Today I knew my life so far
has been a mouse in the grass hiding.
There have been times I dared to cross
a patch of open ground
Where the sun fell on my so brightly
or the rain so softly
that I could not bear to be so radiant.
I have been hiding in my grass-stalk world,
and calling it living.
But now I know
I am the larger self as well as the small
I am the conciousness of rock and swamp,
of fire, eagle, mouse, and grass-stalk,
of all the great abundant earth.
I know through me she sings, creates, loves, grieves
when i hid in the grass I hid from myself.
I know my grief is deep.
I listen to Elders who know how to welcome their grief
They know when they hold it
grief is one face of deep, healing love.
The gleanings of a hiding mouse cannot meet my needs
for life's sweetness, its peace, pleasures, and joy.
This small hoard of treasures cannot compare
to expressing the gifts I am given to share.
The plans I scratched into the dust will fade . . .
I can shrug away the straps that hold me to what was
and release the baked clay banks ahead
The first gift I can give in any moment
is to be there.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
What if lovers said
"sweet worm", "soil of my heart"
Imagine facing down in ecstasy to pray
not because we don't dare to look towards the bearded guy in the sky but because it's understood that those feet, that soil, this prayer
are all sacred
Why are the un-lovely things named soiled?
why look at the ground and call it dirt?
Such a thin loveless word for the home
of everything springing up from this earth
Why entomb our clever feet in strange substance
*you tiny creatures swimming eons ago
coming to rest in rock, heated and pressed
unimaginably long, and all of a sudden
Struck ("black gold!")
pumped up, surfacing again in a confusion
of movement and dazzling light after so long*
Now become soles for shoes.
As you walk your soles are the earth disguised
kissing itself at every step
<3
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
At the traffic light I looked down
and saw you
a scrap of white fluttering by my shoe.
I opened my hands to you and cupped them
over one another and thought
I was carrying your heart:
astonishing, lovely, tentatively fluttering
I whispered between my hands to you
that i had found a beautiful place
a hedge blooming with flowers.
A perfect bower for your moth-heart.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
Carole King and crickets
tonight i'm scrubbing the day's labor and auras of others from my feet
and breaking my heart all over again reading love poetry
and Grandma's Keats she will have me read at her funeral
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 6:53 AM UTC
Looking in the mirror tonight
I am 24 years old
I don't know what to make of myself
Pointed chin, seashell ears, hair wet and arcing
forwards from my shower
I'm wondering about my 25th year;
will it be a year of wonders, a golden year?
My left eye says no
It's distrustful, mirrored and shuttered
so all you get back is yourself
endlessly
There's a siren and a dog howling counterpoint:
seems omenish
My right eye looks more hopeful,
like it'll wink conspirationally at any moment
Better to have a star for an eye than the moon,
anyday.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 6:54 AM UTC
While you were sleeping
the roses bloomed
I stood in my singlet
to serenade the moon
While you were hiding
I heard the noise
of the restless flutterings
of our lost joys
While you were drifting
I restored the sun
I looked for your shadow
But there wasn't one
You were drifting, through all the noon
Yeah you were hiding, you heard no tune
Once i wanted to show it all to you
And still you're sleeping, you'll never see the moon
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 6:47 AM UTC
I smell. . . .
horse ****
It's less offensive than the
********
i've been seeing lately
They say it with their
hands, mouths, eyes
Desperate offences in defence of the indefensible
Tonight i sat in a safe space
where we clicked to show our appreciation
Heard resonations of clicking when a poet spoke words
that darted through our foreheads
And lit something there.
We knew the responses:
"This is new ****
NEEEEEEEWWWW ****
Clap the poet, not the points
the points are not the point
We knew we were offered
hearts
more than words
Their rhythms and awakenings,
arrhythmias, overflowings, and
midnight ponderings.
So we put our own into our palms
and beat them together for every poet
who dared to touch that microphone
to their chest.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
I feel as though i had a soul mate
and i forgot them
Whoever it is, i miss our fun times; adventures, games, autumn leaves and hidey holes out of the wind, projects, enthusiasms, unexpected visits, your wacky plans, a sense of possibility in every moment, as though we could cross oceans
The days before i feared my own freedom,
before my clothes stopped making sense.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 7:49 AM UTC
The balmy morning happiness of dogs
potbellies of construction workers
and smooth concrete
Speeds me toward my day
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 7:23 AM UTC
Deep blue spring night in my lungs
filling my chest with blossoms of content
Despite being down to poo-change
& back to shining headlights on my life again
Tonight seems right in every detail
the cyclist cruising by on tiny friendly lights
this huge gum stirring above me
a white haired couple with tobacco coloured skin
who have grown alike over more years than i've experienced
Tonight makes me want to walk with and towards good company
to nowhere in particular
And I am on my way
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 7:20 AM UTC