The gods are inconsolable.

(excerpt from a work in progress)


I'm watching this new Trickster god
and he says, "Look over here!",  but I don't
as he pulls a paper flower of politic
out of his ass
and even Loki and Anansi
shudder to see
what the other hand is up to.

Can you find the poem within the poem?

One at a time, please

One at a time

I'm a one on one kinda

girl

or maybe two or three

but put me in a room full and

oh

what a mess I feel

Too many

faces voices conversations

emotions intentions states of being

too much information to

gather

in anything that looks like sense

And I may make for a corner

to scope out the scene

try to make invisible and observe

stand back and see more clearly

in a place of some sort of

peace

and somewhere that feels

safe and out of the way

and not in the middle

and not having to think

of something

to

say when you don't

have any idea what people

are talking about

and you really want to

sit down and

figure it all out with

yourself.

battlefield

battlefield

my sisters are a battlefield
broken war-torn territories
ravaged by misunderstanding
raped with neglect
shot in the back by subservience
and our tender off-shoots
our sweet rows of makings
we do our best to tend with open loving hearts
knowing still that we bring them into a world
that makes war against itself
makes war within ourselves
makes war out of and into everything crawling upon it
so that what we do our best to grow
has still to contend with blood-soaked soil
with the bones of some like them
with skeletons others think we don't see
and we,my sisters and me, we're battlefields
walking around in shells that a less and less covert war
is being waged against
walking around in shells that are somehow not right
somehow not powerful
or not given trust
when what's true, more true than any of this,
is that what lay within us,
we, the sisters of the earth,
is the only living solution to all this death
our freedom is the freedom of all
it's the freedom of women
and it's the freedom of children
and of animals
and even of men
because as it may seem the white men are ruling this world
what's really come to pass is that their world
is ruling us all
and though we lay beneath their feet
there is yet a heavy weight on them
having used such strength to hold back our Amazons
they now falter
they now fail
again and again they fail us
with their “ideas” and “plans” and “proposals”
because not one single time in any proposal put forth
can you find the word love
or the idea of freedom for all
the idea of borderlessness
the idea of differentlessness
they simply can not see
the whole within the one
they need us to show that to them
but they've long since stopped listening to our talk
if we want them to listen
we have to talk man talk
and man talk has no translation for
the good of all
it has no understanding of
the end of all wars for good
it doesn't include the concepts of
living sustainably, communally
because this is what we all need
we need our sisters to help hold us up
it gets tired, walking as a battlefield

Bridges

Bridges

We seem to be busy with the business of
throwing all our cards on the table
face up, of course
mostly hearts, a few clubs, a couple diamonds
and they're all spades because
we call things what they are
and there are a lot of them
enough to build a house I think
or I think
we could build a city an Empire!
complete with sewers and skyscrapers
with Japanese bridges and Georgian hotels
with stop signs and churches with parking lots
with laser light shows and skies full of stars
with seasons that swing one to the next
into years of how have you been

But I've seen these cards before
and the cities they can create
I've seen them balanced-ish
piled up lavish and extravagant
I've seen them
make into fantastical, impossible shapes of wonder and magic and awe
so many empires forged
by the hands we've played
and, like any game, these cities have ended
towers felled and bridges torn (though never burned)
temples tumbled and roads akimbo
trees uprooted and clouds collapsed
not carefully put away but
turned to simply cards now
splayed on a dusty table, sticky with
after party and two empty bottles of Boone's Farm
in the back corner of a room
that no one ever goes in to anymore

Or, at least it seems that way
I think sometimes I
dream there
little snippets of places
I'm sure we made before
and it falls out into my journal
from time to time
till I start to wonder if there aren't little trolls
building bridges back and forth from
your deck to mine

Or, maybe it's just that someone left the door open
because we seem to have found our way back to that game again
now standing, a bit awkward by the table,
as we always are at first
and when it's been so long
'do you remember how to play?
or which deck is whose?
or how we made that one cool thing, you remember...
yea...'

and the city starts to build itself again
empirical regeneration takes place
ripples the table into asphalt undulation
almost without our attention a new
but familiar cityscape is constructed
and we, duly deposited in the middle

So we find ourselves here,
in this new place
made of old spaces
and it must be time to talk strategy
but I look over at you and I'm wondering
how to strategize my way out of the game
I no longer wish to rule an empire of play
and I notice you haven't picked up your deck yet either
and we're a little nervous standing
in this city we're supposed to be building
a city of this-is-what-this-looks-like
and I decide to walk away from the table

You ask me where I'm going and I tell you
I'm looking for the last bridge out
of this city
back into the world
and I walk away without asking
whether or not you're coming with me.

