Here, alone in this house
I pause to recognize:
I am surrounded by riches.
Every little thing reminds me
of some small happiness
taken for granted.
This life we have built.
These changes that have come for us -
none of them by chance.
Surrounded, still, we wait to greet what's next;
to greet whatever may arrive at our door;
the door
that we must always leave
unlocked.
Jan 28, 2023
Jan 28, 2023 at 10:24 AM UTC
stay stuck in the past
or fawn for the future?
are pain relived
or attempts at relief?
serve as containers
for uncontainable things?
release weight
we need not hold?
are our souls scream
to be heard?
How many poems
capture the beauty
of being human
in equal measure
to the struggle?
I'd be a more honest poet
to do so.
Jan 26, 2023
Jan 26, 2023 at 9:40 AM UTC
Arriving at the plateaued top
of the grand journey.
Here, the exertion of youth lifts -
that time of pushing and grinding uphill
to gorge on life and force a place in the world -
and suddenly you're still you
but peace and contentedness are flowing
through a body that has known
so much strain.
Suddenly you can see vast possibilities before you
stretching to the horizon
where the path fades into the unknown.
No, don't rush to the downhill that awaits -
as lovely as it will be
to feel the wind in your hair -
linger here a bit.
Feel how strong you've become
from the climb,
and admire the scars that mark
the falls and healing and
continuing on.
Try not to fight nor coast,
but move across the middle of this life
with a newfound balance between
push and pull;
effort and surrender;
fight and peace;
knowing and wonder.
Drink in this place
before cresting downward,
pulled effortlessly
to the end of your path
where the horizon awaits
your arrival.
Jan 25, 2023
Jan 25, 2023 at 2:10 PM UTC
Why carry this weight?
Does reward await
some years ahead
but...before I'm dead?
Is there virtue in the same pain
felt again and again,
that same old song
I've been singin' for so long?
Jan 21, 2023
Jan 21, 2023 at 9:02 AM UTC
an old man pulls into the campground
alone
and early, when it's quiet still.
he has a bushy, wild beard and shaggy hair
spilling out
from under his hat.
with bottles cradled in his arms
i quietly point him towards
the recycling bins.
he thanks me and says,
"have a good one."
i reciprocate
the pleasantry - "yeah, you too."
and his eyes flash and shine,
"oh, god yes! another adventure, ha!"
i smile lightly and hobble along
wondering
if i have just encountered
a truly free man.
Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 1:51 PM UTC
i want to heal,
to become
a gentle friend
to myself.
to let the quiet pressure and
guarded being break away
like the dam bursting
for the river
to
come to life again.
letting life move freely
as it must,
and holding all things so lightly -
in reverence and sorrow -
and always at peace with letting go
as we must.
when i let my father go
he dances in the treetops.
when i let my shame go
i dance across the soft ground beneath him,
and will dance until my feet lift and
leave the ground,
without a trace i was there,
and i join dad in the treetops
and we are the wind.
Oct 2, 2021
Oct 2, 2021 at 5:18 PM UTC
When this dis-ease flairs
the world is small,
I am in a dark tunnel;
eyes open but not seeing,
moving forward but stumbling,
weary legs shuffling through the motions.
All I know is the cold, gritty stone
that scrapes these searching hands.
All I know is this dis-ease.
In the distance there’s a pin of light;
so little to look forward to.
I’m tempted to lay down
and stay here.
What if I remembered,
accepted,
the whole beauty of my-self?
Would my eyes, once blind,
shine life’s light into the dark tunnel line?
Would my heart pump fiery blood
into my legs
and muscles come alive?
I’m running now.
Hands curl into fists
to pump at my sides,
with purpose now.
Would the pin of light
get bigger and bigger
until I’m standing at the mouth?
The edge of the world
sweeps below me.
I step forward slowly, warm
where my light meets its source.
The sun and earth have been waiting
for me to come home.
Beautiful and alive,
I remember I belong.
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC
Why is it
that I only sit quietly
in the morning?
Am I allowed just
one breath
of wholeness
before the barrage
of the day?
What would happen
if I claimed
all my other breaths
in the name of peace -
of saving a life?
What would the world
do with me?
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 11:45 AM UTC
The old ways
of being afraid
are beaten in and comfortable;
like weathered, old leather boots.
Yesterday, unaware,
I put them on when I stepped down from bed.
My stomach burned and rebelled at breakfast -
a desperate attempt at a sensitive SOS
from my omnipotent body too often unheard...
I limped to work alongside my lovely partner
through the cool, verdant summer air
but the cat had my tongue
and I dragged my heavy feet.
Later the fear was exposed naked
as untrue, unnecessary, a farce
- as the spinster its always been -
and what did it?
I showed up imperfect
and vulnerable and present
to the very place I felt an imposter.
I felt power and love - life -
surge through my flowing blood,
my eyes clear to meet those around me,
body light and and leaning on the ***** of my feet,
and the armor around my heart failed
with warm wholeness seeping in,
(that feeling children know, and grandma too)
and I realized
I'd taken those boots off.
This morning I'm taking note.
Today I'll try to walk the world
with bare feet.
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 10:29 AM UTC
If I am sinking
to where the beams of light
linger pale and thin,
I can't pull her with me -
like a boulder tied to her waist.
She needs to swim freely,
a dancer underwater,
and come up for air
where the sun kisses the glassy shell.
I need her to know -
not to know, but to see -
that I'm on my way up
to kiss the sun, too.
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 11:16 AM UTC