Saturday, November 30, 2013

epiphany








mid-day shadows
and
a
longing
for an island upon which to gather berries & silence
thorned & violet as cotton acanthium
bring me quiet blue
splashing against sinew & marrow
wide & pale as fragility
still …. 
hushed birdsong & anthems call
hushed to lines bold & righteous
hush ….
i will wear feathers
and
      find you

Friday, November 29, 2013

simple gifts


I have always championed a return to a more simpler season : Less is More
The rampant commercialism of the holidays is nothing new. It predates A Charlie Brown Christmas, Macy's & the shopping mall.
Growing up, I was a slightly obsessed creator of my own gifts; quilting, gluing, cutting & constructing. As an adult, I mashed-up the hand-making habit with a conscientious choosing of perfect gifts . . . loving shopping or making just the right item.
My point here - I understood the importance of the holidays, starting with the costumed entrance into fall of Halloween, the autumnal family feast of Thanksgiving and the lighted & wonderful delights of Christmas.
Now, from my first job to my last . . I have always been in service industries. From hotels, to motels, animal care, flower shops & coffee stops ….
Service. 
Always open = to be of service
 In our twenties, we moved to the front range of Colorado.  And I recall some public outrage over movie theaters being open on the holidays . . . what blatant crass commercialism !!!
"Who would dare go to a movie on a holiday & make those poor people be away from their families on a holiday!"
Well, we would.
It was not always financially possible, or heck, even emotionally possible to make the 8 hour trip home for the holidays. So we would work. My husband & I also spent those early years trying to get pregnant, so that added a certain bend. Our holidays were spent cleaning kennels, or working long hotel shifts, so our co-workers with children could be home with their families.  We were not anything special, so don't think this was some sort of altruistic path - other friends did this too - it was just logical.  Then we would grab a meal at McDonalds while longingly staring at couples with little ones before catching a late movie. We were thankful for fast food restaurants & movie theaters being open!  After a few years, we weaved together a posse of friends that became our family - we loved them as such … and celebrations grew into wonderful events, but always around doing the work-thing first.
Businesses, big corporations, small mom & pop places, hospitals, our military & first responder services, shelters; both human & critter will be open.
It's been going on for awhile, and some things we have no control over.
Being open, providing the place and space to work …. provides a sense of purpose, spirit and connection that becomes home.  
Folks work, and believe it or not .... some really like to.
And maybe, just maybe, their 'family' is found with those they work with.
So please tread carefully when defining holiday and family, when pounding your fist & demanding that folks don't shop on Black Friday, or run somewhere at midnight on Thanksgiving evening to get their deal on, or go to the movies.
There are a bizillion jobs that go on regardless of the date on the calendar.
and sometimes ….
'Family' is found standing behind a concession stand, creating display windows for the holidays, printing our newspapers,  serving sushi at a hot-tub-nudist holiday
(uh, yeah, this really happened …)
running our hospitals, rescuing animals,
or dealing with the hurly-burly of midnight shopping.
Maybe if we spend less time trying to control things, and just try to bring our own simple gifts into everything we do ;
make connections, smile and be kind.
Maybe then the world will be a little more ok
with a little more love
found in the spin.
Happy Thanks + Giving Everyone . .

Sunday, November 24, 2013

a fragile cusp










negative space
white ice-silver-smooth
like an echo …
an echo in winter
hollowed of all green & boldness
twined & waiting on the fragile sureness of you
a petaled complexity
vesseled by channeled hands of trust &
dressed in tea-length-edwardian melancholy
no, not melancholy ! 
that is blue
smelling of wild mushrooms, merlot & november's sky
this is merely ...
white ice-silver-smoothness
tasting of first snow upon my tongue

Saturday, November 23, 2013

still

Leaves have stopped falling
As we are in the pause of hours . . .
Poised & inhaling the richness of change
Crisp earth cut with the sharp copper of snow lies on my tongue
As the warrior song lands upon my lips & I swallow it's dissonant thrum
Attempting to find grace where there is hollowness
Struggling to step thru into a new place of right
Relinquishing the steel-need, or at least the appearance of . .
Slipping into the armor of always
As I open my arms to the day & the taste of balance
Finding the movement startlingly familiar
I dance to the grey and the fire

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

midnight o two of the beaver moon








rich violet
moon-sky 
light
take me into this burled morning
riding upon a white horse to the songs of cowboys and circling planets 
wool blankets cushion the fall to evermore and silent rivers of western longing 
sing to me of passages and the risk of knowing 
sing to me of secrets buried in pink quartz to the forgotten lullabies
whispered in languages only known to lovers
stars have no concept of ego
or shadows  ...


Sunday, November 17, 2013

on leaning in


I have always become lost in the simplest of exercises
the
sweep sweep sweep of an almost-wet-mop
across floors cross-hatched with the lines of family
and
lives passed over and through
sweep sweep
the hypnotic dance of the have to
the ordinary course of days
leaving the sublime and the sacred
to
Everest seekers & pole dancers
sweep sweep
sunlight captivates me
hand raised to dust cobwebs laced against the cream puff plaster
27 bones of purpose & design
caught in the fragment
of
light to wall
infinite to mortal
these small worship movements of the day
press me towards open fields of winters wheat and harvest-dust rising
rising rising
leaning into the ordinary

Monday, November 11, 2013

stolen











thinking on the tumult of things ;
of wind & water rising
ripping at the ordinary
with flesh & spirit comprising
how do we find the moon-float
to forgive the gale its course
to part the sorrow from the sojourn
to quell the typhoon force
does the mud dream of purpose & green
do the waters still in regret
is courage tapped in the reach to care
as tropic day falls to sol's set
thinking on the tumult of things
of wind & waters calm
finding the strength to hold & lean
as the weight becomes the psalm

http://www.redcross.org/news/article/Red-Cross-Sends-Support-to-Philippines-for-Typhoon-Response





Thursday, November 7, 2013

dreamcatchers













there are moments when the ridged, aching bones of your sternum are pulled wide open
stretched and tethered to the beat of sun and longing
viscera & blood sweetly released into the particle'd evermore
feathers stilled by a hand so skillful & sure
petaled-krispy-creme-mornng …
climb inside my bones & take me home

Sunday, November 3, 2013

in November's cooling . . .













there is nothing but the dried whiteness of bone
                                and
the crackled richness of autumns' leaves ; fragile & fallen
the scent of snow & sage embraced as it hangs moist & sharp
strung by silver wire fine to the naked white birch
twirling & exposed
relevant organs donated to Oz
movement becoming transgenic, soft & grey
stripped
ashamed by want and
crystalline hollowed
breath irrelevant
surrender here

Saturday, November 2, 2013

charismatic grifter











the curve of this day
arcs & bends in direct proportion to the velocity of breeze
and
the sound of the noon train
thundering
thundering
thru a town suspended upon prairie golden & silver saged
removed to Mars by the veiled acceptance of lore & loam
 . . . in the tallest branches of nested stillness
quivers the tempered understanding of love & vapor trails
oh, i am equinoxed & present in the space between
the porcelain berry & the blue-sky'd hope of more

to the curve of this day  . .