Category Archives: offering

Wind blows a chorus

21 Thursday Apr 2022

Posted by in abundance, community, honoring, learning, listen, loving, movement, Music, offering, poems, poetry, wind

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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.

How to begin a day

13 Monday Dec 2021

Posted by in abundance, beauty, community, flight, honoring, movement, nature, offering, poems, poetry, stillness, wind

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The storm is making noisy mouths of the shingles this morning,

and pom-poms of the pine’s branches.

Rain beads the panes,

droplets meet socially, gather in their weight

and river down, down towards wet ground.

A limy glow. Needles sticking long on fence, on chair,

all throughout lavender’s hair.

Yesterday at this time crows were dancing in sunrise light,

pink orange, sorbet swirl of clouds,

save one:

She sat still atop a black fir, staring.

Our four eyes, in settled bodies, soaked in the welcoming arms

of our rising Sun–

now, She knows how to begin a day.

All along

22 Friday Jan 2021

Posted by in abundance, fertile, giving, listen, offering, poems, poetry, receiving, welcoming

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Grieving the grandchildren never to be had,

I step back downward on the path

away from the peak wondering

what unborn children might become

among seeds of the treasured and unsung.

Tomorrow,

I’ll pick up a brush and dash color across

textured cotton and dried pulp

to interview an inner nobility I’ve yet to know,

to praise a blooming that’s still to come.

Come,

come unnamed seeds and show me your way,

we can cross the river, a bridge to stay,

at least until your voices are heard

whether in color, sound or word.

Sleep, you blessed ones,

a womb welcomes you now

whatever your form;

Sleep for now, you blessed ones,

fertile ground awaits you,

your brightness a bell, an arrival

celebrated ever and always along.

This is not

09 Monday Nov 2020

Posted by in death, devotion, honoring, Loss, nature, offering, pain, poems, poetry, prayer, presence, undone, work

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This is not stick feathers in your hair and prance round

the earth as if you are one. You

couldn’t not be if you tried. You

can, however, think it, feel it, behave it as if

it were so. You aren’t here

to earn it. To remember it, Yes,

and to work it through.

Mass microbes work upon you–feathers

are the cartoon version (blessed though they be).

If no brook bubbles beside you, neighbors’

televisions blare craftless tales, and your mother

is dead, Remembrance,

work though it must and will take,

is what these days reaching toward your own death

are for..

Slow into morrow, into marrow..

not only could you lose everything–

you will.

With that might your cellular awakening bring glimpse

before the end

Gold of what you are made.

Golden key

04 Thursday Jun 2020

Posted by in beauty, break out, dark, devotion, global, listen, movement, offering, pain, poems, poetry, prayer, presence, the road, transition, work

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A big moment arrives,

likely without your (intentional) bidding,

when no Golden Key arrives.

You swear you aren’t looking for one,

assure others you know there isn’t one,

and yet?

Yet, when you open that door

none appears.

And everything comes up short.

Where is your way through?

Surely, following such pain and strife,

with the endless effort and hope,

some

Thing

will

raise its head and wag a greeting

of arrival.

Because your faith needs food.

Instead, you are told

humanity is a shithole

with moments of beauty between.

And how that isn’t trauma added

to the heartbreak is beyond you.

Because Faith needs not only Beauty

but connection.

Not unending loss

and rage,

but nutrients for the lost souls and

the begging souls who try,

try,

try

for a beautiful life founded on self-respect

and a worth unquestionable,

unquestionable by color, origin, belief,

or day alive navigating a difficult and messy

and Beautiful world.

Finding the faith within to keep on

may be the magic

all of us seek.

Full circle

25 Saturday Apr 2020

Posted by in becoming, home, honoring, learning, Loss, loving, mystery, offering, pain, poems, poetry, receiving

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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?

Emptied streets

04 Saturday Apr 2020

Posted by in adventure, community, courage, dark, global, light, offering, pain, poems, poetry, song

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A man walks beneath black umbrella,

Calla lilies bloom in the rain;

A woman stands at the kitchen window

staring out with soapy hands and sponge,

singing,

“And you look at yourself,

pacing the cage…”

The playground is taped off in yellow tape,

A child speeds home on scooter with no cars in sight,

“All the spells I could sing, it’s as if the thing is written

in the constitution of the age…”

Grass is greening, lungs ache,

and hearts are breaking,

“Sometimes the best map will not guide you…”

Stay strong and bend, be well

We are in this together together together

We are all pacing the cage–

Not alone not alone

As we walk thin line between birth and death

Now and here

Now and here

Together

Not alone

Hold that thin line dear,

Dear,

Hold it dear.

November 3

03 Sunday Nov 2019

Posted by in change, learning, mystery, offering, pain, poems, poetry, prayer, receiving

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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.