01 Wednesday Apr 2026
The stirrings in me
are the stirrings in You,
a thread binding us that vision can not seek yet
heart and belly play, both, as one instrument
of longing.
Call up my voice,
that which is Yours
and sing,
sing,
sing
through me…
18 Thursday Sep 2025
Confusion tumbles out of us,
violence and shame, ever pointing–
over there, over there.
Look in the mirror, friend, we each must
consider our part, the veins of ugliness within,
ignored, denied, pushed away.
Wounds need care,
sunlight and tenderness.
Otherwise, they fester.
None goes unhurt, none walks without darkness
to be held.
Point not that way, and that,
drop the pointer all together.
We are a we, and in it together to reweave
an old, old decaying story into blessing and art,
connection, nourishment and song.
What beauty brings us here now?
What Beauty to be bestowed back to Life?
Ask the ancestors,
they know,
ask the ancestors for help–
healing takes everyone, form and formless alike.
Let the new story begin..
it breaks through already
in the most delightful, unexpected ways.
20 Monday May 2024
Twisted linen in the closet:
rumpled skirt, wrinkled vest..
Who would imagine shirts
could dent.
Comical to even consider remedying that.
Seems I can not stay put.
A magnet polarized from place
when place is done.
Not that I want to be washed from the creekbed.
I’ve bolted, leapt, flown, jumped and been
catapulted;
I’m praying for a gentler crossing
this go round.
The hanging lines held in linen
are a telling road map
of more to come.
28 Friday Oct 2022
What, then, is born
of disconnection that bleaches the Soul,
fragments Spirit and sends it flying
never to land,
to land in place where it may feed and be fed,
stoke the tender embers of Beauty herself?
What have we traded to get
things?
Things.
Paper money and all the rest, what is it
but nothing,
nothing, especially
when we make it everything and carve ourselves
and one another up
for more of it?
Call back,
Call back,
Call back yourself.
Call back every shard and ripple,
each precious drop, and voluminous chunk.
None but people bringing themselves back toward wholeness
can right this ship we share.
Please, let us remember,
let us remember all
to bring ourselves
Home again.
12 Saturday Mar 2022
A place I have become,
with no knowing where home is.
I carry home with me and in her, them, him I reside.
Words only bring us to the doorway,
imagination opens the door.
In this extended departure
the landscape broadens, roads disappear,
names change, expectation reveals its hollowness,
and desert mountain awaits.
A place I have become, moving upon this earth
without long plan, without people on the receiving end,
with nothing of permanence.
Laughter will replace fears and doubts soon enough.
For now, chasing details fills the days.
This place I become will carry me to the grave,
wherever and whenever that shall be.
In the meantime, feeding the soil, sitting with what is,
allowing for what will be, dropping off
assumptions,
and listening softening listening softening. . .
I want to know this place deeply and dearly
before I go.
29 Friday Oct 2021
A day arrives
during night dreaming
when you come to retrieve a child, an infant
in button-up full-blue onesie,
from a house expecting you
and, upon entry, you recognize the woman
whose house it is. She rises from a room sized table,
oblong, solid, warm and wooden. An enormous shined egg.
Around its edges sit monks, scholars, drummers–
elders all. It feels better than anything you’ve felt
in ages.
She not only welcomes you, while rising,
but asks you to stay.
Come join us.
She says that. . Come. Join us.
Somewhere, slung between infancy and elderhood, you stand,
at times barely, and then holy invitation is spoken,
warmly.
Keep hollowing out the space,
hallowing the place,
where the invitation can finally cross from sleep
into waking.
10 Wednesday Oct 2018
She lays in bed, sheet lightly covering.
Out the window clouds of rain draw near,
without hurry or menace.
Slow jazz fills the room, no one else close
to breathe the same thick, gentle October morning
in her nest above the street.
Pumpkin pie awaiting baking,
lamb thawing on white tiled counter,
and the low-lit day opens towards everything
she loves.
28 Tuesday Aug 2018
In the cross-hatch seat of the chair
wooden, dusted in time and use,
a cat
curled
and sleeping.
Looking over at her, floor boards below and sun
reaching through a far window,
doubt can not waver the sweetness
of a morning with feline, coffee, a book
and silence rising from the woods outside.
25 Thursday Jan 2018
Constellations on the ground,
stars underfoot,
snow falling in dark morning
on upturned face,
waiting hair, open palms.
Greeting a wide universe in winter-
its hush and hibernation beckoning on
hidden animals waiting
waiting
for a silent moment to show themselves
as weather weaves a way.
21 Tuesday Nov 2017
Born from uninitiated folk,
as most Westerners are,
creates holes in knowing that let icy winds enter.
Weaving oneself back together requires attention,
a briny commitment, earthly,
sight of an old fist-width rope tying the now to a millennia of then:
the family line.
Mostly invisible shoulders carry
the wobbling essential unformed
human walking known as you.
Start asking questions.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 