day 14

a love poem

he comes
as in a dream
finds a small animal
in a closet
i watch
as it rustles the
paper surrounding it
grow
it becomes
an enormous thing
visits
with mother and daughter
opens something
wider
hope?
healing?
offers love
to fill the empty spaces
brings light
brings springtime
brings joy

the anti-love poem

i notice the moon
hiding in the tree
on the hill
claiming me
taking back any new life
growing
sickle
scythe
she carries as she walks away
pretends she hasn't been here
takes
what rightfully belongs
to only her

and he is in springtime
somewhere else
in mysteries
of light and place
not
ever
coming
home
to
me

she sings her goodbye song

whoooooah whoo whoo whoo
and i notice the moon
shinging down
from behind a tree
the sea of sky has separated
again
into rothko bands
of color
the moon receeds
pretends she can sneak away
back
into the morning
she is still
and always
there
sneaking up
in ways that make me feel
that i belong
to only
her

she ties me
with red bandannas
she holds me
silent hostage
she waits for me
to ripen
then calls me
to join her ocean
red seas parting
for parting

noooooooooooooo

a habit of morning

on good days
i wake up
to see the owl
cut the sky from the earth
and the dawn
leave its orange
in her wake
i step down the seven steps
to the wide open doorway
move the leaded glass rainbows
aside
and loop
a magic loop
greeting deer
and turkeys
rabbits
and what is left
of the snakes
i say hello
to the sacred oak circle
i step through the portal
into the magic
just beyond my patio
and wander willingly
accompanied by spirits
of dead and alive things
i love
i go off
on a sentimental journey
into deep magic
and emerge
with feathers
from dreams
i return
to the light of the world
the love in my home
crack open the eggs
and call my children
to the table
for breakfast

every good morning
i remember
this
is
love

a picture of greece

he showed me a picture
of someplace i've never been
someplace i've been 2000 times
every moment of the ceremony
awakens
the stones of it
the song of it
reclaims the bones of me
shoots marrow from all the way
back then
to now
bridges
the universe of time
between the mysteries of now
and the mysteries of then
reassembling themselves
in sacred circles
of reverberating claiming
the memory sewn into this
moment
physical presence
sacred landscape
holy being
wholly holy
reclaiming
everything
that was ever
part of what i am
a part of
one drop
in the miracle of
this
LIFE

good friday

friday light
falls early
wakes
with enthusiasm
dresses
in its tightest jeans
readies itself
for the mysteries
of saturdays
turning into sundays
of endless bliss
or
calls
in the business
of the weekend
if we have done it wrong
forgotten
what fridays are for
deeepeeeeeeeeening
in mysteries
that take days to
recover
from
and for
fridays
good fridays, especially
always allow for something
to get nailed up
and die completely
so that resurrection
in the coming sundays
brings a joyful noise

the thing i brought to class on the first day...

she asked
if they were
carved
in tibet?
where did i get that,
she asked?
fourth street
maybe it wasn't tibet
she mentioned
iron thing
heavy
molten
melted together
entwined
lovers
hugging
themselves
back into
one ball
like
and not at all like
the buddha
contemplating his own
navel
turning back
into
the enso
of all life
snake eating its
tail
its tales
spinning in
sacred dance
around the center
of connection
interpenetrating
life
living itself
out loud
and alive
in the rich joy
of his now
of this now
a gift
for my
hymn
of endlessness
it weights the papers
it waits the promise
of eternal
love
loving
itself
in and
out of
time

fishing horse

she comes to me
says "mommy, i've decided."
"volleyball will be my sport."
"fishing will be my hobby."
she makes the fish she's
going to catch
big
wide arms
to indicate the length
says, "it will save daddy all
that money he spends at the
asian supermarket."
goes
googles the rod and reel
the fishing license
the boat rental
the perfect place
next to the perfect
fishing
hole
to stay at
worms
presents me with the bill
sums and totals up
all we are going to save
daddy
in pursuit
of this
big
fish
hobby

trojan horse
of wonder

daughter
spinning
sunlight
off water
glazing
yes
in her
daughter love

this
is
joy

day 7

clean

there is something
a blank slate
a white wall
a deep breath of spring
a wash of light and air
freedom

dirty

there is something
a black slate
a white stare
a deep ache of stale winter
a slosh of muck and wear
freedom

words

lonely
muse
hung
poetry
painted
flashing
bard
rushed
writing
feeling
slow
pushed
speaking
night

courtesy of stumbling onto shadow poetry's magnetic word poetry:
http://www.shadowpoetry.com/magnet.html

