RENÉE PHILLIPS, FINE ARTIST

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Mountains and Water

Sitting beside the clear deep lake,
wind drives the clouds off the blue mountains— 
I've forgotten what I just thought.
The meadow grass moves gently
 through my empty mind
 riding a red poppy.

My face will change with the years—
      The blue mountains are constantly walking
But we’ll sit together, the lake and me,
 until only the lake remains—
      All mountains walk with their toes on all water and splash there.  






The Purelands

Somewhere beyond the fence,
or before,
a vast space that can’t be contained by fences
arises
in a glimpse
of your own light—

     lacking nothing
     being everything:
     rotted wood, a crystalline sky,
     bent nails, a field mouse, jeweled grasses
     and the hoax of self—

reflected perfectly
in your heart mind—
mirror of infinite light
radiant and perfect—
from the spaciousness
between your thoughts.


In An Ordinary Moment

Structures of an ancient world in an ordinary moment. Sunlight becomes bark, needles. Blue green families, their feet on the earth—one color without edge. You are the stuff of trees, but different than the world of people. It’s enough to remember one tall pine—inhale it with your skin—it will keep you steady. It loves what’s not rushing blindly forward. For a moment the ancient world gazes back.








The Many Colors of Water

Standing alone I dream
I am the canal
lying still and smooth
yet somehow moving
to as far as you can see
from where there is no beginning
of my mirror surface—
under all the bridges
past all the trees
not even my banks
are boundaries—
reflecting green and sky
filling the world.
Following the path
of bent grasses, buzzing bees
I walk through summer.

Secret of the Seasons

Only these rocks
know the secret of the seasons
whispered to the ducks.

Water into Water

What if there were no edges to a pond? Like space—each part the center and an edge—each drop, water. What if there wasn’t a word meaning pond? What if there wasn’t a word meaning water? Would it still be a pond, water? All water: blue pond, a perfect drop of dew, a green river, hail, a cool drink, the vast ocean, rain, a snowflake, steam rising from your tea, an icicle, condensation on the windows, a cloud—creek into stream, stream into river, river into lake, into ocean—which water is water? Water into water.

What if there were no edges to your mind? Mind, source of time, source of form, source of edges, source of blue, source of water and words. My mind created thought, these words—your mind reads words, creates
thoughts. Now whose thoughts are they?
Mind into mind.

Forest Temple

Pure beacon rousing
I hide from your bright welcome
 
don’t burn the musk
of red earth off my skin.
 
Leaves snare my shoelaces
resin clings to my fingers
 
holding me from morning
like the tangle of my lover’s embrace.

 





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Copyright 2005 Renee Phillips. All rights reserved.