Just when
I am about to believe
the tight complexity
of my body,
my experiences,
my prolific mind
a hot bath
a perfect sunrise
your soothing hand- just so
a deep breath
remembers
that the hammer has not fallen
that all this
neurotic
privileged
opinionated
modern life
is exhaled
so easily
into stillness
gratitude
flow
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Monday, June 23, 2014
legacy
If you haven't heard Womxn's Voice,
then you have been
willfully
deaf
all this time.
For we have been shouting and sighing and screaming,
in truth,
at you.
If you haven't heard us
then call your mother
and call your father
and beg an account from them.
Ask whoever it was that turned you
from her knee,
from her soft skirts,
to silence.
And ask your father
why he manhandled you into violence against your own soul,
and shut your ears with shame.
driving to work at dawn
pearls shining along
this highway. Long strings against
an oyster shell sky.
this highway. Long strings against
an oyster shell sky.
21 Jan 2014
Today is a mountain day,
not a sea day.
Today is a stone
and earth day,
a day for
leaning in
to old silences.
A day to be settled
by clay mystery
and hard presence.
Today is a mountain day.
not a sea day.
Today is a stone
and earth day,
a day for
leaning in
to old silences.
A day to be settled
by clay mystery
and hard presence.
Today is a mountain day.
Mother-love 29 November 2013
This dead tree
inside me
falls to the ground, like the death of the whole forest.
My legs are
burning with weakness
silver flashes of fear run down my back to my feet.
These lungs feel half their size
and overfull.
My head is heavier
than my shoulders can hold
and my thoughts misfire,
mis-forming
inside an empty mind.
Silence echoes in the wood of my being after the thunderous
shock
of falling giant.
Trees die slowly,
silently,
subtly
until the sudden reveal
of the corpse
inert
on the living ground.
All the life left clinging
to that tree
suddenly knows its own destiny, intimately.
Turn the other cheek, Mother,
and show me what this dying can feed.
inside me
falls to the ground, like the death of the whole forest.
My legs are
burning with weakness
silver flashes of fear run down my back to my feet.
These lungs feel half their size
and overfull.
My head is heavier
than my shoulders can hold
and my thoughts misfire,
mis-forming
inside an empty mind.
Silence echoes in the wood of my being after the thunderous
shock
of falling giant.
Trees die slowly,
silently,
subtly
until the sudden reveal
of the corpse
inert
on the living ground.
All the life left clinging
to that tree
suddenly knows its own destiny, intimately.
Turn the other cheek, Mother,
and show me what this dying can feed.
24 May 2014 haiku
You arrived full- formed.
Dragons are summer creatures,
with wintry depths.
Writing new scripts with
the wind and the rain thundering
outside. Still inside.
The path from lover,
avalon-magic in distance,
to loved- we all seek.
Haiku suit me.
Guide, map, bridle and treasure
to my wanderings.
Dragons are summer creatures,
with wintry depths.
Writing new scripts with
the wind and the rain thundering
outside. Still inside.
The path from lover,
avalon-magic in distance,
to loved- we all seek.
Haiku suit me.
Guide, map, bridle and treasure
to my wanderings.
haiku 3rd feb 2014
baker, early rise,
kneading with the dawn sun,
making bread and peace.
Are You a one size,
fits all my empty-full selves,
together again?
I'm bookish, that's true,
a word devotee, a scribe,
distiller of life.
Some books still carry
the scent of the forest, a
hint of old wise, old tree.
kneading with the dawn sun,
making bread and peace.
Are You a one size,
fits all my empty-full selves,
together again?
I'm bookish, that's true,
a word devotee, a scribe,
distiller of life.
Some books still carry
the scent of the forest, a
hint of old wise, old tree.
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