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Archive for September, 2011

But Not Quite

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on September 20, 2011| Leave a Comment »

a day this blue
one
almost
forgets
how worlds
break violently
apart

empires
solar systems
this heart

*This poem is part of another 84 series (poems with 84 characters) exploring Brian Swimme’s powers of the universe, this time focusing on cataclysm, which refers to the way the universe necessarily destroys some of its structures allowing for “ongoing vibrant creativity to continue.” The 11 powers are outlined in EnlightenNext, Issue 47. The 84s are the brainchild of Barry Spacks, who corresponds with me back and forth in 84-character poems.

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Again and Again We Ask, “Is It True?”

Posted in Uncategorized on September 20, 2011| 1 Comment »

The end of summer,
the leaves not quite yet yellow,
Joan and I debate
the value of stories,
first envisioning them
as cages, then reimagining

them as wings. We cannot
decide as we stop to eat
the only raspberry there is
this side of September,
where to draw lines.
After two hours, I know

less than I did two hours before,
but the sun laces our not knowing
through the shadowed glades,
and it feels so good
to walk through the green leaves
with Joan, once upon a time.

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Continuing to Grow Inside Me Tanka

Posted in Uncategorized on September 18, 2011| Leave a Comment »

Has it been
a thousand years
or just an hour
since the sun
came up?

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Increasingly Clear Not Clear

Posted in Uncategorized on September 17, 2011| 1 Comment »


It’s not hard to grow when you know that you just don’t know.
—Damien Rice, Cannonball

Tonight I am wanting
the formula, some simple
equation that makes it all
add up. Like this: take the name
of a favorite bird. Add
the common herbs
from the country
of your father’s birth.
The month you were born.
The name of the tea
you last drank.
Heron. Caraway.
November. Mint.
But this list as ridiculous
as any other attempt
to make sense. There is no recipe,
no ritual, no seven easy steps.
No map will show us
the soul’s path. And where
are we going? I heard
of a woman who went
in a boat with a group
of native fishermen.
As they pushed off from shore,
she noticed that no one
had paddles or oars.
“But how will we get where
we’re going?” she asked.
The fishermen laughed
and said that the water
would take them wherever
they needed to go.
Oh woman who wants
to know, can you let go
like that? Life, it keeps falling away.
Have you noticed?
And what does it give us back?
This moment with its vast
unknowns where
anything can happen.

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Stepping Out Tanka

Posted in Uncategorized on September 16, 2011| 1 Comment »

In my head, one voice
says, “You should.” Another
says, “You should not.”
While they war, I step outside
and notice how green the leaves.

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It’s an Inside Job

Posted in Uncategorized on September 15, 2011| 3 Comments »


Let’s open all the locked doors upon our eyes
That keep us from knowing the Intelligence
That begets love.
—Hafiz, “Why Ask the Donkey”

In the cupboard
behind the desk
there’s a silver ring

with over a hundred keys.
There are more keys
in a cup. Some loose

in a drawer. And
I have tried them all.
Some fit the lock,

and the heart skiddlydips
at the chance that
this is the key. But

the knob stops too soon
and the stubborn lock
dumbly gapes. And

I curse the keys,
the lock, the space
beneath the door.

And so it’s out with a huff
into the night
where the moon

waits for me, a scythe,
and I see through the window
the light inside the locked room—

the window, the window?
the window! it’s high, but ajar.
The window. I stack up

a bench, a box, a pail,
and climb to the top
of the teetering pile.

I cling to the drainpipe
and we both fall down.
This is, I think,

just like the path
to love, as I clamber again
toward the opened pane

hoping to drop
to the bedroom floor
where the key

I was given
sits on the table
beside the locked door.

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When Hunting for Chanterelles

Posted in Uncategorized on September 14, 2011| 2 Comments »


It is lovely indeed, it is lovely indeed,
I, I am the sacred works of the earth.
—Navajo origin legend, “Song of the Earth Spirit”

I’d stopped even remembering
it was something I wanted
to do, to see queen’s crown again.
Who could explain why
these things sometimes
grab us—why we wish to encounter
a certain flower in the mountains
or to hear once more a haunting tune
we cannot name and so cannot
locate again. And so, as I walk
through the alpine meadow
wet with the monsoonal rains,
so much pleasure comes
in stumbling upon the rounded rose
blossoms atop thick green stalks.
First one, then another, then dozens—
a profusion of late summer pink.
And though I am not yet a crabby
old woman, even I am surprised
by the way my heart opens and
I nearly cry for the thrill of it,
queen’s crown! There is
so much bliss to be found
when we are not looking, not
waiting, not expecting—sweet
mystery in the field. I walk
toward the woods where
the chanterelles grow,
the bog rising to meet my feet.

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But I Hope It’s Not True Tanka

Posted in Uncategorized on September 14, 2011| Leave a Comment »

As if it were
the only one
I’ll ever taste again
I cradle it
before I eat the pear.

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Baptism Tanka

Posted in Uncategorized on September 13, 2011| Leave a Comment »

I rushed naked
into the late summer rain—
its clear fingers could not touch
the places I most wish
to be cleaned.

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Tanka for September 11

Posted in Uncategorized on September 11, 2011| Leave a Comment »

The rubble
perhaps more sacred
than the shrine.
Today every face
I see is beautiful.

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