Con Pluma en Mano

Con pluma en mano

The Muse wants your meat
she wants you heart and soul on a platter
over and again every day
she cares not if you're driving or working or trying to sleep
she strikes on her own time in her own moments

she often sends little trinkets
shiny junk for journals to collect
and if you don't, if you refuse these gifts
she takes away your meat
takes the big thoughts little by little
striking indifferent matches to
ideas before they become words

summoning her only makes her grin
but she'll pounce when least expected
insisting words, sounds and silences
creating the compulsion of pen on paper
or fingers on keys striking mercilessly
till her tide abates and she's appeased

she has favorite places
spots to sit that tend to host her visits
she likes the outdoors
and while she can't be commanded into presence
she takes kindly to those
who make special arrangements for her
who honor her with simple ritual
and wait, patiently open
with pen in hand

What to Call You

A poem I wrote last winter.  Maybe more to come.


Thinking of your name and how it can feel
surprisingly strange in my mouth like
not what it's meant to mean and how
we so seldom used those words
to each other but I see your name
a lot of authors named that, you know
and I work in a library
(hi, nice to meet you)
and I see your – that word – I see that word
and if I let it, it brings me your eyes
it brings a little reluctant smile
a warm softening born in an old moment
it can bring your touch, so much gentle comfort
and a giggle, in how it's never quite fit

I'd have to leave this language
to try and put some sounds to you
maybe en Español, mi compañero
but I think even there it will become a poem
there's no one word in any single language
if Time could talk, we'd work something out
and Light waves describe how they inform experience
through the twice upside-downed eyes
and Scent explain how my nose knows
what you've touched and not touched
and my Skin explain what comes through
so that when we touch you go straight to my bones
and if Memory could collaborate to collect the colors
of all the pieces of time we've shared
and if Energy were given voice and the inclination to testify
to how it's gathered between our bodies

if Atoms had voices
or the Universe could sing
maybe I could find a way
but for now I'll just call you
hey, how've you been?

Stopping By

I really had every intention of sharing poetry last month and when I looked at what I'd written over the winter, there wasn't much I wanted to share.  I also want to commit to blogging regularly again but for now I'll have to settle for stopping by once in a while. 

I hate to come here to complain but I'm having one of those micro/macro-cosmic angst kind of days.  I tend to let stress build up and then experience it all at once.  It's always mostly money.  I have to wonder what I'm doing working a full day every week just to pay for gas to get to and from work for the week.  Then I wonder why billions of people are starving while America is full of dumpster pizza.  The prevailing injustice of this world makes my mind swim.  I truly can't grasp it, I can't believe it's this way.  My inner idealist is sure it doesn't have to be so. 

This is probably a "syndrome" and there's probably a pill I could take.  I'll call it WTFS, What The Fuck Syndrome.  In honor of my new neurosis and in the hopes of spreading it, I'm sharing a poem I haven't posted on this blog.  I wrote it last year and it's one of my favorite. 

Clamor

Good Evening Ladies and Gentlemen and
Welcome to the Church of What the Fuck is Going On?

There are so many directions to place blame
Patriarchy. Corporate Greed. The MEDIA. Technology. Bad Government. Complacent Society.

we didn't know any better
there were so many flashing lights
and signs and voices
“Look right this way!”
and so many moving parts
and satellite beams
and digital ate analog like the way
video tried to kill the radio star
multinational multimedia channel channel channel shop! on line on T.V. by phone
for non stick hi-tech hi-def plastic remote control motion sensor
sensor sensory
sensory input
input
in put
what are we putting in?
is this stuff filling you up?

