17 Friday Nov 2017
Feather etchings of wrinkles,
our tributaries of experience, deepen
towards more
not less.
Must we forget what the soul always knows,
that appearance is not worth
and youth is not to be strived for
but grown beyond?
Instead of living seventy years
as wobbly egos forever hungry and
needing to be bolstered,
we can throw our arms, like thick-barked tree limbs,
around death,
our constant friend teaching us
the riches of storied contours and
what it is to truly live.
16 Thursday Nov 2017
Maybe it feels like standing forever in a head-high river current,
yearning.
Yet, igniting moments drop the belly
and lurch steps-
songs jump into hiccups, the nights being
so long.
And the syrup drip into sinews brought about by
–fill in the blank here–
well, if that thing, that other
is not what it’s really about,
what more enticing invitation could possibly surface
asking you
to re-weave yourself
into God?
15 Wednesday Nov 2017
With clouds pressing rising earth,
this heart bounds in resolution and song.
Perhaps the day is young, and loss fright will re-emerge,
but a ginger shift happened,
a burst of rhizome heat scattered sorrow,
and medicine spoke.
It is, as ever, bone close.
14 Tuesday Nov 2017
Being caught by gratitude
between yes and no, by was and is,
between having and not,
brings the dance.
Heart suddenly solid, present and strong
like stone, not ice, with loving-
goodbye floods body with needed nectar
for not an awayness or an isolation,
neither a grip nor a grab,
not a mine or a missing or a fright,
but a moving of grace
onward.
05 Thursday Oct 2017
A coral bell hanging
brightly
amongst its neighbors,
a bear trundling along
alone,
a cricket sounding an evening concert
loudly
in the kitchen,
each, perfectly, to its nature.
Were the bear turning this way and that
wondering
how he looks in his bearness, his gait,
his hunger,
or the coral bell wishing mightily
it could be a lily,
or the cricket seizing upon the desire to stomp
like an elephant through jungle-
Where would we be?
Thankful to the trueness of things
may we seek only
our own magnificent, and fleeting, natures.
30 Saturday Sep 2017
Sorrow pools,
tears break the rim and,
with them, shadow of knowing
that salty drops rise when it matters-
any thing,
something,
this thing-
and a quarter turn brings
appreciation,
saying
stop
in this place, now-
where old meets new
gently
and slow.
28 Thursday Sep 2017
Stars, warm wind, Morning rises
with purple sky.
Foucault pages rest in my lap yet
song of hummingbird through open window
means infinitely more.
A feeding tree- one plump with fruit and tiniest birds-
is black silhouette waking
into day’s light.
23 Saturday Sep 2017
Sun drapes her sheer cloth across the hillsides,
Mixed flocks, busy in fruiting trees, chirp amicably,
A chill has crept in at night, the woolens brought to bed,
and nothing so pretty as autumn has graced the canyon
in a long time.
18 Monday Sep 2017
Memories are being given away,
space no longer for rent to the unwelcome.
A wooden chair with woven seat sits now
facing sunrise.
Closets have been emptied, drawers cleared out
and sold.
Neither vacancy nor void, but place has opened,
safe, dynamic, light and warm.
17 Sunday Sep 2017
The river turns here,
around a mountain- one ancient, familiar, not to be forgotten.
From mature, back to youthful, thick water tumbles on
toward old age.
No guessing when, nor how, not even what awaits
on the other side of the mountain,
but slowing into transition, touching each passing stone,
scoops up now drop by sweet drop,
the flavor of entry into great unknown.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 