Tag Archives for poem

Kissing the sky

Right now I cannot distinguish
between loving you
or loving God more.
All that is clear is how
every second of my existence
longs to stand on that mountaintop
among the windswept trees
with the hair brushed from my face
so that nothing
lies between me
and kissing the sky
with my whole being.

Come now Child

Back, back again
to square one.
Come back now Child,
learn again how to give,
wholly,
unselfishly,
to give and give again
without the thought of return.
Come back to the deep quiet gateway
within you,
the vast dream-webbed entry to
All That Is.
Come now Child,
free your heart
from all that you burden it with,
let it open as wide
as the rainbowed eggshell sky,
let it be as bright & clear
as the light of a thousand suns
shining forth into the future
upon all of the gifts
that are waiting there
for you to meet them.
Come Child,
learn again the simple joy
of one foot in front
of the other,
let each step
bring you into the newness
of every Thing
before you.

winter’s edge

Cycling down tall & dark
tree-lined corridors
past the percussive blaze
of the drummer and his kit
commanding the helm of
a silent and shadowy meadow
deeper into the long night.
Wind-teared straightaways
burning fast ahead,
and descending
gradually cooler
to the misty-aired ocean.
Dark on dark
the undulating sand,
given light by glowing figures
orbiting sun-like centers,
a fleeting counterpoint
to the sparkling skeleton of
the white bone snake
slowly wheeling
overhead
and the heart-like
pounding
of the water’s edge.

a hundred other things

I am hesitant
to put the toothbrush
away.
The drawer with the toothpaste,
opened everyday,
will it speak to me less loudly of your absence
from those depths?

I said no boxes,
no rigid confines.
Allowing.
Freedom.
The only holding,
grounded
in cupped palms,
the myriad wrinkles
of this life
proffered
upward & outward,
stilled
at the eternal balance
between giving & receiving
waiting,
but not waiting.

There are a hundred other things
to remind me of you.

spanish guitar

inwardly-turning
warm and soft and sleepy
under the evening blanket
of this diamond-starred deep gateway,
quieted by richness
and blood-dripping spices,
the concave twin of
that gigantic mushrooming
belly full
rounded awareness
I
carried around last Friday,
my unexpectedly sprouted auric child,
so much incubating lately,
the spatial weight of it
pulling me out of time tracks
leaving the edges
all soft and unfocused,
but folding the distance
so that I know
as I lay here
with the deepening sapphires
and the young verdant things
and listen
as spring builds it’s song
over and through
that spanish guitar
climbing the fence
that you hear it
too