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.
16 Saturday Sep 2017
Unsure the proper weight of memory,
this trough I built is full.
The heavy bottomlessness of water sucks under,
especially when it prefers to move.
Sensing an unintended timelessness,
I pull, twist, crack apart worn wood,
watch stasis become
a brook babbling its true and changing song.
16 Saturday Sep 2017
A word about this site –
Its name has been changed to “Salt, Smoke, and Stone.”
Welcome to all who follow.
A bit more information can be found on the About page. Course, that may change too . . .
Enjoy the journey ~
11 Tuesday Jul 2017
To the fierce woman–
not the girl, whatever the age, trying to look pretty,
to be nice,
not the girl in the woman’s body aiming
to be desired, seductive, adored, heroic, cool, mysterious,
No, no-
To the fierce woman who knows the song of her own heart’s beat,
who cares not about how she appears, but about who she is,
who isn’t reaching for the next best outfit, witty comeback, title or
right answer–
To the fierce woman who walks how she walks,
talks how she talks,
ages as she brilliantly ages,
sees how she sees and
loves how she loves,
my God, Welcome.
Welcome to this world.
You
are
needed.
29 Saturday Apr 2017
there’s a place between.
of occupying the holiness of longing,
of seeing
that wanting
is for what we don’t have.
while sensing
what is
is more than enough.
it’s a suspension bridge-
rope strung between two islands-
and how the wind does
make it sway.
19 Wednesday Apr 2017
Did you ever fall in love for the first time?
If not, I can tell you-
you’ll be changed.
The wind will be his kiss when he’s not
by your side,
colors will reach out with incredible loving hands,
the sweetness of a peach will impassion
every last one of your taste buds,
and music will have been composed, amazingly,
just for you..
Yes,
yes, that and more.
But that’s not what will change you-
not quite.
What will, however, rearrange your particles
after both the elation and inevitable suffering rip through,
what will wrap you up, enrapture your heart,
sing you to sleep, and bring you to greet each rising sun
with gratitude,
is a knowledge taught by your own body
that another’s adoration is not only not necessary
but that it was you who had to fall in love with you
all along.
But I don’t mean to ruin the game-
go forth
and fall.
03 Monday Apr 2017
Darkness, silence, brightness of stars,
silhouetted tree crowns,
the beauty of five a.m.
I’m not sure why we forget,
so readily forget,
the preciousness we participate in.
These troubles,
the wasting, threatening, destroying-
maybe turning ourselves right-side-round toward
birthing light
relies upon one task:
Remembering.
01 Saturday Apr 2017
Longing comes with the light,
and sometimes leaves with it.
That’s how it goes when
nobody’s looking.
But a quivering dog needs a soft gaze
to make it real.
Gentle,
gentle with your eyes
and any movement-
this pup can’t take a stare
or a jumping out of your seat to say hello.
Fill a small dish by the door and,
when its brown eyes and cracked nose part
the hillside grasses, sit visibly
but out of the way.
This little one is hungry.
More than that, though,
loving.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 