After dragging
those heavy things
on its back
for miles and miles
across the desert
at last the bird
looks up and says
something’s not
quite right about this
pilgrimage.
Archive for October, 2012
Step One
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged awareness, poem, poetry, waking up, wings on October 31, 2012| 2 Comments »
I Know It Ain’t Easy, But
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fussy, love, poem, poetry, unloveable on October 29, 2012| 7 Comments »
Fussy
bleary,
wiped out,
wary,
mussed,
tired,
rankled,
taut,
I am
riled up
and lost,
and now
at my zenith
of unloveableness,
now is when,
though I could
not possibly
ask you
to show it,
now’s when
I need you
to love
me
the most.
Can’t Understand It But
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, opposites, paradox, poem, poetry, unity on October 28, 2012| 2 Comments »
God turns you from one feeling to another
and teaches by means of opposites,
so that you will have two wings to fly,
not one.
–Rumi
I am stone and I am river.
I am here and I am gone.
I am the apple and the hunger.
I am lost and I am found.
I am harlot and the pure one.
I am chosen. I’m tossed out.
I am mystery and revelation.
I am certainty and doubt.
I’m the one you love,
you hate me, too,
I am leaf and the space
where the leaf once was.
I am thief and I restore things.
I am the anchor and the wave.
And I am the song, the song
that stays in your mind
long after you’ve told it to leave.
And I am the silence, the silence
you welcome and the silence you fill
with anything, anything
just to keep the silence away.
I am not myself.
I am more you than I am me.
And we, we are flying,
we are flying, love,
we are the sky, we are the wings.
Grace
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, aging, mothering, parenting, poem, poetry, self love, softness on October 27, 2012| 5 Comments »
Bless the softness of the body,
and bless how I have struggled so long
against being soft. I have tried to be hard,
to be firm, to be fit, to be thin, I have tried
to disappear. And after the hiking, the climbing,
the swimming, the crunching, the pushing
the lifting, the drive, comes
softness. Comes breathing,
the whole soft body breathing,
belly and chest and cheek and neck,
in and out, so softly, pure gift, with
no effort of my own. Comes softness.
My daughter this morning curls her small weight
into me and I try to make myself softer,
softer than that, soft enough
to embrace the growing miracle.
I have tried to be something other
than soft, and now, by grace, I am learning to soften,
to appreciate softening, oh beautiful
softness, oh softness I’ve hated,
I am learning to bless what is soft.
What We Do When We Can Do Nothing Else
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, hardship, love, poem, poetry, sadness, support, trouble on October 26, 2012| 2 Comments »
What We Do When We Can Do Nothing Else
When trouble comes
with its long gray dress
and its hungry eyes
and its basket of woe,
when trouble comes
with its insomnia
and note past due
that you know you can never pay,
when trouble comes
with its refusal to let you
be bailed out this time
no matter how crisp
the hundreds are,
I do not want to be
the one who lies to you
and says it will all be okay.
I don’t want to play
the teacher and talk
about how the world
erodes us until we shine.
I want to be the one
who holds your hand,
though, even if it is
from many hundreds
of miles away, and
even if you do not hear me
say it, I will be thinking,
miracles happen,
and you are one.
I will write you a poem
made of doors, all
of them open,
even the one
that trouble walks in,
even the one
that trouble walks out.
Taking a Sip
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged memory, poem, poetry, self, slow motion, thinking on October 25, 2012| 4 Comments »
I wrap my hand
around the glass.
I am two again,
walking in Seattle
with my mother.
Do I really remember
walking up and down
all those stairs, or is it
just the aphoto
and her retelling of it
that I remember?
Why do I think of it now?
I raise the glass.
from the table.
Outside, the trees
are nearly bare.
Autumn is visiting.
I wonder why
the leaves on the tips
are last to go.
Or do they do that only here?
It rises a little more.
Why do we
speak to each other
like this,
in voices I don’t recognize.
Who is she, this woman,
lifting the glass?
The water
meets her lips
just as I think
how thirsty
I am.
Wild Rose Goes to a Meeting
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, poem, poetry on October 24, 2012| 7 Comments »
Wild Rose is not in any hurry.
