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…
13 Wednesday Aug 2025
Posted in ancestors, dreaming, generations, history, listen, poems, poetry, transformation
≈ Comments Off on Lit by fires
While reaching forward, we’ve no knowing
how far goes the reaching back,
our days lit by fires long ago.
The generations that birthed us here,
inside this present day,
the losses they carried and blessings
they bestowed.
What vision is ours, what vision has been given?
The living breath spiraling us ahead,
steam engine of our days,
extends behind us on tracks buried
by histories untold.
Ancestors are quivering the roots,
make no mistake.
We are not here just for ourselves.
Take ears to the stones, stories be talking.
27 Sunday Jul 2025
Who is out there,
ghosts or our imaginings of them?
The spirits in flight, down the chimney,
behind the pizza place, and definitely in the alley bar across the way,
are curious. Mischievous.
Scandalous if they get drunk.
Not sure the woman in the corner
really lost control of her own lifted skirt–
winds, spirits, not so different.
Flowers are to be given, and spirits, yes, for the spirits,
they calm and hold them to the grounds of the unresolved,
no longer drifting, no longer so thirsty,
finally recognized, and in place– for living, for dead,
with earth in the holy middle,
to reconvene.
23 Monday Jun 2025
Posted in liberation, light, listen, poems, poetry
≈ Comments Off on You..are..
Gah! I give myself away,
to their judgments,
their expectations,
their views and assumptions.
Silly cat! Bat those off the table,
paw pad after paw pad after whip claw..
We aren’t here to please them, to afford them,
to fit some pre-ordained shape.
Twist as you wish,
reach as is your nature,
climb, sink, thrive–all in the asking,
the taking.
Denying is reduction,
agreeing without agreement, sacrilege.
Nomad, go fly.
Maybe no one will understand you,
but you do–keep that scent in your nose
and follow it.
You
are
wise.
18 Saturday Nov 2023
We save each other’s lives
a little
every day.
Follow a pointing finger,
find the child.
Hear a cry never
bellowed,
resolve the ache.
Listen through hands,
to a quaking,
a breaking
of a heart yet again,
and turnings of ages will echo
through bone.
These are callings
answered by few.
Let the unmoved move
with slightest
kindest
deepening
touch,
reach stars buried
and waiting
for a return to dark sky.
We save each other’s lives
a little
every day.
In this is more
than enough.
26 Wednesday Apr 2023
While endless talk,
noise of commercialism, opinion,
celebrity,
fills too many spaces,
when chatter closer to home gets
incessant
remember
that is sound of a disturbed heart.
And we’ve far, far too many of those.
Step silently back
and recall what tender talk,
a creek rolling through, touching
sides, stones, roots
speaks of–
its landscape of blood, tissue and bone–
that which sustains, holds and guides it
along the journey.
When the child enters, or one of the countless
yet to be heard,
please,
listen.
Robins do not sing
for nothing.
09 Sunday Apr 2023
The Wind is up
and her voice big. She sweeps
and dips, grabbing and forcing flee–
her humor boundless as her movements.
She carries tale from far, far away,
distance being her spirit flying,
and your ears are the intended settling place
for the riches of that unique story.
However we have cuffed our own ears after
having them cuffed,
we need remind them gently,
open,
yes, open–
gifts are coming and
we must prepare.
12 Saturday Nov 2022
Chittering morning birds pull me from the page–
eyes move from word toward sound,
where their light hopping feet bring me to flight
from bare branch, through 17 degree air,
to bark-covered lattice above the front door.
Frost, like gold flakes, falls from their trail in sunlight.
They have such great conversations.
21 Thursday Apr 2022
Wind blows a chorus in the mountains.
I’d forgotten how the trees sing in rounds,
sometimes whispering,
sneaking a song, suddenly, behind you
then switching far out in front, down the hardscrabble
with its abundant life of stone and tiny leafings,
scales and flitting feathers.
I wonder about the songs echoed
from those not swishing needles and branches.
What part of the rondo do our human ears miss?
How sweet to offer our voices back
to the heart of the mountain
by joining in its steep and generous sound.
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.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 