I'm stuffed!
I can't take any more of this
junk-food for the brain
high-fructose information
this saccharine distraction
layer after sticky layer
in conveniently disposable packaging
or beamed straight into your brain
only 49.95 a month

it's every new sensation
competing with so many 15 minutes
crammed between increasingly inane human antics
followed by what they call the “news”
this veil they hang meant to convince me
that this is all there is, or ever could be
constant daily rhythm of
get up go to work go home eat zone out go to bed repeat
no wonder we're numb

they're pick-pocketing our freedoms
insisting it's for our own good
rewriting history to take away truth
back room deals and
out-right theft
tarnished elections and
toxic incorporated
paparazzi exposing personal privacies
while government corruption goes untold

It's all such a spectacle, disparate but sparkly
disorienting reminding me of the Land of Oz
and we could all use a little more heart,
a lot more courage, a clear mind to think,
and the knowledge that our homes are our homes
but without those we keep moving,
perpetuating the system we seem to be stuck in
keeping heads down, arms and legs inside the vehicle
with lemming-like devotion
to our own degradation

And when we walk out of step,
when we stop and look around
when we start to think on our own
we're labeled disloyal, unpatriotic, crazy
If we start to raise some eyebrows,
that voice always comes along
to remind us The Show must go on
and to take our seats and please,
pay no mind to that man behind the curtain.

Happy National Poetry Month!

Last year during the month of April I posted a bunch of poems. That may be a good way for me to get back into the habit of blogging. I recently fell in love with the work of Nikki Giovanni, spent the winter reading her. I wrote this about her in January.


to Nikki

Woman, you are a Priestess of poetry,
bringing us the talk of God
in the voice of the Goddess
like it should fall in a woman's ears
and if Heaven thought to talk
of mortal life and love
of the doings and goings on
of we little humans
way down here

A Poetry Reading!

 I read at a poetry reading in Ypsi. on Monday.  Some of this stuff is already here but this is what I read:

At the Washtenaw Coin Laundry

I love this town and all its colors
so many shades of black and brown and tan
on skins and eyes and hair and hands
accents that come from I know not where
languages lilting lyrical lullabies
myriad mantras
so many gods all one
All One
cultures not clashing
not shocking me
only calling to my eyes and ears
with whispers of lands I'll never see
secrets of souls
swishes of fabric and whiffs of oil
spices speak sustenance
words awaken wonder
music exciting in mixed-up modes
drifts from windows where
kitchens sit with laden bread
always a table to be filled with old places
aromas abundant call back in time
ancestral answers gifting with grace
a smile touching eyes
gives me welcome without words
human-ness beyond language
beyond any perception
of not-like-me

Sovereign

She walks out freshly into her
own world, that of her making
virtuously attuned to its every breath
ever entwined, ever open
receptive to the ebb and flow of
each cycle as it passes
intuitively present with every moment
giving graciously all the gifts of herself
never failing to abide by her heart

maybe I should eat

I need some more words
I think I'll have to start
eating dictionaries
because I can't seem to come up with
enough words
or the right ones to
mean what i'm saying like
how I love the word mobius
and I know what it is
and what it looks like but
sometimes I use it when
I mean something else and so
maybe i'll have to
eat up some geometry books too
to try to find a better shape
to metaphor with
and sometimes singing
even in words that have nothing to do with it
seems to get out or get across
what i'm feelin at the time
in the most direct, most satisfying way
so maybe I should eat some cds
or music books or my violin
and when it starts to become
too surreal like
life has gone
quite strange
maybe I should start eating
some of the old and true
fairy tales
warning us of how twisted
and mistakenly lovely
life can be

