15 Tuesday May 2018
A kitten knocks at the door.
In truth, a word behaving like a kitten,
soft, sweet, riled
from chasing a baby squirrel along the avenue.
Baby tore across the asphalt, tail barking,
no visible sign of what gave chase.
Course, words are like that,
and now one has followed me home.
A fur-lined nook between the armrest and my hip
awaits her.
Curious what mischief we can achieve today.
But first,
a short nap.
10 Thursday May 2018
Stumbling,
having missed a pebble for the story in your head,
breaks the monotone
in favor of dripping notes tangled, soft,
attentive.
Dipping into that honey, the stream beneath the firehose flow,
entices a hidden music into the aching
and sharp places, wounded from too much narrow focus.
Broadening,
that song- touched by your welcome-
changes things.
06 Sunday May 2018
An initiation ritual,
in the dusk-scape of dream,
of shared finery, costume, camaraderie,
and non-blood family
emerging from here, over there,
here, here, there
unexpectedly,
for the me before me,
with a gathering of eager others,
to mark time with life.
Saying no, no but I am not she
not anymore
no–
But as beads pass over head, and colors add up,
layers of feather, bone, cloth
none mine
each display on this body
currently
a light in mind shifts-
not for me
but she
who may pass through, closing
beginning years, finally,
in step with those knowing when it is meant to happen.
Dressed, prepared, without doubts,
I walk the procession.
To celebrate.
To say goodbye.
To welcome all the rest.
15 Sunday Apr 2018
Beauty is
bird suspended, waves breaking one
in to another,
hills woven of shoulders, hips, toes,
clouds sliding across blue..
It is not the
must possess, perfect, expensive, mechanical conquest
mine,
but
connection, relationship, tangle of bouncing language, laughter song around the twilighted corner, and
being followed softly home.
How did we confuse it with a thing to buy,
an object to have,
a keeping to be kept by?
She tells her own story,
never upon command, and
if meaning vanishes the crease between our brow,
planting our feet more firmly on this earth,
we are in her Presence, an arrival of moments
passing by at any hour.
02 Friday Feb 2018
And when Fear comes knocking?
Or, more likely, bamblarkblasting its way in,
do you invite him to sit down,
notice her nebulous sucking barbed wire darkness,
and surrender yourself to the visit knowing
something important will be learned?
Come, come Fear, welcome,
enter and offer what brings you through town-
you might say
in honor and awe of,
out of respect for the guest with power
to leave you shivering, quivering
and yet more able to walk on
with starlight in your eyes-
have yourself a cup of tea,
You must be tired.
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 Sunday Jan 2018
At forty
she felt seventy.
Experience’s weight
had sunk posts deep into the landscape of her being.
Ache and limitation, an undertow of fatigue,
confusion at the seeming permanence
of the uninvited, the resisted,
lead this human to take possession, fully-
and for the first time-
of a life unwritten, free of guarantees,
and her own.
Entirely her own.
Her landscape now is a garden,
loved and wanted, with posts that may disappear.
Or not.
With their origins recognized, appreciated,
and their presence finally respected,
perhaps a hammock will be slung between them
in honor of spring’s arrival.
18 Thursday Jan 2018
A woman reading across the room,
and her soft arc of hmmm at words eliciting her song,
calls forth the bigger music of the library-
four blocks away, a sacred monolith of imagination.
“Libraries for All” declares a sign on the wall.
Yes, except for the drunks,
spoke a woman at the counter-
the police were just here.
I’m sure you see it all, I responded,
libraries are havens for the homeless.
Yes.
Warm. Dry. Open, lit, and cushioned.
Rest your weary bones. Pick up a book,
a newspaper, an image-heavy magazine.
This roof shelters whoever enters.
With or without the fortune or choice
of a place called home,
just best not to betray how many pints
are helping get you through the grey day.
Read on…
31 Sunday Dec 2017
Posted in movement, poems, poetry, transition, welcoming
≈ Comments Off on Underground wiggle
An underground wiggle,
earthworm-sized, easily missed,
and loud enough to wake ears primed
for uncivilized silence, whispers
in the last hours
of a year angling for its restful grave.
Without words,
the new year spreads vital language
through gritty, and fungal layers.
A hibernating, loved and longed for
movement in recent seasons
promises to return-
and the buzzing, flavorful potency builds.
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.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 