Category Archives: death

So it begins

03 Sunday Apr 2016

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So it begins

with

but They but They

and the story pretzels and snarls

morphs into a thorny thicket

of

Yes but.

So it begins.

Reaching in with pruners and magnifying glass,

a madness of 

I will get clear!

muscles work, tire,

eyes pierce, squint, wrinkle-

strength and a certain Sight grow.

One silent morning arrives

with a way through,

not simply a way through,

a path clear- as intended-

and They

are long gone.

Suddenly, dust still in suspension,

the same pain jolts its head through packed earth

and there’s no

But They

anymore.

Only you.

And so it begins…

The grain mill

27 Sunday Mar 2016

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Stretches

(or pockets,

or loop-de-loops)

of time

(meaningless time)

in transition

with sensations of being ground

in the grain mill,

where would we be without them?

In a blistering wind

anger rises and hands us the energy

to do away 

with a trail of uselessness hitching

to our backsides.

(Why were we dragging that marriage/house/walrus again?)

Without halting in mad winds

who jostle our brains and

send hairs flying

we’d not have noticed the 872 pounds

of shit

attached to our spines

which

we can now let go of.

Hallelujah for stopping

to strike the match of compassionate flame

and throwing it on

a tinderbox of ancient nonsense.

The best drumming

05 Saturday Mar 2016

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The sound of the rain

is the best drumming offered my ears 

in longer than can be said.

When telling a friend

I’m proud of you,

despite how patronizing it may sound, and

I recognize your fortitude,

a clear prayer was spoken-

fuck fortitude.

Amen.

In all the wriggling and stretching and pleading

and embracing,

Love’s got way more faces 

than we can imagine.

Sustaining fire

05 Friday Feb 2016

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In sustaining fire

where we both met

what becomes smoke is not the matter.

Essence

doesn’t burn.

If, in flame, you see only loss

merely mettle takes the test.

And if, beyond even that, your heart cries

More,

the task, the unchanging call,

will encircle

with leaping light 

and silent whispers 

to say,

You are enough.

Two kinks in her tail

26 Saturday Dec 2015

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frost on rooftops,
steam rising in ray of sun,
squirrel rests outside the window,
taking in a treetop view.
i dreamt of tortoise-shell kitty,
the feral girl with two kinks in her tail
who i buried so long ago.
calling urgently out the door
for my forgotten meow,
she came tearing up the wooden walkway
to jump in my arms.
glad to see ya, kiddo.
stay close,
let’s visit again soon.

For the women in those photographs 

12 Monday Oct 2015

Posted by in becoming, dark, death, devotion, dreams, family, freedom, movement, naked, night, poems, poetry, release, work

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For the shes,

for the women who held in reserve everything but

what they betrayed in the fathoms of their eyes,

I dance for you,

let my laid-down hair fly

and skin sweat rivers

underarm and between thigh.

My laugh is the wild thing you withheld 

and the leap it was never safe

for you to take.

The salt this body gives up,

one gift I can give.

Carry me to where your bones rest,

I’ll bring the skull I’ve been handed

when calling guides from the directions.

You’ve yet to reach my dreams

but when you do

I know

your unpinned hair will be the least

of what you bring to night sleep.

Turning the corner

18 Friday Sep 2015

Posted by in becoming, courage, dark, death, discomfort, Inspire, joy, learning, movement, poems, poetry, transition

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Turning the corner,

two winds blow.

The old blasts my back,

picking up tacks and sharp-edged photographs 

along its path.

Those shes are afraid to let me go. 

Losing habits,

the groove-cut ways,

riles folks.

The wind in my face,

cold, fresh,

hasn’t yet warmed with the bodies of the unmet,

invites like a new swimming channel

whose water is clear, dark,

hugging smooth stone,

knowing well the course and direction

in which it takes me.

Turning the corner

dances my hair on end,

and has me falling forward

into invisible arms I must trust

to catch me.

A painting of night

12 Saturday Sep 2015

Posted by in aging, beauty, becoming, dark, death, devotion, family, learning, listen, movement, night, poems, poetry, receiving, release, vision, wonder, work

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While hands rest on sink edge
and skin drips above dirty bowls,
eyes see wall and window and trees in view
of an idea
who drops in,
pulls as much space
as a full day gathers snow,
and says,

Your wound is their wound is a wound
far-reaching with cold, gnarled underground fingers.
Hold the hand you fear,
befriend the dead. 
Bring here of the gifts
your people await release.
Possess the expanse
and embody the unspoken…

Hearing the music of you
in a flooding of my entirety,
more life rises in death
than even a painting of night
could dream.

Holding body

23 Sunday Aug 2015

Posted by in death, nature, poems, poetry, transition

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Holding body 

of dead hawk still warm,

the day’s tedium and irritation forgotten.

Death throws light, as life offers life.

Carrying bustle to calm

one of feather, talon, beak and bone,

expired oak reaches out arms.

Here, by trunk split to earth-

as if through lightning visitation-

raptor rests to place

without roadway and hustle,

whole in transition.

Scavengers will find their next meal,

minerals will return to dust.

Envisioned flight prepares to come again.