shrug

nothing ever touches anything else

not really

but right now

our electrons are

powerless

to repel one another

because you've invaded

                  you have entered

                              you've been invited into

the space that my body occupies

i sigh

i smile

physics shrugs

T A L K

I don't want a lecture from longview
I don't want to pant in pantomime
I don't want crazy accusations
based on incorrect equations
or conversations leading to
conflict or kamikaze questions
I don't want expressions that come so loudly
but without any truth behind
I don't want tangled opinions
poisoning what I'm pondering
I don't want auctioneering inauthentic audio
I don't want to dilute my language
I don't want closed-minded opinions
or discouraging dissuasion
I don't want to deal with drama
I don't want pompous pretension
I don't want judgment jumped-to unjustly
I don't want to mourn mortifying misunderstandings
I don't want to navigate needless negativity
I don't want side-long glanced suspicion
I don't want mistrust in advance
I don't want base, boorish behavior
I don't want tormenting or taunting
or shameful fingers shaken
I don't want the volume of violent voices
I don't want fists standing in for sentences
I don't want unsolicited advice
I don't want decisions made for anyone
I don't want labels obscuring people
I don't want anyone's nature negated
I don't want time taken toiling in talk of tedium
I want to hear something real
I want safety in honest exchange
I want courtesy to be common
I want Universally open minds
I want constant, complicit, compassion
I want recognition of our similarity
and reverence for our differences
I don't want there to be sides

Now, if you still can,
talk with me

and some bits

They say we carry the weight of the world

on our shoulders

but I know that's men talking

cause I carry that weight

on my hips

and they sure are sore lately.

They took away the beautiful figure of the truly feminine and injected her, instead, with saline, collagen, silicone, even extra fat, all trying to attain some mythic concept of beauty in a culture that so disbelieves in myth that they can't even get the moral of that story...


 
 

Therapy Poem

So, as a woman we have an extra doctor's appointment we have to make every year.  A couple years ago I had an abnormal pap.  I was treated and recently had another abnormal result.  My doctor's recommendation is to have a partial hysterectomy- removal of the cervix and uterus.  It hit me like a ton of bricks.  I'm not even 35 yet!  But the more I've thought of it, the more sense it makes.  My mother had uterine cancer which is very hereditary and also difficult to treat and to detect.  So!  With all that in mind and also the fact that I do NOT want any more children, this seems like the logical thing to do.  I don't have health insurance so I'll have to, probably, jump through some hoops to get Medicaid to pay for it.  I think, (again), that it's totally bullshit that I am a working person living in America and I have no health insurance, (and struggle with money daily), but I'll save that for another post.

I'm talking about my uterus here.  I realize to some it may sound strange to have an attachment to a particular organ, but most women would understand.  That's my womb!  Like, my womb!  It's kinda, well, special.  And I realized a huge spiritual reaction to all of this.  Like, the life-cycle of a woman is tied into the three aspects of the Goddess- maiden, mother, and crone.  What does it mean if I give up my uterus?  Can I still call myself mother? (Of course and my daughter will too.) But these are some of the things that have been circling in my brain.  It's scary.  It's scary to have surgery.  It's scary to lose an organ. Now, I must admit that if she asked for my tonsils or my appendix, or even maybe a kidney, I would not go through the same things.  That's not to say I would not be scared.  I'll be clear, I would be terrified.  Again, surgery and loss of an organ- scary things.  But, this is hitting me a lot harder than that would.  I never really thought about it before.  I am attached to my uterus.  (okay, obviously)  But in a very emotional/spiritual way.  So, as I was taking this all in, the night I learned this, I had the urge to write it. 

I don't often deny the muse.  Like, I just don't ever do that.  Whatever I want to write or wants to be written by me, let it come.  I don't edit in my head anymore- I write too much, who am I to decide what's good before it's even on paper?  But this.  This was a difficult write to start.  The first three lines or so popped into my head and I felt the pull toward the keyboard and literally groaned, "I don't want to write this!"  Like, I didn't even want to be living it, let alone did I want to write about it.  But good sense prevailed and I gave in.  I'm glad.  It helped a lot.  And it shows me moving through the emotions.  Dancing in fear and confusion and just a couple steps forward toward courage and an identity that could never reside in an organ.  So, I'm still processing, especially since this is all just talk right now.  I'm very glad about my decision, I only hope it's feasible and will be history soon.  Any prayers would be helpful and appreciated, if you do pray.  But overall, I feel pretty lucky.  I was able to go to the doctor and find out what is wrong.  I will make it through this and one day I'll just look back and say I was brave when it counted, even if I was terrified at first.  And I know, I couldn't be brave if I wasn't terrified first, right?


