06 Tuesday Mar 2018
Having lost touch with the beauty of chaos
a fogged vision sewn of fear
and the iron-grip of hoped for control
eventually forces bursting rolls of laughter, or
sphincters tight enough to pop
(not so pretty- quick, turn toward the pansies planted to your left).
If remembrance of having a tail to shake breaks through,
that romp, leap, roar and thirteen-step boogie
will plunk soul back in wild order
and life’ll flow naturally once again.
04 Sunday Mar 2018
Posted in adventure, change, discomfort, home, poems, poetry, transition
≈ Comments Off on Displaced, longing, spent
If displaced, longing, or spent
a gnawing twistiness of home
erupts
with an ugh, tug, a grrrrmph
and out tumbles a wish-
well, a need-
for a spot, covered nook, a nest or wee corner
stocked full of warmth, quiet, books
and visiting songbirds to the window ledge
but
an illusion of safety, the net many speak of
(what, again, is the fabric of that?),
mocks such steady states in a mind
abuzz with too much time
and hunting
for the next place to call one’s own.
02 Friday Mar 2018
Curses
Crashes, Stomps, and Sighs,
Why, and How, Blather & Spot,
Torsion, Inertia, served with all the goopy grey sides.
Grrrphufl and sniff!
Discomfort.
Course, without it
exactly what would- or could-
ever become of us.
Growth…who ordered this dish anyway?
20 Tuesday Feb 2018
A conditioning of impotence,
reaching for the salt when another swipes it first,
mounting silence in heavy boots, step upon step,
crags of volcanic history ignored by all
but you.
Buttons pop in flights of frustration,
and the weight of carrying baggage,
generations of status quo,
threatens to break your back
until
the ludicrous heart-heaviness and surge
for a real place in family becomes visible
for the impossibility it is.
Pitching the straps off your shoulders,
searing sight of that graveyard of the forgotten
rising skyward
into memory, you shake your head
at the Sisyphean absurdity,
turn around
and walk away.
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.
28 Sunday Jan 2018
Posted in poetry
≈ Comments Off on “About” page republished:
Once entitled Rooted In Grace {Rooted, embodied, bound, nourished, held.
In.
Grace, the Infinite, great Mystery, artful movement, expression of silence}
Now entitled “Salt, Smoke, and Stone”-
Unavoidable chafe and Dance, delicious moment and precipitous drop, disappearing Scent and heavenly Body-
Here.
A gathering of the ephemeral and limitless, the bruise and Magic of experience.
A medicine of word.
Welcome. Your presence, and any comments you may offer, are a gift.
Reproduction or use of any of the writings or photos on this site are by permission only. Please send an email if interested:
rootedingracemedicineofword@gmail.com
~ All Rights Reserved ~
In gratitude…
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.
26 Friday Jan 2018
To what cost,
this silence?
Protecting normal, the naked Emperor,
who rots your bones of its mineral support,
your heart of its song,
your pelvis of its dancing motion,
your mouth of its natural speech.
Stop pretending.
And, with it, generations of loss.
Open the vault.
You may find yourself alone.
But the outcome
will be possession of your own soul.
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.
22 Monday Jan 2018
Horse sits in the corner
noticing possum hasn’t touched her tea.
Possum, meanwhile,
wonders about her pedigree.
Tortoise dozes in his shell,
tipping awkwardly toward ostrich’s tail,
when zebra waltzes in swishing his stripes
sending peacock for the door in utmost fright.
Such is a day at Second Street Cafe
with elephant missing and
rat wandering proudly off to play.
Order a cup and join the crew,
there’s a little something for all of you.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 