poet's challenge: a poem on something missing

he is somewhere else
my lover
he is on the moon
he is under the sun
he is riding the pollen to
grecian urns of flowers flowering
in sacred circles of elusian
mysteries unfolding
he is gone, off
picking wildflowers from the side
of some other road
he is missing in action
he is out of time
he is gone
and yet
the sun rises
sends its rays to connect me
and the moon, she comes too
and brings all of her universes
of stars
and love spills out from every basket
dripping joy on every floor
the earth sings, sings the story
and joy is mine once more
so is he missing?
is he gone?
or has he sprung from everything?
is he here?
am i wrong?
or is it love that gives these wings
their joy of flight
throughout the night
a flying kind of dream
i go, we kiss, i wake again
back where he is not
what happens now?
to missing things?
when missing is forgot?

the first full moon of a new year

shards of it
lay easily
in patches of clear light
like a sheet of glass
that one might not know was there
except for the glint of it
the white patch of it
laying easily
like it belongs
bathing the deck
i once took a full moon bath
at a girl scout camp
on a night much like this one
glowing
in the full moon white light
sunbathing
under the moon
feeling it paint me
like the shards
like the sheets of glass
with all the magic of night

we stayed up
she reading about vampires
and me
winstaring
until 4am
when i thought i ought to be a better mother
and sent her to bed
i couldn't stand the loneliness of without her
and followed her, cuddled her
just like she was still a little girl
until i could hear her snoring
and then i extricated my way from under
her covers
and sat staring
at the moon
through the double paned slider
watching the moon
and the reflection of the moon
and the shadows of the growing things
dancing on the edges
of the silver coin
the clear white light
of this first full moonlight
of this opening year

i stared at the moon
just for a moment
that will last forever
as it is written here

enso

wu wei is no way.
wu wei is the only way.
do way.

is it a poem

if i say it is
if i use my mouth
to form the quiet words
in the silent space
of chirping crickets
and faded tv
from too far away
and music
from somewhere else
with the drum beat of churning laundry
in the washing machine
and the hum of spastic keys
struck with deliberate chi
moving
across the wide and open
space
of soon to be forgotten
is it a poem
if i say it is?
these utterances of moment
trapped in strange american words
spoken in the head of the poet
as she types the black letters
of an unutterable alphabet
is it a poem
if i say it is?
is it my poem?

one day while stumbling...

one day while stumbling i found write rhymes--and this is what i wrote:

here i sit
i be
i beat
here with wit
and need
and feet
i do not walk
along the dock
i still the out
from now
i will the pout
to row
and so the fighting
on it goes
with all the righting
of the woes
i see and sit
i write my wit
with none to share
beyond

i am still

starting
again
stepping
again
out on faith
sure of its foundation
that it is strong enough
in any air
to hold me
up
head above water
and when i bob under
and see what is there
i keep hold of that floating device
that faith shield
that protection
i am here
i am still here
and when i am no longer
i am still

up the loading dock

into the shadow
through the light
down the loading dock
unloaded
and ready

in this notebook

stories ensue
continue
explain
examine
express
this is *it*
life living itself
out loud
and overheard
and here, in this
notebook,
in this digital
camera,
recorded.

take care. i love you.

take care,
i love you
and the phone
clicks shut
here in
this
evidence
of now
flashing
bulb
bulbless
tulip
springing
forth
the winter
is over
we are in the
deep heart
of pollinated
spring
a ring
dadadadadadada
jen and the baby
are here.
aha.
now i know a name.
i'll call you when i get home.
okay
bye
a click of the closed
phone
my dad calls me
every day
she tells jen
the skinny friend
her own pregnancy
protruding
life has its
way with
all of us
a ring
dadadadadadada
some words of
love and explanation
the click
of a closed
connection
cut off?
released.
again. to
LIFE in the present moment.

LIFE living itself

one more
glass
of clear
water
to ascertain
teh half fullness
as i tip over
past full
i am in the
bliss
of this
easy
morning.
i am here
in the crepes a go go
sitting in my
corner perch
observing
both the
rose and
its reflection
baby girl
at home now
on the outside lap
of her already
skinny
mother
eathing
partaking of
crepe
a go go ing
nowhere
for just
a little
while
alive
in the
wide
joy
of entering
a body
exiting
a body
soul
aspiring
fulfilled
LIFE
living itself
AHHHHHHH

amputated imaginings

i stretch the tired
muscles
in my shoulders
arching the reach
of bones
forward--
as if that--
they--
were the only
arms
i have
i had--
i notice
the glory
of holding
the pen
aloft.

if i lost
these hands--
i would
carry it
in my teeth
dancing--
still and forever
across the
open book
of waiting
white
page.