01 Wednesday Apr 2026
The stirrings in me
are the stirrings in You,
a thread binding us that vision can not seek yet
heart and belly play, both, as one instrument
of longing.
Call up my voice,
that which is Yours
and sing,
sing,
sing
through me…
12 Thursday Mar 2026
Death brought me into this world,
I didn’t want to stay.
But my lungs kept screaming for air
even as my willingness to let their fluttering stop
strengthened.
Too much pain, this embodiment amidst the suffering,
unsupported emergence of a vulnerable being
while arrows of unconsciousness fly.
How to bring it back to Love
even while..even while…
12 Sunday Oct 2025
An acoustic guitar and a train track beat…
we’re chugging rugged countryside,
rounding bends,
wind streaming through open windows.
I think I’ll watch every dry yellow leaf flutter
and fall,
each flock of grass nod, swish and bow to the sun.
Sometimes grief’s a tar sticking in the lungs
and working to let it go means little
but waiting, waiting becomes the story,
waiting until it decides to let go of you.
The strum will fill your warm heart
as the clack-clack rhythm moves you through time–
be with what is,
it’s got its own magic, which you hold
and holds you,
growing in clarity, in beauty
somewhere on down the line.
29 Saturday Jun 2024
I’ve been contemplating heaven and hell,
while chewing an apple slice,
staring at where
the sweet dry hills meet sky.
I think it’s kind of like that.
They come together, an uneven between,
the elements can be explored, felt, seen,
drawn, smelled, poked:
they’re in sacred relationship.
And we have to learn, each within ourselves,
our relationship to them.
Both teach. Both burn us to essence,
if we let them.
We can enter one and take the other
right along with.
Wherever you stand, sustenance can be found.
Where’s your heaven to your hell?
Are you the same within each?
28 Friday Oct 2022
What, then, is born
of disconnection that bleaches the Soul,
fragments Spirit and sends it flying
never to land,
to land in place where it may feed and be fed,
stoke the tender embers of Beauty herself?
What have we traded to get
things?
Things.
Paper money and all the rest, what is it
but nothing,
nothing, especially
when we make it everything and carve ourselves
and one another up
for more of it?
Call back,
Call back,
Call back yourself.
Call back every shard and ripple,
each precious drop, and voluminous chunk.
None but people bringing themselves back toward wholeness
can right this ship we share.
Please, let us remember,
let us remember all
to bring ourselves
Home again.
06 Friday May 2022
What kind of oppression is this
for women to hate their own bodies into submission?
To tuck, flatten, cut, shape, build, color,
paint, starve, carve, feed, hide, cover, sculpt
and bind
such unique beauty and presence
to conform to something else?
For someone else?
Many are even convinced they do it
for themselves.
What, and whom, does it serve?
How long have we lied to,
hated, pushed away, contrived
and disappeared ourselves?
It goes beyond gender.
(Choose any system and look at how
we’ve turned it against ourselves.)
Ever noticed a peacock, tiger, or,
hell, a goat
do the same?
How ridiculous.
And cruel.
To what god have we bowed
when discarding the body we have been given,
one never to be created twice–not ever to be seen again–
to be wanted? appreciated? included?
Ohhhh let’s gather another tribe instead,
shake ourselves loose from those heavy chains
clamped on our wrists so long ago
we couldn’t possibly remember.
08 Friday Mar 2019
Got long hair?
Got any hair?
Woman, shave your head.
And collect the assumptions hoisted upon you,
the ones you weren’t quite certain,
but now you know,
have been dragging you down.
Belly scraping the road.
Woman, got long hair?
Shave your head, and learn how confused
perceptions and expectations of you
are.
Where you may have been pretty, attractive,
desired,
suddenly the sight of that is gone
and people, most people, don’t have a clue
how to respond, how to comprehend–
But you were pretty.
You were attractive.
You were desirable.
Watch them turn their eyes away, unable
to look at you.
Hear them,
hating what they see and can’t understand,
say, “You look so…different.”
The least offensive, yet unasked for, comment
they can make.
Woman, got long hair?
Shave your head,
and discover what assumptions shove you low, in place,
a shallow ditch where you have been put.
Some react in adoration,
others with titillation, however briefly,
or with shock envy disbelief disgust.
Woman,
if ever you didn’t fully get it,
not in the tautness of your sinews,
how the appearance of a woman is believed
to belong
to the public,
that it is open invitation to
critique judgement opinion desire and rejection,
stick a personal act of transformation,
like dynamite,
within social view.
Woman,
if you want to know not
what others want you to be
but the stuff you’re made of,
Go,
Shave your head.
05 Tuesday Mar 2019
If the book leaves you in tears,
consider it a friend.
What can’t salt water wash away?
A central gripping has
kept me off-kilter,
winter storms filling gutters and feeding
blue mold.
In a sense,
nothing is going as planned–
precisely how this melting,
sanding, scuffing and lonesome roll
is meant to go.
As the slow unfurling tightens me into
a speedy withdrawal,
reminders trickle in to soften,
a kitten-stretch of a soft pawed
softening,
when I can.
More friends,
words heaping page upon page,
sit kindly waiting nearby
in a generous pile.
05 Wednesday Dec 2018
Fine beginnings,
like this one following a night of rain,
keep me staring out the window
even with a juicy book rife with Cassandra, uterus and Spoken
laying open in my lap.
Broken clouds, grey dashed with whipped white,
show palest blue beyond,
and hills across the bay- often obscured- are the storm-lit knees
and craggy thighs of a great woman
resting back in softened arms of earth
growing green.
10 Wednesday Oct 2018
Scars
attest to bridges crossed battling dragons,
to threatening rivers entered
that pushed at knees, sucked at ankles.
To deep mountaintop scree, ragged, sharp and steep where
falling
meant death and dismemberment.
We were there,
we know,
we learned.
Yours lay upon your body
differently
than mine;
equally, they shape us.
Scars pulse out of step with the rest.
Each must be attended to,
honored,
for what they give,
for what they gave up.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 