She looks up at the speeding clouds
and builds castles in the sky.
There is a meeting in five minutes.
Wild Rose doesn’t own a watch.
She builds another castle with her eyes.
She is cross town from the meeting room.
She could make it on time if she tries.
So Wild Rose walks slow. Then slower.
She pauses to wave as cars drive by.
There’s a millipede on the sidewalk.
She adores long insects with many legs.
She sits right down beside it
and watches as it slowly, slowly
makes it to the sidewalk’s edge.
Wild Rose smells apple crisp
baking in somebody’s kitchen.
She feasts for two minutes on the cinnamon scent.
She takes fifteen steps before
she hears from a window
her favorite song by her favorite band.
Wild Rose stops and sways her hips.
The tune bursts like fireworks in her head.
She tells the passers by to shush
so she can better hear the end.
She listens to the next song, too.
and asks a stranger to dance.
Wild Rose remembers her meeting.
She thinks, I should waste time more often.
Three Continuations
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breaking open, haiku, loss, poem, poetry, prayer, release on October 23, 2012| 4 Comments »
losing all my leaves
I did not yet know I would
lose my roots too
*
chipped, this cup,
the wine in it
tastes no worse
*
chanting to the sky
long after the prayer ends
these hands still raised
Letter to Valerie
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, friendship, loss, poem, poetry, Valerie Haugen on October 22, 2012| 2 Comments »
Dear Valerie,
Even the late flowers have gone to seed.
Asters, rabbit brush, cattails—all
have gone to creamy froth.
Even the grasses have lost their seeds.
Slender. Barren. Stark.
It is the season of loss.
But there is so much more to speak of. Honey,
for instance. Oh thank you for your poem this morning.
All day the honey shared between poets has been at the tip
of my memory. It’s so fine to have something sweet
to return to. So often it’s bitterness that sticks.
Today, I gave a book to a girl. A book about princesses.
On page two, a dragon came to the princess’s kingdom
and blew flames strong enough to burn down
her castle, her clothes, her gardens, her trees. The girl
I gave it to was so distressed, she dropped the book in the doorway,
ran to her room, hid beneath her pillow, and for ten minutes
into her mattress screamed, No, No, No, No, No.
It did not matter to her that by page 16, the princess
had outsmarted the dragon. She could not move
past the initial loss. I felt terrible for giving her the story,
of course, and sat with her while she sobbed.
How many dragons have we known, Valerie?
How many kingdoms have we watched burn down?
How many pages have we left unturned, too afraid
to see what comes next?
I do not know your dragons, but I feel them in your poems,
feel between your lines the fire of their ferocious, merciless breath.
It is odd how little we know each other, and how intimate
still we are. Both of us ravaged, we come together
dressed in nothing but paper bags.
The grasses, the ones that have dropped their seeds,
they are so beautiful. If we lived closer, I would pick them for you.
Though spare, though dry, they are the color of honey.
And the cattails, I would give you them, too.
When the sun is low, it shines through their tops
until they are wholly illumined. Like candles, only entirely aflame.
What if we are like the cattails, Valerie, and the sun
is the dragon’s fire. And the more we fall apart,
the more beautiful we are.
There are so many mountains between us,
but it is not so far as I think.
See how your seeds, they’ve planted themselves
in my garden. I will nurture them until
the dragon comes again.
Yours,
Rosemerry
As Far As My Life Has Gotten Me
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aging, love, midlife, nature, poem, poetry, walking on October 21, 2012| 4 Comments »
Love says, ‘I am everything.’
Wisdom says, ‘I am nothing.’
Between these two my life flows.
–Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj
It is enough today
to walk. The road
is gravel. To the left,
dry fields. To the right,
dry grass and sage. Cottonwoods
line the wash. The time
was once when steeper
was better and faster
was the only way.
I was not happier then,
only faster. I still
throw my arms
up to the sky
and say here,
here I am, here I am.
My heart, seeing
the crow silhouetted
against the sun
still rises, nearly bursts
with strange joy.
Oh wings!
