11 Tuesday Apr 2023
Surprising
what we cling to
the stuff and ways
that serve us no more.
Time comes
when what must break
will be broken
and the methods once keeping you alive
those now killing you
ask for burial.
Honor them..
No easy terms to dodge.
No simple way out.
Break or be broken.
Give over, give up, give
to the starving one in you
who can no longer live unnourished.
Let die
what must die.
Your flourishing life depends upon it.
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.
17 Tuesday Nov 2020
Such kindness lives in “I don’t know how.”
Past a freedom of “I don’t know”
little HOW asks in the mystery tender
after years of silently absorbing assumptions,
a force feeding of belief that you are supposed to have
already
walked the path no one had shown you and
you hadn’t yet found.
How, on this fault line shaking, cracked
and dappled light lit earth
are we to know before we know
and who–back to who before who before who–
syringed that toxin into our bloodstreams
fueling generations of debilitating pain and shame
saying we are broken
and must fight a way through
simply
to
endure?
25 Saturday Apr 2020
A full circle closed today,
from expectation to loss,
from pedestal to the fall..
A journey made time and time
again.
Bound to a nature of its own making,
the question of when the final turn
arrives being that eerie shimmer
at the horizon.
With delusion’s slap in the face
what you do with the broken fantasy
remains the treasure
at the end.
What shall be created from the rubble
and bruises?
Can you be what fed you?
Could you embody what your heart was sure
you couldn’t live without?
03 Sunday Nov 2019
Is it true that time changes?
Not here, but there, not past that imaginary line
but an inch before it.
Waking today brought an altered number
on a clock
yet Sun didn’t hiccup or falter.
Who are we to roll such dice?
Upon opening my eyes today
I’m living out a past pain through new labor.
Which is true–
the old pain, the fresh effort?
November 3 offers lost agonies returned,
a dawning, growing prayer
and broadening recognition of space
expanding into the Grandmotherly arms
of a beckoning,
wrinkled
and rollicking humor.
12 Sunday May 2019
Tension builds
where the incomplete blow
as storm winds
toward completeness.
With worn boots and ragged clothes
after years in the woods
a brightness comes.
What had been too frozen to speak,
let alone move,
imprisoned by experiences of youth,
is warming with daily lighting of the flame.
Who had been silenced
who had been harmed
who survived by freezing in time
and not breathing to avoid giving herself away
is no more a fossil
a casualty
a repetition of a story too old to tell.
With spark, a light in thick darkness,
a new way forward.
Without knowing, or plan, or shape
to follow,
entry into another world–
full capacity–
at the Crossroads.
03 Wednesday Apr 2019
Women, warm, round and expecting,
wandered my dream, greeting me,
and I wondered how
how;
Three before me, at three drugstore registers,
buying sodas, and sodas and alcohol,
at 8 a.m.
and I wondered how
how;
Baristas, happy, welcoming, enjoying
each other, customers, both and
still… how
how.
Knowing fullness, itch for escape, joy,
and my own irritation with life that,
conveniently, hasn’t been included in the list,
leaves confusion with a half-smile at how
all this exists now
along with much, much…
much more.
06 Thursday Sep 2018
Where salt meets sweet,
I sing to the waters.
Where sand holds wave, pelicans slap
great wings,
and solitary duck pops up from below
in a stilled bowl
waiting for winter,
I sing
and Wind joins in,
riffling the surface, ripples reaching
in patterns hypnotic and old.
Sing to the waters,
their reply waits for your greeting among reeds,
rushes, fishes and stone.
01 Wednesday Aug 2018
He slams the door behind him.
You think, Good riddance!
When next your heart stops and breath catches,
out comes a gasp, What have I done?
Melting down, falling to bits, the world goes
from complete sense to non-sense,
and it is on that iceberg of moment
(and each drifting ice island following)
when wondering, Is this true?
might most gather you back together in a form
strong enough,
wise enough
to hold all the sensations and feelings
threatening to tear you to pieces
to be with Now,
an actual fullness of Life
for which you have the grandest capacity.
31 Tuesday Jul 2018
Where is your Beauty?
Surely not
in the new shoes, fresh haircut,
expensive manufactured perfume or
endless product
product
product
pushed, hawked, manipulated into your brain
tinkering with insecurities secret and unspoken.
Your Beauty,
your Beauty! exists. Period. No one sells it to you,
convinces you of it, holds it over you, or
wants you solely because of it-
that sort is no kin of Beauty, but mere poison.
The posh tie, synthetic cologne, hippest beard or band-
they’ll not birth Beauty either.
No mask is She. Neither bought nor sold,
She is spark, and giggle, dance step and honest stumble.
She is inspiration,
your in-spiring moment to moment.
Nurture these and Beauty rises, rises,
a river filling thirsty banks longing
to sing her praises.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 