reverberating

still
in every cold choice
of mourning
there is everything
there ever was
still alive
in the moments
of its aliveness
i see
there is something
happening
forever
happening
forever
happening
in just the moment
of its happening
if looking back
is all that's left
of moving on


but there in the corner
something blooms
a new petal
a faint touch
a radiant smile
an absent minded kindness
extended out of habit
and there
in the accident
is the doorway
the crossroads
for crossing roads
and getting to the
other side
of midnight

life keeps living itself
all the way to life recycled
if there are eyes to see
and hearts to hear with
stories tell themselves
in whispers
of union
reverberating
with evidence
of love

he loved her

you could tell
the couple huddled
in the cold
rain
did it rain?
that morning?
the art of wet
glistening
from the glorious space
he created
for her dancers
this place
of movement
ordinary people
moving through the holy
landscape
of love
art
and dancing
on big decks
of possibility
seen through the eyes
of each other
brought alive
in the rhythms
of possibility
she
grand damme
gave her toast
her magnum opus
her tribute
to the man
who was her heart
who carried her soul
out
into the bright wide open
they danced
alive
the lithe bodies
of the beautiful people
assembled
for the viewing pleasure
of the pleasure seekers
stern grove
not such a good name
for something
so free
in that witness
i saw
him loving her
her loving him
their connection
stretched out over centuries
life
unfolding
inside
dreams
of one another
dreaming
each other
into being

erasing

the evidence
has been erased
the e-mail exchanges
the stories
of love
but not
what it
awakened
as possible
in me
just
the remnants
of what is left
as cobweb
and loneliness
i let this
go
wipe it
away
leave it
not
for getting
lost
inside
i let go
of all that
can be let go
and am left
with only
that which
is left
in me
alive
still
it reverberates
as possibility
and fear
gone
are
the remnants
of memory
just
this
love
as
seed
remains

silence

cold
not enough to see the breath
but enough to chill the toes
under slippers
red velvet
with leopard print
on the inside
i think
i am
enough
to live
in the cold
of the out doors
without
the fur
of my past
i think
i can
roam
with brambles
in my hair
find shelter
in the caves
of what was once
a place
of shelter
consider
the cavern
between
generations
of people
who used
to roam
the countryside
with some sense
of belonging to it

i am lost
in this modern
technocasm
of interconnected
loneliness
writing
virtual words
that live
only
on screen
accessible
through
the touch
of keypad

silence

reverberating
in
something
alone
coming
along
in this
cold
dark
night

mourning becomes morning

mourning
becomes
morning
one ray
of felt experience
at a shimmering time
i chi kung it
all my spiky bits
of toothpicks
standing wonky
in the plastic
bag
of me
i shake
i dance
i squirm
it all back
into a clear
pattern
of
at ease

so this
is
a miracle

available
daily

no matter
what
the over
developed
emotional
body
wants to
point out
as reasons
not
to play

i quiet her
finally
put her at
rest
give her
something
else
to do
with her
talent
and time

i give her
dance
shimmering
in the early
morning
of well
rested
sunlight
shining
in

ohhhhhhhhhhhhh

the longboard of now

we sit
in the tired
darkness
ache
toward lying
laying
here
red couch witness
of squeaky hamster wheel
turning
turning
there is something
in the moon of this night
turning
what is dead
over
to seed
what will come
as winter wheat
bread
makes
itself
of course
from that which rises
as grain
in stalks
of promise
in dreams
of what might be
someday
awakened
as life
again

we
find our
way
our
ways
here on the
longboard
of now
pushing past
this song
of songs
singing along
with the wheel
that is always
turning
and turning

especially
when it threatens
to appear
still

early

like an owl
he flies
back
to athena
in greece
on silver
wings
floating
above
all the
chaos
below
that
reverberates
in stillnesses
stilled
for all
of time

telling the truth

no one rang the doorbell
kids were across town
self-mutilation
cutting
from existence
the blog
i let the words go
i return
to something
less
verbal
in an effort
to
stay
alive

stillness

bringing the mind to stillness
the body to still rest
the quiet
of calamity
not crashing
around
in this wind
i am just
what there is
to be
here
in the now
of this
just
just
and it is
still

falling all the way

watching
breathing
moving through the day
i notice
there is a stillness
sitting
in the circle
of the center
of my earth
praying
but not for anything
being
its calm, clear, reverberation
of self

early morning poetry

the beep beep beep of warning
comes and goes
wind blows
through the empty
stirring of
caged
beast
riles
children
out of bed
there is something
lurking
in the yes
of this now
and i can not see its face

once upon a time

there was no time
and every beautiful thing
in the world
was of one darkness
and in its boredom
or joy
of possibility
it decided
and in the decision
split itself
one from the other
to form lovers
of the first
and most important
kind
self and its opposite
twining together
a whirled is born
and never stops
whirling
dervish devotion
the only sense
to make
for being
one fractal part
of such
a beautiful
thing

in recognition of a life

i have
colors
threads
in the tapestry
that weave themselves
i sit
beside this one
made of
bone and sinew
synthetic hair
added to his
curls
in longness
not dreaded
yet
but
heading
there
the stories
of his hair
a jack
of spades
underneath his chair
he is
my prince
a boy
belonging
only
to this
moment
of grass weave
and chair
we share
the table
of this
dream
as if
there were no more
spinning
but
in, around and through
there are
there are

