Tag Archives for poetry

a sheet

oh sorrowful wait and whither!
shooting great silently-followed askings into the sky
those hollow-dregged rockets pinging
fast flotsam
while the wealth of youth
dangles
in full-bellied life-giving raindrops
off my fingertips,
lackluster explosions drawing away from
the jewel-like reality
of this full sheet
drying on the line,
some party toga,
a pitched and youthy fort,
a bundling of many things
into a close-comforted treasure
for a far journey,
a sharp-shapely delineator
to mark a feasting
in the wide world of nature
and our bright days,
a softness
between the rocks
and our curling bodies,
a warmth to keep
these pillowed tools
at rest
to keep
the dust off
as we settle
and step away through doorways
far & wildly illuminated,
a white backdrop
for your moving adventure
anchored off weathered stories
and glowing trees,
a frame
opaque with
all the colors
of your possibility.

here again,

a sheet,

on the line,

full,

like a many-monthed belly
calm-pond waiting
for that soulful breath
of wind
to move it
in fantastic shapes.

graced by light

Muscles still tight
from the deep
instinctive
push back,
inwardly groaning,
like lengths of trees in the sun
as they stretch toward
the meeting place.

The heat will lead you in,
a trickle,
flowing like water,
quivering,
then rushing,
melting into
the vast teeming ocean.

20 miles
condensed into color,
hanging above your head,
not to weigh you down,
but to make you look
higher.
Prayers woven into the
air currents
shimmering,
turning,
brought levity through
the free and pure joy
gifted us by the young,
rippling,
unadulterated,
out to the wider world
where hidden elephants sing
us flying through the air,
Asian grandmother
dancing alongside
as lightly as
a spring blossom
on the wind.

leaving

Here again, no voice,
nor even storyline laid
to be able to share
exactly how the world just turned
and opened it’s arms wide
as I stood next to my heart
with the deep-painted panoramas
of my feeling
wrapping the horizon.
Enchanted by thoughts
of the gestures and movement
before me,
as softly,
it struck me,
that I am not the first & only
to be in this moment,
to sing this song with my being,
nor will mine
be the last lingering refrain
of adoration at the end.

Maybe (may it be),
this dawning death of my
myopic, romantic vision
of my physical world,
leaving
leaving
leaving
these limiting stories
and oft-mapped shores
behind
for
further
unfathomable
blossoming.

not-knowing

I have to trust and I have to have faith.
Faith, trust and love. These are the only things that can counter the fear.
But they are based in the not-knowing.
The way to know is to listen to the fear.
Following the fear-based way, you will know what will happen, but it will be what the fear-listening leads you to let happen.
It will not be good.
It will not be full of magic and wonder, because those cannot be made to happen.
You have to let them.
You have to allow them to happen when you least expect it.
You have to allow the not-knowing.

Faith, trust and love … and not-knowing.