not surrender


so the doctor says
maybe surrender your womb
but she doesn't use those words
     remove           uterus
like it's an organ
like a part
of my physical body
and not the place
where I grew my daughter
and not the place
where all of humanity
grows
and not the place
that makes me
woman
and she is a woman
but uteruses are her business
her work
like woman's work
working on women
and she maybe doesn't know
what all I hold there
and what we all have in there
and that it's the warm red place
where some secrets hide
and where a goddess sleeps
and it's where I grew my daughter
and I don't want another child
but it's my woman self in there
and even if they don't take my eggs
and even if I get to keep my hormones
that place will be gone
and I look inside to wonder
how things will move
because I'm not pieces
I am a whole
I am a woman

but the body-part
that walking around part of me
she says it's just not fighting
and I think what do you mean
I'm strong
I'm fighting every day
surely if the rest of me will
my body will fight too
maybe no one told her
maybe she doesn't know
those cells don't belong
do you have a phone, doc
an in-there phone
so we could call her
and tell her to woman-up
because it's taken me too long
to get this far
and I know that if I have to
I will surrender that part
and be still whole
and be still woman
because I am

because I am a fighter
and I know no part makes me me
and I know I will move through every fear
and I know where my power lies
it's not in that warm red place
and it's not in a place that can be
removed
it's a part that will always be
that will come with me
even when I leave the body
with or without its womb
or any other parts
that can't seem to fight

because whole doesn't come
from a collaboration of parts
and strength is buried deeper
than the deepest inside me
it rides up through the earth
to fill all the unseen parts
and becomes the essence
of who I really am

a tiny hello

Hi everyone!  I've been gone quite a while and my only real explanation is that I haven't had much to write about, or I haven't felt moved to blog.  That is, I've been writing like crazy, just not here.  But I miss reading everyone so I'm going to take time to visit and I thought I'd share some recent poetry and stuff.

Things on my Fridge

You are a forest 

needing sun to grow stories

& the sea is your dream

rain beats a languid chant

to make fresh mist beneath a bare purple sky

explore your new voice

wild as a bouquet not from a garden

delicate as a petal still

your smile is a story library

man

end 

new 

&

old 

wars

whisper moon language

              never 

              cover your (heart)

from the world

              under shadow

              create beauty          (*never,cover,world,under,create came together)

wander the ancient library of the human head

explore this magic life

A poem I just wrote.

maybe i should eat

i need some more words

i think i'll have to start

eating dictionaries

because i can't seem to come up with

enough words

or the right ones to

mean what i'm saying like

how i love the word mobius

and i know what it is

and what it looks like but

sometimes i use it when

i mean something else and so

maybe i'll have to

eat up some geometry books too

to try to find a better shape

to metaphor with

and sometimes singing

even in words that have nothing to do with it

seems to get out or get across

what i'm feelin at the time

in the most direct, most satisfying way

so maybe i should eat some cds

or music books or my violin

and when it starts to all seem

too surreal like

life has gone

quite strange

maybe i should start eating

some of the old and true

fairy tales

warning us of how twisted

and mistakenly lovely

life can be

Something little I wrote last November.

Her nostrils flare like a horse when she's hot
and sometimes, when she looks at something
that makes her want to run, like to the barn,
you can tell everything else is out of focus.

Something I wrote a few days ago.

