The limitations of our fathers,
they are not ours to live by. See
and be done.
Do
and live beyond.
The next generations are here to end
that which came before.
Limitations
30 Saturday Dec 2023
Category Archives: vision
Medial Woman
14 Friday Apr 2023
Medial Woman,
I place my trust in you
who reweaves the world in vision, web and pearl.
Stars offer themselves to your old and nimble fingers,
music of your silent imagination.
Cradling myself in the timeless,
the wide, stable feet of your journeying,
I pluck feathers from the western wind,
forage in fields, in forests, spanning forever.
There’s not an ocean, in singular swirling,
that together we’ve not swum.
Beneath your gaze, egg-filled nests become visible,
rising springs share their voice
and solace of a kindness of words flows
through your unmoving lips.
I train my ears,
I train my eyes,
I allow the knowing in my hands
to find their joyous, wild and original way.
The mendacity of the Father
28 Sunday Jan 2018
The mendacity of the Father,
the for-your-own-good, you’ll-
understand-one-day,
spank you on the ass ruler of the house,
might there not be another way?
Look the white shark in the eye and see
what he claims to be is none other
than the abuse he forgets
once brought him to his knees.
Question where you came from,
you may find there’s a curse
invisible, iron gripped,
you alone can shake off.
Pain, unaddressed, is only fed
to the next generation who cling,
cling to the same pedagogy
that poisoned your once Free spirit..
Now’s the time-
reclaim it.
Border dancer
02 Tuesday Jan 2018
Are you a border dancer,
never wanting fully to be here and
forever a passionate sliver of now,
sipping the drops, and drinking the deluge,
wondering what place you actually occupy?
It’s a slippery stick
meant for the ripeness of the forest floor,
unintended for adolescent hands.
What feeds does not come from you-
one so easily confused, acting comically small and guilty.
Real nourishment soaks in with time and respect
from Beyond-
origin of nectar and mystery, the breast milk
of endowed life in service to the Gods.
Leave the stick to its mushroom duff
where growth and decay follow ancient rhythms.
Dance there,
the place unnameable, infinitely creative,
and belonging to no one.
Ghosts
26 Sunday Nov 2017
If the light in you diminishes, wanes,
withers,
and you become a shrunken version of yourself,
be sure of this-
Ghosts are feeding.
If confidence gets tugged into the nearest pit,
and mockery replaces spark-
cynicism having leaked its silent poison into your veins-
ask not what is wrong with you
(a honed Ghost hunting tactic)
but sharpen those warrior skills to track,
sight,
and disarm the immaterial and deadly specters.
You can start by slapping a sign
on the inside of the front door saying,
Ghosts, piss off!,
while laughing at their familiar, but fruitless, methods.
If you need more time
23 Thursday Nov 2017
If you need more time
for the new birds to find you,
take more walks with your awkward, fledgling self.
Squawking and flight, a generous song now and again,
will always surround you.
Being the only of a kind in a place
opens more relationships than you might think, while
flavor of faith develops
with your stronger listening ears.
It is needed as you continue, seeing ahead
and noticing the talon prints you’ve left behind.
Hunger
20 Monday Nov 2017
Wanting to know what satisfies
an ancient hunger you’re not even certain is yours,
countless streets, endless questions,
bottomless pans, and tears of frustration
over a lifetime
have added up to a hillock of humus,
dark, fertile, and remembered.
The sought after whatsit, the toil of time and love,
may or may not ever amble up to you,
paws dirty with devotion.
The wanting filling your carved out places,
a blue, swirling smoke scented from the beyond,
is itself required elixir
drawing you deeper into life.
Cursing that desire away, and aimlessly trying to fulfill it
means trading your own gold for dull, already forgotten tin.
The beauty of five a.m.
03 Monday Apr 2017
Darkness, silence, brightness of stars,
silhouetted tree crowns,
the beauty of five a.m.
I’m not sure why we forget,
so readily forget,
the preciousness we participate in.
These troubles,
the wasting, threatening, destroying-
maybe turning ourselves right-side-round toward
birthing light
relies upon one task:
Remembering.
Spring
08 Wednesday Mar 2017
Grass,
green, high, lilting..
Spring wears her tall rubber boots
and wanders through
from seedling to start, from birdsong to unfurling fiddlehead.
Crossing slopes slowly,
around and up,
She eventually meets their tops
having tapped every waking wildflower
with a wink and a sweet how-do-you-do.
Her hair trails behind her in post-storm breeze.
With a softened gaze, you’ll catch a snippet of calico print dress
somehow waving
from a corner of your own sunny imagination.
The women speak
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.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 