Category Archives: wind

And the girl goes ‘Aauchgh!’

09 Wednesday Feb 2022

Posted by in poems, poetry, song, the road, water, wind

≈ Comments Off on And the girl goes ‘Aauchgh!’

Sitting there, facing a willowy creek,

alders tipping their heads over the pavement,

the girl goes ‘Aauchgh!’

It may have been because of a masterful song

warbling out my mouth,

‘Ohh the sheep dung’s got strong, oh

oh and it wafts in the wind, oh

sheep dung smooooke…’

That may have been what got up her ire,

she was doing homework in the other front seat

afterall,

but who’s to say.

‘Ohh the sheep dung’s got stroooong today…’

‘Aauchgh! Stop!’ She yurdles,

(not sure that’s a word, but she did it),

while holding back the quivering corners of her mouth,

trying very hard to be

s e r i o u s.

‘Guh, stawwp!’ But I can’t ya see,

because that dung sure’s having its way today.

So, the song keeps going and the girl keeps groaning

and all is well,

sitting and waiting under the waving alder trees.

How to begin a day

13 Monday Dec 2021

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

≈ Comments Off on How to begin a day

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.

Languages

31 Sunday Oct 2021

Posted by in learning, light, listen, nature, poems, poetry, return, silence, wind, words, work

≈ Comments Off on Languages

I keep checking for messages.

They aren’t there, of course.

What sends messages these days

doesn’t use the language I grew up learning.

How many languages don’t we speak because of those

we had to,

pinning words down with force for

efficiency

exactness

precision

accuracy

literalness lopping off the Song of the universe?

There is light, instead, what trees eat,

reflecting on the full belly of blood-red

garden pot,

and wind talking the leaves high,

high up the towering eucalyptus.

Clapping faeries have flitting epochs to share,

and they await those willing to listen

to languages bodies understand.

More quiet than I yet can hold

is the ear that can translate for me.

God, I know what I would like to be

in service to what is far greater~

please, show the winding way…

All the sense in the world

18 Sunday Jul 2021

Posted by in learning, poems, poetry, return, unlearning, water, wind

≈ Comments Off on All the sense in the world

What does waiting on the world’s approval do to us?

When we lose and lose, and the land we’ve invented

continually falls away underfoot,

a time must come,

a place emerge,

within us

when and where grasping stops.

For there is no service

to the wind, the passing butterfly, the breaking wave, or

the stone resting, thousands of years on,

inches from where we stand,

to hate ourselves in response to another’s judgment.

Think the butterfly bothers?

Or the wind?

We’ve much larger things to become

than the tarnished expectations we’ve clung to.

Move like the water,

sit with the stone,

they’re whispering a wisdom far beyond

what we’ve been told.

And it makes all the sense in the world.

Shining the dull parts

27 Sunday Jun 2021

Posted by in poems, poetry, release, song, water, wind

≈ Comments Off on Shining the dull parts

Last I wrote, a river–the River–spoke of pain

guiding the carving of your banks,

erosion of soils meant to flush and drift,

to migrate and feed downstream, freed up

to do work really intended,

as it exposes rock, the talking stones

holding spirit to place.

It didn’t get much traction.

Today, I can offer that that River isn’t all water,

but Wind

and Song…

Twitterings rise from the bathing towhee

utterly beheld in the flesh reaching waters

from where she sings and wiggles

every noodley wet feather, bone and muscle.

From tub to branch she flits, rubbing (always)

her beak first–this side then that–

and shakes complete giggling pleasure,

full release, refreshed.

That, too, is the River, the Wind, the Song.

Somehow the unrelenting ache brings you there, too,

shining the dull parts

in a reflection of glory.