(unfinished)

working stiffs

So what has us working

as we toil for our supper

and nobody seems to be singing much

about anything

and sleep tends to defer to the needs

of a person to be a person

and sometimes around other people

and these natural needs take

an unnatural back seat to the

make-believe needs of

a culture of has-to-be

where balance is so sorely twisted

that if it were struck, even for a moment,

it would be askew

and it seems to me that most people don't see

that it's only this way because we say it's ok

we get up too early

go to sleep too late

eat food that's not that at all

being, often, grossly under-compensated

for our time and our energy

both of which are so consumed that

it becomes difficult to look around

it's hard to take it all in

to fathom the big picture

or bother to ask questions

 about- why do we do this thing

but instead just keep doing

because it's what we all believe in

and I may be a bit on the fringe when i'm thinking

we've all lost our minds

I Have a Friend

I have a friend who loves a woman
which may seem strange to some because
my friend is also a woman
but to me it only seems beautiful
it seems right
Because the woman she loves  loves her too
My friend has never said to me,
"I love this woman."
and they've never said,
"I love you."
in front of me          but I know
It's plain to see when they're together
that something bigger than the both of them
exists between these two
I can't help but feel warm, hopeful when I see that
It makes me want to dance.

because I see so many women who
don't really love the men they love
I'm not sure they even like them, actually
I do see men and women in love - happy couples are out there
They're just few and endangered    and I'm not sure what by
It's not deforestation or pollution that makes them scarce
It think, perhaps, it's the pace at which we push our lives
marriage is something that just happens
   -after college
   -after high-school
   -hopefully before kids
   -usually when people are too young to know themselves well enough to know their partner
                                        too young to ask the questions that will plague them in 10 years
Like:
-is he right for me?
-might there have been someone more suited to me?
-am I happy?
Questions that become meaningless   or destructive
between breakfast dishes and bag-lunches
between pig-tails and little league
where moms sit in the stands in a daze
wondering exactly how all their days
added up to this

I have a friend who likes men
which may seem strange to some
because my friend is a man
but to me it seems good, it seems right
because I saw the Hell he had to wade through
to admit (even to himself) what love looked like
inside him
He broke through barriers I couldn't have cracked,
toppled them to get to himself
and now he shines like a star
healthier, happier, more whole than I'd known he could be
His deepest desire (like all of our deepest desires)
is to find the right one
that partner, the companion that's right for him
I know this will happen, he'll find his one
because my friend is filled -all the way- with love
and on that day, I'll dance. 

In Numb

For One-shot Wednesday:



I feel so disconnected lately
I try to have a focused thought
and all I get is dial tone
when most of the time it's like hearing
six conversations bleeding through
but none of them make much sense
all overlapping and unfinished
and above it all a nasal monotone intones:

"You are now operating in survival mode."

So I move through the day
the same as the one before
doing all the 'have to's
so it seems just like living
only without really touching anything
and the voice continues:

"You are now operating in survival mode."

Then I'm angry at that voice
I want to defy her
so I shake myself with music,
laughter, conversation, books
I sing really loudly
when a feeling does come through
because I find they've become too big for me to hold
I shake myself to try to snap me out of it
but I'm still out of it
so I do what I can to comfort me
but in the background:

"You are operating in survival mode."

So I move again to the music,
the laughing, the talking, the words
I see how these things bring
each a tiny reprieve
and as the voice goes on and on
I live between breaths

Rough Draft

I wrote this poem at the laundry mat yesterday and it may not be done but I want to share it.

At the Washtenaw Coin Laundry

I love this town and all its colors
so many shades of black and brown and tan
on skins and eyes and hair and hands
accents that come from     I know not where
languages lilting lyrical lullabies
myriad mantras
so many gods    all one
All One
cultures not clashing
not shocking me
only calling to my eyes and ears
with whispers of lands I'll never see
secrets of souls
swishes of fabric and whiffs of oil
spices speak sustenance
words awaken wonder
music exciting in mixed-up modes
drifts from windows where
kitchens sit with laden bread
always a table to be filled with old places
a landscape of different
aromas  abundant      call back in time
ancestral  answers     gifting with grace
a smile touching eyes
gives me welcome without words
human-ness beyond language
beyond any perception
of not-like-me

A Poem

I wrote this recently.  I was reading about the origins of the Goddess and how she was considered Sovereign.  It inspired me to write in a style I haven't tried since I was a kid.  Hope you like it!


