Knowing,
that precious illusion,
needles and digs
until
a gasp can puncture
and
welcome
Unknown
back into the dance
That precious illusion
16 Wednesday Mar 2016
Category Archives: adventure
On the front line
14 Monday Mar 2016
Utterly afraid
to look foolish,
we look foolishly at the world
expecting a straight face and the right shoes
to buy us into the awards ceremony.
On the front line of sorrow and pain
a mouse would scurry,
a bear would sit
scratching its bum
on the perfect tree.
Rain and blue
13 Sunday Mar 2016
Outside, blue.
Rain and blue.
Carried by streams-
waterways we can not
understand
try though in mercy, in plight-
pollen floats,
a liquid gold.
Creation takes us
wherever it might.
Heavy rain
11 Friday Mar 2016
Heavy rain keeps falling,
and the creek keeps rising, singing
the canyon to sleep and the flowers awake.
Now, little wildflowers, now.
In the disturbance of sliding mud and uprooting trees,
every sweet squall and turbid cycle
does call us
to raise our heads
and offer a soft smile
as we are washed clean.
Falling in love
08 Tuesday Mar 2016
In the honey-lined quagmire,
fantasy brews laughter, chemicals, climax,
a limited union, the earthly grail.
Perhaps,
perhaps reaching
after fascinating projections-
dazzling confections of human wonder-
helps us
to find lost parts of ourselves calling
calling
for expression.
Falling in love may be a seeing
of our pieces, scattered and buried,
and a coming home
to what had been left behind.
On the riverbank
28 Sunday Feb 2016
We played with our shadows on the far riverbank,
and danced to droning rhythms under redwoods,
my sister and I that night.
Nothing we couldn’t touch, that didn’t touch us,
with laughter, stars and river song
mixing our blood
and pleasing our bones.
Out of mud and desire,
family creates itself.
With morning light
09 Tuesday Feb 2016
Possum climbs,
turkey flies,
mountain lion scales
the world tree.
Let not the abstraction keep you
from seeking roots and canopy
joining here and now
to everything.
Rainbow’s colors extend beyond the range
of simple sight.
Ready your claws, flutter the brush tips of your wings,
and remember dangling from a curled tail
is familiar as waking with morning light.
Bark against fingertips,
each with their tiny circle of identity,
will become a welcomed roughness
softening into skill.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 