that works
delicious beans from Nicaragua, ground at dawn
waking my wife
but the milk was gone, gone, souring the works
leaving me with no buzz
for the bike


the skink and the cutworm



with my mind, sometimes a finger, 
I trace the paths the creatures travel; flying, crawling
acknowledging the unseen back yard
buntings, tanagers, kites, crows
from sky to marsh grass to trees, around feeders  
through Mexican petunias
squeaky-voiced cowbirds move in 
mourning doves waddle 
marsh raccoons instinctive about tides 

skinks slithering down into rich dirt, searching for cutworms 
tiny marks of bees and hummingbirds
fragile spider movements
which lines thick? which thin?
some blotch, then splash and spot
some short and jagged, ending abruptly 
others long, curvy
disappearing from your mind 

for a moment
imagine this weaving of wavelengths
woven with your own good energy 
walk slowly 
with dreaming
mind's eye 
on the unseen



red-bellied woodpecker


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


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


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


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


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