         Sovereign

She walks out freshly into her
own world, that of her making
virtuously attuned to its every breath
ever entwined, ever open
receptive to the ebb and flow of
each cycle as it passes
intuitively present with every moment
giving graciously all the gifts of herself
never failing to abide by her heart

Relay for Life

  I love my town!  I recently moved to Ypsilanti MI and will write more about my great city in the future.  I live near a park where a lot of local events are held so we get to listen to the music all summer.  A few weeks ago, the Relay for Life came to the park.  I love this event!  If your life hasn't been touched by cancer in some way, you're very fortunate. This is a beautiful fund-raiser that is very community-based.  There was such great music and such a wonderful energy in the park that day!  I watched them into the night, battling fatigue and mosquitoes, walking still when I went to sleep.  I was very moved and went inside and wrote this poem:

Just Before Midnight

  Amid the song of a soulful night bird

and the scent of a damp, happy willow

across the sound of the Huron gliding by

     I watch

On a path encircling the park

surrounded by luminaria

    they walk

They walk for their family,

their friends, themselves

for memory and the chance of anticipation,

for dreams cut short and those made possible

The path beneath their feet,

on any other day  like any other path

is, for this time, a sacred space of healing and unity

it's a circle of community

of shared grief and triumph

of support and understanding

of true empathy

This walk is for warriors

these are people who live life up-close

and with eyes wide open

because they know how fleeting a gift this is

and how graciously given

These are warriors of grace and vulnerability

who know what it means to love ferociously

the strength that takes, and that which it gives

They have come here through moments

of intense contemplation, through new

rearranged priorities, with changed

worldviews, and open hearts

They bring colorful tents and coolers

are served midnight pizza

have music to move them along

but my favorite is the laughter-

that audible evidence of joy

shared one to another

These warriors come here as

humanity at its best

they come to do for others

to raise awareness and give voice to the silent

to celebrate life, having learned what that really means

They come with faith in themselves

and in one another

because they know they can make a difference

and they do.

*Added 6/16/10- If you know anyone who takes part in the Relay for Life, please feel free to copy this poem and share it with them.  It's a small thank you from me to everyone who participates in this great event.

Yet another poem

 Well it's the last day of April, National Poetry Month, so I thought I'd post one more poem.  Then I'm going to get back to the "Why I'm a Witch" series because I've been working on that too.


Excuse me but have you seen
       laying around anywhere
I'm looking for yesterday
and I can't seem to find it
but I just had it so    it can't be far

I thought of looking for last summer
but realized I didn't even know where to start
I glanced around for last week but
yesterday

Yesterday I had one of those moments where
for a time, everything  feels  perfect
and I wondered, since I just had it
yesterday
shouldn't it still be here somewhere?

A delving poem

of all the voices of me, all the trains: inner-critic, inner-child, inner-wild-woman, inner-any-human-ness...
of all the moods, personalities that arise,
is there one that is most me,
most true to my authentic being?
or is it only in the fleeting moments when
for a breath
something outside of these
bears witness to them
there is the collective sigh
i am none of these

A brand-new poem

I usually work with a poem, or at least read it over and over for quite a while before I share it outside of my close friends. I wrote this last night and I really enjoyed it, I hope you do too!

All my poetry

is Goddess poetry

everything I write is

witchy

cause that's how I move

there is no separate

for me from Her

walking hand in

wispy voice

that curls deep inside

with a purr and sigh of knowing

that all is well

that all is right with what is

there she is settled in my soul

like a tiny reflection

Objects may be closer than they appear

of the beginning of time

swirling with all I've ever known

all that's been known

and swollen with the unknowable

pulsing with the tide of

so much

life

energy

breath

air

blood

water

movement

earth

fire

of every star

of so many distant

and unfamiliar

yet brothers

sisters to what i see

but being so much

still soft   She is

curled, lying there

like an infant

after a millennial nap

blinking in comfort

ready to stretch

and try her voice

One more poem

nothing ever touches anything else

not really 

but right now

our electrons are

powerless

to repel one another

because you've invaded

                  you have entered

                              you've been invited into

the space that my body occupies

i sigh

i smile

physics     shrugs