29 Saturday Apr 2017
there’s a place between.
of occupying the holiness of longing,
of seeing
that wanting
is for what we don’t have.
while sensing
what is
is more than enough.
it’s a suspension bridge-
rope strung between two islands-
and how the wind does
make it sway.
08 Wednesday Mar 2017
I always entered and
exited
through side doors.
quietly.
..slipping in or out with as few eyes following
or ears noticing
or minds rippling
as possible.
Now,
however,
that I’ve bought my freedom
I will be using the front door
as often
as loudly
as visibly
as this once-silent spirit
needs be.
And some houses will never
be catching sight of me
again.
15 Wednesday Feb 2017
Movement
like rolling earth
after tectonic plates shudder-
It’s tough keeping your feet without
loosening up,
first,
and
laughing,
second.
Because when else can you ride
for free
anywhere you are,
with the benefit of losing
what you swore kept you alive but
only
brought you
down?
Go ahead,
remember the sound
of your own giggling insides and
jiggle a little~
17 Saturday Dec 2016
It wasn’t through torn paper
blackened shoelace
or scuffed wall
that I found You.
It wasn’t the constant push
circulating fear
or I-must-do-betters..
not even the inch between
the sidewalk and me
plus a bruised knee.
Not exactly.
Add the non-starts,
regimented dreams,
what’s-wrong-with-me’s,
attempts to fit when fitting fed starvation,
and the broken heart- birthday after birthday-
with one shattering
nearly beyond recovery
that, finally,
I found You.
The joke being
that I’ve carried You in me
since before the first sunrise.
Except now,
when I say hello
I can hear You answer.
30 Sunday Oct 2016
What if we were as fierce
about seeing
finding
knowing beauty
as ugliness, fear, and lack?
Would we not become greater protectors
of the overlooked and precious?
Would our focus not
change
from what we want to avoid
to that asking
for further creation?
From being barefoot on rain-soaked earth
while sun breaks clouds overhead,
to cinnamon in coffee,
the perfect heat of a shower,
sustained note of a well-played cello,
to strangers reaching for each other’s hands,
and friends who have plenty to eat,
a car that starts,
the woodpecker we’d like to curse
for waking us out of sleep-only-
its tapping brought us a view of the sunrise,
and places in existence where peoples
are honored and heard.
Wouldn’t the goodness flood us
even if
nothing else could we sense but
the beating of our own heart-
wouldn’t miracles fill our days?
30 Friday Sep 2016
A rock stands in your path.
A big one.
It’s the same damned rock you’ve walked smack into countless times,
decade after decade,
despite the changing terrain.
You walk the mapless territory, silently, wondering… how on earth?
Do you go around?
Climb over?
Finally hammer the blasted thing to pieces?
Your choice, always.
Fun part is-
this time
your decision may be unlike
any other.
09 Friday Sep 2016
know those times
when there’s nothing to hold on to?
but the brain tries,
oh boy does it try-
it clings to the past, to the future, to what is wanted, to what is feared, to what has been or may be lost,
to what ifs and oh shits and
waaaaait what just happened?
that’s when it’s clear:
throw up both hands
– high into the air –
the ride
has already begun
28 Sunday Aug 2016
Being sculpted
means
being thrown,
as clay,
first kneaded- no bubbles – then
spun
well beyond dizzy,
cut,
and fired to degrees
scorching
even by shuddering imagination
if
your aim is to be a
cup,
vase,
bowl,
holy space ripe
for filling,
able to offer solace, pleasure,
delight,
beauty, compassion,
ease,
and round reflections of sky.
Don’t hold on.
Be here.
13 Saturday Aug 2016
Sometimes
one who entwined fingers with you through the night
departs as
quickly
as he arrived,
and kisses left on on the back of your hand
mark his passing.
Sometimes
that is
plenty.
09 Saturday Jul 2016
Were I to cull a story,
cut off its wings to still its tongue,
would you be any safer from the past?
The chills walking your spine are not
exiting belief but
sashes and
passages of truth.
Words have no allegiance
once the fire is struck,
and winged shadow escapes, up,
out, beyond-
toward a second
a third
an eleventh
pulsing heart
with ears to hear.
Practice your listening-
what you fear most may be
the balm of the deep.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 