24 Monday Apr 2023
Three jackrabbits chase each other
round and round in circles,
three butterflies spiral together
low to high,
three parcels on my doorstep
wind, sunshine and shadow,
half a breath from where coyote trots by.
No holding the movement, we break open
to change.
Clouds scoot over a mountain in the north,
I follow their calling
back to the land of bone. Back
to a land of three.
23 Sunday Apr 2023
The snakes are waking, I feel them
stirring below ground.
With each step through dry arroyo,
around sagebrush, around stone,
I prepare for the sliding S–
Sssssss.
Warming earth holds us both,
one oval hole under plump cactus,
one casita on a hill.
Hello quiet ones,
we two stretch ourselves toward growing light.
08 Saturday Apr 2023
Funnel spider rests in his high hammock,
rain clouds gather
though it could not be more dry,
the sagebrush and last year’s sickle grass whip
in intermittent blasts of wind.
I sit on the brick floor eating sausage,
wet hair blunt after the cut I just gave it,
admiring this spot, its drastic seasonal shift,
and the birds firmly in their nests.
Compared to where I’ve been,
this is a whole other planet.
17 Friday Mar 2023
The horrible truth, felt,
finally spoken,
worse than death. Many times worse.
Sky fills with vultures, high,
dozens spiraling dozens, circles and circling.
Perhaps nothing so beautiful,
nothing before.
Large, black, some golden with angling sun,
every one of them alive with death,
their carrion feast,
every one of them, all, in flight,
wings extended and eyes bright, alive
in partnership
with Death.
Alive and flying, together, loosely
through sky,
floating and effortless,
in partnership
with Death and Wind.
Effortless.
Flying, floating, free.
And effortless.
02 Thursday Mar 2023
Posted in becoming, change, Deliverance, movement, mystery, poems, poetry, unlearning, wind
≈ Comments Off on Changing the seer
Changing the seer,
the ground beneath and
circulation within,
in asking for this, I surrender,
for candle-flicker
moments.
Yet the moments expand
as a stranglehold of my brain loosens.
Yesterday,
bald eagle sailed–
she really does sail–
through currents of air unseen
while held aloft close to unmoving.
I’ve much to unlearn, hands of habit
to release,
both mine and not.
Ever more is asked of us to become
what we are intended to become.
Watching the slow wave wings
of white bodied, brown feathered eagle,
a glimpse of what magic surrounds us,
the Spirit of which we are made,
up-lifts me too,
reminding me of the spring that never runs dry.
28 Tuesday Feb 2023
How do we tender the fire,
walk the line,
embody a waking spectrum of both
the violence within–that murderous rage–
and the sacred Spirit we carry?
How do we live between
the harm we are capable of and
the goodness of our natural being?
Until each of us faces that living death,
cashes in the chips of our denial,
we humans will continue to destroy one another,
our earthen home,
and ourselves.
Let’s rise to the task.
We have, perhaps, no better work to do.
12 Sunday Feb 2023
Movement of a bone.
Suddenly.
A gate I never thought I’d walk through
swings open–
access to land traversed by others
but never by me
spreads wide and borderless.
Vast, a savannah,
broad, an ocean,
hidden, intricate, bold–
a cave, universe of a moss, storm cloud.
Speechless, held still and utterly restless,
I do not know what emergence now includes me
but this smile keeps flashing across my teary face.
12 Saturday Feb 2022
Somehow it is February and 79 degrees.
What a wonder.
We have entered a new world, mostly of our own making.
Turning back is a fantasy holding some together,
imagining it isn’t happening holding others.
Our earth mama talks with us, through us, always–
she shows more loudly by the year
the honest consequences of our actions.
Birds sing loudly on the other side of the open door,
more kinds than usually heard in chorus.
They bathe bathe bathe and chitter, twinkling songs..
A magical day,
yet strange.
Prayer flies through the open door that we all learn to listen,
listen and praise, find ourselves on our knees ready
for change that serves Life.
03 Thursday Feb 2022
Ever fallen into the space you’ve created?
Like, sold the furniture, given away the dehumidifier,
cast off an extra dish, sock, bathroom scrub,
old toothbrush donated to the cause of grout?
(That shit loves growing a dark beard no matter
the effort. Water welcomes tiny critters.)
Well,
I have too.
The marvelous twisting ways of COVID
includes–demands?–tickles forth
sudden reversals.
That just sounds silly.
COVID giggles at removing the floor beneath your feet.
All in a day’s work for wee virus folk.
Sooo, here I am, furnitureless, floorless, planless,
hmm…less, less, less
is good.
And laughable.
In giant open space I sit,
wondering . . .
19 Sunday Sep 2021
Today thanks also falls to the light;
Autumn light may be my favorite food.
Rain keeps trying to come. We’ve been without
the rains for far too long.
I can feel rain in the clouds, smell it,
though a little sideways.
The trees’ roots are hungry for it to fall.
They are far from alone.
The equinox approaches but, here,
Autumn stretches her paws in August. My heart feels
more full then, my bones begin to rest.
Maybe the big rabbit with wild eyes will come through
the fence again soon.
My bet is a different visitor will usher in
the first official days of the season.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 