Wednesday, June 28, 2017

salon #1

fingers graze
Ceres
coneflower
cotton-blue
echinacea tequila sure
robust elixir
sun--shade divine
turning turning spinning time
of more
sweet summer grass beaming
present leaning
to aster's bumble to morrow's edge
delight of day to pierce the thread
Oh orange cherry blossom moon!
dazzle this dream
lengthen this hour
this everlasting June
gleaning
bewitched with light
spoon-flower bloom
to the edge of lonely
with dreams of autumn
knotted besotted
with dandelion's daughter
who comes to speak of winter here?
violet buttercup mouth of western wind?
olive tongues glancing dancing upon the white birch midday's thigh?
no cloud lingers against this azure blue surety
turning turning spinning shine
constellations alter
blackberry wine


Wednesday, June 21, 2017

mid june

listen,
to that particle fullness
chirping beneath this ecru canvas
expansive
and
rolling, rolling
somedays nothing comes to the surface
but
the clouds of this storm
this rain
falling, falling
cycles & spirals
carousels of summer
thunder comes
once
again


Wednesday, June 14, 2017

dream at five o'clock in the morning

somewhere in the sculpted hole that is the moon
i fall
pressing hands against soil
feathered wet
from last night's thunderstorm
hail the size of apples pounds
lightening bright as lightening
downpour tempest water rising

i fall
grasping downpours melancholy
gasping fast to thunder booms
earth and feathers blue
hackberry's bark drips drips damp
from patchwork sky
grayest clouds and fireflies

drizzle
the rain abates
birds wake
except the great-horned owl
in the curly willow sighing
to light a comet tail burning
this night adjourning
somewhere in the sculpted hole that is the moon



Monday, June 12, 2017

strawberry moon

what is it that arises when you look around
to find yourself
discover yourself
.... in a meadow of emptiness
too busy watching your footsteps to notice the lack
too busy watching
listening
waiting
attending
too tied in knots to discover the void
suddenly
there you are
nothing pressing pressing in on
nothing pressing out
suspended jubilant molecules
pressing
down down to earth's fire
where is the water?
where is the moon?
where is love's surrender?
what is it that arises when you look around?
emptiness
vast blue-sky emptiness

advance
embrace
call it your name
grasp it
unfurl it
dissolve to it
become it
become emptiness
become vast
             and blue

allow it to unveil
unravel
stripped and tender
you are fire
you are water
you are surrender

you are the strawberry moon 

Thursday, June 8, 2017

of stasis & steps ...














i am moved by rainfall
and
courted by lilacs
discussed by leathered gypsies around campfires
fired up at dusk amongst aspen & age
embers burning the silk of our resistance
distance lies only in the disconnect
dormant is the dream in direct proportion to wakefulness
ease into this summer fire
ease into allowing the possible
love is only as small as your container:
dance with the morning
taste the rain on your tongue
be still

Saturday, June 3, 2017

birthdays












I have never been comfortable with birthdays.  Very sharp memories roll across my personal
super-screen of sherbet-tight ruche'd dresses, bobbie socks and birthday hats.  It is when the singing begins, that ballad to birthdays, that I would bolt from the room inexplicably overcome with--something.
Birthdays make me squirm … make me long for quiet, solitary moments near water or mountains or sky.  Recognition became intangible, uneasy, emotional.  Somewhere along the timeline, my psyche determined that to celebrate birthdays--to celebrate myself--with abandon and delight, somehow appeared wanting. I was afraid of the emotion of joy.
But, something is happening. Over the last few years, I am learning how to bend into the receiving, allow room for the gathering of things given: parties, cakes, trinkets, artistry and Love.
I am learning how to make room for not only joy, but for myself.
In receiving, I am softening & leaning into the grace of openness.
It is an expansive and grand thing to be recognized, to be celebrated--to be seen.
To those with the patience and skill to 'teach' me … to love me enough to really know me - thank you.
We should never be afraid of being seen
 ,,,, just don't sing that damn birthday song. 

Friday, June 2, 2017

hide and seek

Larkspur blue clementine sky
cotton crimson ache to sorrow's sigh
respite, repair wounded love's flight
to tie, to bind, to await the coming night

sing to me of linen loose--raw
a song unleashed upon prairie's devils claw
summer heat bears down to corn and furrowed row
rising smoke rings of river's solitary willow

raise ye up upon shoulders brown with rain
raise up the land, raise up the voices tame
fight the dirge,  the weariness left to bind
come the night and sleep is what we find

what we seek becomes not the treasure found
where we place our hearts ties fast and sound
to bone, to marrow this land cries out for one
the moon holds us captive there beyond the sun


when you are sitting in a dark room gazing

when you are sitting in a dark room gazing out into the black night
and one lone firefly lights itself up like the fourth of july over the potomac all belief is suspended all doubts fade and there is a hanging possibility as it moves darting higher and i gasp as it is
beautiful and solitary and perfectly totally oblivious to the rain about to fall the thunder and lightening gpsing its way here to this small wee house on this small wee spot on this enormous big blue marble and all things become mighty apparent like the soul of horses the sureness of you the layered delicate task of parenting how fucking amazing books are
and the ridiculous over-simplification of wicked things like justice water poverty illness camping and lemon meringue pie--ALL become parts of the whole and parts of the something more requiring trust and love and that firefly sparks again and now there is thunder and the thrumming in my heart echoes into that place reserved for you delighting in that contrast of near and far suddenly the WHOLE sky lights up like one BIG firefly promising a crack, a passage a thread of electric brilliance linking time and wonder and all things true and well  this crack this passage is waiting waiting waiting for completion for action and contentment to stay and risk movement
suddenly the firefly has vanished and as the thunder rumbles closer i am ready for a hot bath a good book and to dream of parts of the whole