17 Friday Nov 2017
Feather etchings of wrinkles,
our tributaries of experience, deepen
towards more
not less.
Must we forget what the soul always knows,
that appearance is not worth
and youth is not to be strived for
but grown beyond?
Instead of living seventy years
as wobbly egos forever hungry and
needing to be bolstered,
we can throw our arms, like thick-barked tree limbs,
around death,
our constant friend teaching us
the riches of storied contours and
what it is to truly live.
14 Tuesday Nov 2017
Being caught by gratitude
between yes and no, by was and is,
between having and not,
brings the dance.
Heart suddenly solid, present and strong
like stone, not ice, with loving-
goodbye floods body with needed nectar
for not an awayness or an isolation,
neither a grip nor a grab,
not a mine or a missing or a fright,
but a moving of grace
onward.
17 Sunday Sep 2017
The river turns here,
around a mountain- one ancient, familiar, not to be forgotten.
From mature, back to youthful, thick water tumbles on
toward old age.
No guessing when, nor how, not even what awaits
on the other side of the mountain,
but slowing into transition, touching each passing stone,
scoops up now drop by sweet drop,
the flavor of entry into great unknown.
11 Tuesday Jul 2017
To the fierce woman–
not the girl, whatever the age, trying to look pretty,
to be nice,
not the girl in the woman’s body aiming
to be desired, seductive, adored, heroic, cool, mysterious,
No, no-
To the fierce woman who knows the song of her own heart’s beat,
who cares not about how she appears, but about who she is,
who isn’t reaching for the next best outfit, witty comeback, title or
right answer–
To the fierce woman who walks how she walks,
talks how she talks,
ages as she brilliantly ages,
sees how she sees and
loves how she loves,
my God, Welcome.
Welcome to this world.
You
are
needed.
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.
21 Saturday Jan 2017
The women speak
and dogs lay down side by side,
cats walking railings sit in spots full of sun,
the cursed dust no longer cursed
becomes, finally, nutrient moving
from here to there.
(Trees nod slowly in recognition.)
The women speak
and silence begins again to be known-
an expansion from where
the most needed, sassy ideas rise.
The women speak,
and our planet shakes off a yoke
we think we’ve set around Her neck.
The women speak,
hummm, yes, listen.
20 Friday Jan 2017
A silence is being called.
Not
a silence of submission, or
apathy,
shame or forgetfulness– but
an emboldened silence,
one for hearing voices drifting
through cracks
and memory.
Listen.
Dear God, Listen-
a new way demands a creativity
well outside the bounds of what has come before.
This silence is gentle, receptive,
immensely strong.
Recall, from the depths,
how it is yours, ours, and
not.
Bones speak, be certain
they are included.
16 Monday Jan 2017
Shy at the gate,
toss your head, flip your tail,
switch ears, twitch nostrils-
a fine tension builds,
keep with it.
Shimmy your skin and whinny, yes,
a whoa-what’s-happening kind of alarm.
Stay with it.
That gate’s got words for you,
and not of a sort your brain’s going to comprehend.
They have teeth, and dirt, and a strange wind to them,
which may be the reason for the fleeting,
repeating
blood chills, maybe.
Rushing to run misses the opportunity.
Kick the temple bell with an eager hoof if you have to
but know
this place between,
at the gate before god knows what and you,
holds the field of promise.
Hang in, possibility calls you far,
far from the familiar.
07 Saturday Jan 2017
Those pesky brains,
the ones making a someone of a something-
who’s been serving them the kool-aid?
Settle them down before we cart them off
wearing special white outfits complete with ties
they can not undo.
We’ve categorized, cauterized, organized, familiarized
until the ize of the horizon is known.
Imagining may be cute when your feet are small
but now we must grow up-
taller, smarter, firmer in stance and action;
Up-standing people further things, uphold things-
We are the Someones of Somethingdom.
Reality has a timeline, afterall.
And, then, while we adhere and cohere
we’ll do something silly like have a child
who will see all we won’t
and giggle until she’s sideways
leaving at least one of us to wonder
just what exactly brings that spark to her eyes
and rolling thunder to her tiny, mirthful belly…
(Go ahead, It says- research that.)
01 Sunday Jan 2017
The new year could be a prism,
a prison,
an ache and an embrace.
We just never know,
until at once a soft wind settles and we do.
Offer a kindly nod to the dark,
and an opening of arms to the light-
both will accompany us the whole way;
it is our work to acknowledge and learn from
the full spectrum every day.
May we remember to create Beauty
and move skillfully as we can
with the cinnamon dance of Mystery..
And, please, mind the tenderness of little toes.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 