i manage
a hundred storylines
here at this table
i continue
continuing
on and on
this moment
tells itself
he
and me
with him
in the other room
and she
asleep
and the other
working
at the
store
of dollars
for dollars
too few
to
move

a single ant walks its path found in the wood grain
of fallen remnants
dead brothers
hover in spotted bits
of not yet buried
hair
hers
comingle
with the
not yet
swept away

formless nests

are forming
all the time
from barren
grasses
plucked
through
the eyes
that fly
overhead
saying
this one will do nicely
and shoving it
into
the nest
of comfort
that brings
forth
the future
of
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

here

in the sun
a blue bowl
with remnants
of silk
soymilk
pink handle
spoon
jutting out
in jousting motion
at the box of
more
i drink the scene
of boy returning
learning
on-line
spanish
doing
homework
alongside
his
poetic
mother
we are both
drinking
each other
a little
bit
in

exploding beauty like you

words used
to describe
what? exaclty?
the edges of an ever expanding universe
moving as it does
to the ever expanding edges of forever
starting at the core
of the big bang
spirit lovers
loving
one
another
in whole
reverberating
ecstasies
of yes
i remember
i remember
put this firmly in the past
long for
just the reverberations
now
the ripples
from where the rock
has allowed itself
to drop
all the way in

same day
this missive
same day
the coconut rattle
at the end of the trail
of webbed universe
falls
on the chocolate mixer
what happens?
he remembers
when he was the coconut?
i was the train?
he fell into the ocean
of chocolate
that made a world
of yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
some explosive
beauty
that shattered the fractal
universe
of love

jungle love

steve miller band sings jungle love from book of dreams
i watch on xm
the floating time and place marker that bounces
from the edges of the screens
i write
poetry
today
i sit
i move between ancestors and alchemy
spirit guides and cleaning up
move through the day following my own impulses
to various soundtracks
downstairs, the dead can dance
upstairs, jungle love
across the room a piece of toast
stands in the toaster
waiting for butter
bacon waits
to be eaten
i have served the dead
and this living one
bounces back and forth
between her facebook life
and her ac-chat
i am here
hearing
the bird calls and bass beat
of jungle love
it's driving me mad
it's making me crazy

naked ass on black couch

love songs from the television
bouncing titles like pong
look back at the line and want
to fix the titles line
sure it its talking about tits
but i am not
except now
that consciousness has formed
i know where mine are
resting on my thighs
i sit
here
wafting berlin
1986 take my breath away
it is not that easy
the down beat beats
i hear it
change the channel
classic rock saves me
with the rolling stones
emotional rescue
on classic rewind
she's so cold...
i consider
check the nipples
no, it is still
a sweltering east bay
summer day
naked ass
on a black leather couch
alone

on the night before he comes...

i will see if i can find my phone--not in my bag--i think in the car
but let me say this here
root and grow
root
feel the roots shooting out of your toes
tucking gently under the ground
pull your hands up your body
and out in a flowering expanse
feel how totally full and beautiful
YOU are
with the thought of him coming
without his being here
you
are full
a goddess
a poet
a dream
a writer
an artist
a seer
a joy
full, whole, perfect, beautiful
you need nothing
you have everything
in you
already
that you get to open
to this moment of
intersection and possibility
this moment
of love
arriving from afar
to share itself with you
to open you further
to who you be
in connection
in partnership
in possibility
in joy
in freedom
in all manner of breath
and expression of love
that you have this moment
of longing, looking forward,
feeling giddy and on edge
and hope full
that you have this joy
to bring a wider smile
a swarm of butterflies
to your deepest belly
this
is to be savored
as the miracle it is

he will arrive
you will share yourselves with one another
do every bodily thing you can
to set yourself free to enjoy every blessed moment
every sacred second of this connection
give yourself all manner of permissions
all expanse of invitation
and allow, allow, allow, allow, allow
what flows to flow

stay in the now
never mind the forever
stay in the here and now
of touch and taste and see and feel and hear
stay in the this
of manifest reality
and leave the spinning of dreams
to later
when you are again at your wheel
if indeed you are ever to be released to it again

stay here
in the rooted ground
of the glorious beauty
of all that is you and whole

you are love enough
and tomorrow, you will be loved...
let it be
all
it becomes
in the moments
strung together as shiny beads
one holed wholeness at a time

i love you--
relax--
into you--
and enjoy...

which one is dead?

which one is dead?

i look at my father
his pictures
this strange altar i have made to him
to his mother and father
to my family
the farm in sweden
where he came from
grandfather
oldest
hung by his ears for wanting to go to school
instead of working the farm
someone told me
i was married to him in a past life
he did not know
how to love
bought the only thing she asked for
a colored tv
after she died
turned it up
way too loud
for decades
until he died
in the bathroom
when i was in high school
colostomy bag
applesauce with big spoons
brown roman meal bread
i watched as he bent down each year
to scrape the earth with a homemade tool
a piece of wood with long nails
he pounded through himself
he on all fours
pulling that comb across the landscape
scattering his seed
purposefully
into the furrows of all he was trying to forget
he came on the boat
1900 something
saved every bank receipt
no love letters
built his house with his own two hands
was a fine stone carver
mason
built a church in parkville
that called me home for awhile