You are worth
radical loving
and if there’s a tug at the thought-
a hand pulling down that rising red balloon-
you might ask
why
and drink a draft
that whispers back,
privately,
Oh You, begin
your masterfully passionate affair
with yourself.
06 Friday Mar 2015
You are worth
radical loving
and if there’s a tug at the thought-
a hand pulling down that rising red balloon-
you might ask
why
and drink a draft
that whispers back,
privately,
Oh You, begin
your masterfully passionate affair
with yourself.
06 Friday Mar 2015
Wrinkles gather
for rivulets of joy to pass through.
Skin registers the days, the years,
captures earth movements of a lifetime-
sights seen, impacts felt..
the stories awaiting coffee and a friend’s perked ear.
Faces change, hard places become soft-
another land responding to elemental embrace.
I will watch your bodyscape alter,
like your growing heart,
and smile at time and gravity’s impressions,
in that worldly deepening
of us both.
02 Monday Mar 2015
There’s something I must tell you,
but fear will introduce its splintery self
where love is meant to be.
My reins require only softest nudges
to redirect me,
yet, until your boundary holding back freedom
drops away,
the melting heart of me
rests here tonight,
a single bowl of rain water
reflecting moon’s waxing and waning
passion play.
02 Monday Mar 2015
Forget the face.
if Light doesn’t shine from
their eyes
there is no Beauty.
28 Saturday Feb 2015
Posted in becoming, courage, devotion, fearlessness, freedom, poems, poetry, transition
≈ Comments Off on Falcon’s Erudition
Recall her.
Cry out against what was taken,
Shout back.
Historical reclamation of the sky is
Falcon’s erudition.
No effort wasted on explanation
only
Complete trust in body knowledge-
Flight and the hunt
instinctual as waking.
Come forth,
The weightlessness of self-possession
calls you.
28 Saturday Feb 2015
the crippled reaching
for someone else to make you complete-
what teachings established in hearts
has wings
if it plants a strangler vine,
suggesting you aren’t whole
exactly as you are?
27 Friday Feb 2015
Posted in becoming, poems, poetry, transition
≈ Comments Off on Tongues of sleeping infants
Time
Now
the tongues
of sleeping infants yet nursing.
Silenced cries in a scream to be heard,
poles of a tension
racking tiny spines hoping
to find rest.
Pulse and bird song and little lungs.
Rhythmic,
the intimately familiar movements
of suckling-
Feed us, World,
Shelter, hold and protect us.
Allowing for that world-
the one we call to reach for us-
we bring the scattered pieces
together again.
25 Wednesday Feb 2015
An electric palm talked to me last night.
Piercing its feisty fingers,
playful dagger fronds dipped in hallucinatory intent,
through moon’s half cast of sky.
That crazy cat visited,
showed a thing or two
about shape shifting and trickster medicine.
She grabbed my brain
with her buzz.
Scattered stars and hairs of lazy clouds
sucked her dark light towards them.
Further along,
silent, unmoving owl watched
from telephone wire.
Stopping for him, I said hello.
He dropped off into flight
carrying my whisper back to the forest.
A few steps away, cypress
impressed herself upon me,
a pale barked dancing woman
held within rounded trunk.
Wonder and timelessness,
a patient grounded movement
through change-
like this old tree whose feet
adapted to growth at the banks
of asphalt
where uncorrupted earth
once collected water.
23 Monday Feb 2015
Experts at falling apart,
those who can shatter without shattering,
grasp that what is viewed as breaking
is only breaking through.
Smaller selves
crack
when outgrown.
Vastness bucks at containment.
The skills gained
that serve and save and form
may rest,
tools placed in their box,
upon reaching the precipice,
gazing out, and gathering in
this knowing-
Spiral shells can also be exited
from their opening,
even as larger spirals
await
to house you.
23 Monday Feb 2015
You are alive.
You matter.
You are heard.
You are seen.
You are received.
You are welcomed.
You are celebrated.
You are enjoyed.
You are met.
You are held.
We are connected.