Where are the Grandmothers?

01 Saturday Sep 2018

Posted by in abundance, becoming, break out, community, family, honoring, learning, listen, movement, nature, poems, poetry, story, the road, welcoming, wonder

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Where are the Grandmothers?

With family torn, history unknown, stories never uttered,

lineage not spoken,

where are we?

We become dangling dolls, feet like bell clappers,

swaying this way and that with no ground

beneath us.

So utter.

Utter.

Utter your questions and longings to the Grandmothers,

the Grandfathers, the Sisters and Brothers who couldn’t grow up,

the sharers and protectors from the other side where

viewing carries a different, sideways, deeper,

beyond kind of knowing.

Stir the waters you can not see,

the current carrying you, and ask.

Ask.

Ask and the formations for you to hold and gaze at

reminding you of the support in the surround

can shape, at last, in the wet red clay

held by your praying hands-

Grandmothers, Come to me…

In the cross-hatch seat

28 Tuesday Aug 2018

Posted by in abundance, becoming, community, gratitude, honoring, joy, light, loving, nature, poems, poetry, prayer, weaving

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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.

Where lies

26 Sunday Aug 2018

Posted by in abundance, beauty, becoming, break out, change, community, courage, crafting, Creating, devotion, dreams, freedom, honoring, listen, movement, nature, poems, poetry, prayer, release, song, stillness, welcoming, wonder, work

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If a push,

somewhere a pull.

Where taken,

pray it has been given.

The Western sense of community..

in itself a paradox?

We’re part–everyone–of centuries of history

cycling, tumbling, molasses-thick onward

with nanosecond “advances.”

No mystery that you, and you, and I

can not seem to catch our breath.

Faster is not forward,

as bigger not better, nor more money success.

Where lies the soul stuff making life

Life?

Light casts red

08 Wednesday Aug 2018

Posted by in change, community, Fire, home, learning, listen, movement, nature, poems, poetry, transition

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August,

the light casts red.

Dry season wilt and crunch, yellow

becoming brown,

and hungry fires chew acres

to miles

of hillside and range.

Fire’s satiation point moves further out

each passing year

as our own deafness to species and spaces

beyond our own grows.

Dim the constant noise of phone, computer,

bottom line, app and sale-

play a role smarter than consumer-

and how life continues from here may

be more inclusive, open, mindful

and naturally sweet.

The fires have much to say.

Now

01 Wednesday Aug 2018

Posted by in abundance, adventure, becoming, courage, devotion, discomfort, dread, fearlessness, freedom, honoring, learning, movement, mystery, nature, pain, poems, poetry, release, stillness, strength, transition, welcoming, work

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He slams the door behind him.

You think, Good riddance!

When next your heart stops and breath catches,

out comes a gasp, What have I done?

Melting down, falling to bits, the world goes

from complete sense to non-sense,

and it is on that iceberg of moment

(and each drifting ice island following)

when wondering, Is this true?

might most gather you back together in a form

strong enough,

wise enough

to hold all the sensations and feelings

threatening to tear you to pieces

to be with Now,

an actual fullness of Life

for which you have the grandest capacity.

This day

31 Tuesday Jul 2018

Posted by in aging, becoming, Body, community, fear, honoring, learning, Loss, nature, pain, poems, poetry, transition, work

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This day he walks slowly,

approaching in nearly a shuffle.

Handing me a candy- the kind once known as penny-

saying, this aging stuff, not so easy.

I used to think, he shares with a soft shake of his head,

I could stay a perpetual teenager. But not so.

His health, not good,

the poetry, music and culture

having always fed him

no longer enough.

Or so it seems to him, on this day.

Clutching a small handled paper bag, one somehow

always carried,

he steps away, looking emptily into distance

not physically there,

leaving me with a golden,

foil covered chocolate coin never to be eaten

and an appreciation for his difficult facing

of what he long imagined

could be outrun.

Where is your Beauty?

31 Tuesday Jul 2018

Posted by in abundance, beauty, becoming, Found, Love, mystery, poems, poetry, welcoming

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Where is your Beauty?

Surely not

in the new shoes, fresh haircut,

expensive manufactured perfume or

endless product

product

product

pushed, hawked, manipulated into your brain

tinkering with insecurities secret and unspoken.

Your Beauty,

your Beauty! exists. Period. No one sells it to you,

convinces you of it, holds it over you, or

wants you solely because of it-

that sort is no kin of Beauty, but mere poison.

The posh tie, synthetic cologne, hippest beard or band-

they’ll not birth Beauty either.

No mask is She. Neither bought nor sold,

She is spark, and giggle, dance step and honest stumble.

She is inspiration,

your in-spiring moment to moment.

Nurture these and Beauty rises, rises,

a river filling thirsty banks longing

to sing her praises.

Flock

26 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by in becoming, break out, change, community, courage, family, movement, poems, poetry, release, the road

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He

a sheep

like us all

walks, one day,

in a new direction.

Sheep don’t do that,

leave their flock.

In this he becomes a black sheep

turning away from name, money, easy street-

which isn’t so easy.

With him, now, he carries weight

of blame, criticism, and no one bothering to ask

why.

Years, many, pass.

His children grow, not knowing the stories he never told,

seeing him as just another sheep folded into the flock.

They wander for a path of their own.

One, separating from the rest, looks back

wondering

why he never asked why.

Broadness of day

26 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by in family, light, poems, poetry

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What must she have done upon discovering

her husband’s sexuality

with their daughters?

At which point, what year, and how-

in broadness of day, in sneaking through night,

along whisper, twist, and shadow never confirming?

And complicity? Suspicion?

Imagine the toxins pumping, daily, through veins

related, betrayed, confused, abused.

Where,

its beginning.

How,

its end.

How.

Through bright sky

06 Friday Jul 2018

Posted by in abundance, adventure, break out, change, Deliverance, discomfort, flight, home, learning, nature, poems, poetry, work

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The swallow dip of joy,

swift arc and cut through bright sky,

has been on lengthy migration

to lands unnamed.

Yet the time allotted here, however long,

confined in concrete, noise, requirement and excess

may finally break me of this place.

What follows out

of the daily abrasions of adjusting

while not giving everything and nothing away

may open space enough for that swallow

to return truly

home.