The old apple tree
beside the road
drops a misshapen apple
into my hand. Yellow
and tart, it is sweeter
than the bitterness of longing.
I eat it all.
Three in the Spirit of Izumi Shikibu
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, nature, poem, tanka on October 20, 2012| 4 Comments »
which is worse
to walk the aspen
knowing they will die
or to not walk
the aspen?
*
on the table
the shadow of smoke
from the candle
how many other ghosts
do I not see in this room?
*
which is better
loving you although
it hurts, or
well, there are, it seems
no other options
Bet God Is Laughing Tanka
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged god, holding on, poem, poetry, possibility, tanka on October 19, 2012| 2 Comments »
strange, even after
the door disappeared, jamb, too
I still stand
in the middle of openness
hands clasped around a knob
One Reason I Like to Go Outside
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged brokenness, nature, oneness, outside, poem, poetry, solace, unity on October 18, 2012| 2 Comments »
In the field
the ache of brokenness
is less.
Everything here
is broken.
Ground. Stems.
Sound.
I could bear
almost anything
I think
if I sit here long enough
alone
in tall dry grass
with the sun
slung low
and still warm
enough,
the wind
stirring the air
and carrying
my thoughts
some other where
till all that is left
is sky mind
and sky
a field
a winging shadow
passing through
my shadow.
Introduction to a Beautiful Website of International Women’s Sacred Poetry
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Catherine Ghosh, Cathy Casper, poem, poetry blog, spirituality, womenr on October 18, 2012| 5 Comments »
Through a beautiful spiraling of circumstances, I was led to Catherine Ghosh’s blog, Journey of the Heart, which celebrates what a poem can do–how it can bring us together and lead us toward the divine.
Thank you to my friend Cathy Casper and her brother and his friends who helped introduce me to this site …
One of my poems from a few weeks ago is featured there, today, with beautiful artwork and an introduction … thank Catherine, for your lovely work, for the ways you’re stirring the human heart!
http://womenspiritualpoetry.blogspot.com/2012/10/oh-world-i-love-you-by-rosemerry.html
Stillness, I Say I Want You
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged meditation, paradox, poem, poetry, silence, spirituality, stillness on October 17, 2012| 3 Comments »
Stillness, I say I want you.
Pond with no wrinkle. Hanging
leaf with no breeze. Mind with
no wheel of thought.
I say please teach me and then
rail against you. Squirm and reach
and whirl. In the quiet field,
I make of myself a wind.
In the silent blue room, I sing.
I climb the balcony with a tambourine
instead of sitting in the garden below.
Stillness, how I rub against you.
The heat builds the longer I sit.
I am sand paper against you. I am
bell. I am red. I am mint. Stillness,
the teachers say you are here
beneath the veils of do and must.
I listen and think I know what they mean.
I turn you into a thought. Stillness,
you leak through this carrying on.
Stillness, I wrestle myself till I sweat.
I shout your name, Stillness, as if
you were deaf. Stillness,
where are you? And where are you not?
The dawn and the night move with you.
I keep bumping against, what?
Oh Stillness, I’m laughing. There you
were in the question, but I went on
with my wondering, my want.
Inquiry
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, inquiry, light, poem, poetry, shadow, surrender on October 17, 2012| 2 Comments »
I have been living
closer to darkness
than I thought.
See how my shadow
is longer than the woman
who makes it. It moves
with me at the same pace,
every step.
I have tried to push back
the darkness. I have tried
to hold only light.
As if it were a war.
As if to be in darkness
were bad. And who is it
that is afraid of the dark?
And what would happen
if I let it swallow me whole?
I walk out into the night.
I look up. The light
on the corner gets in the way.
It is a long time
before I see the stars.
The Things We Do
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged confession, death, killing, mice, poem, poetry on October 15, 2012| 6 Comments »
It’s fall
and the mice
make their way
into the kitchen,
one time
five in a night.
They find
a hole
in the floor
beneath the sink
where the pipes
come up.
I do not know
if they are driven
by hunger
or warmth,
but I do know
how I hate
the sound
of the trap
as it snaps,
how cruel
it feels
to prefer
my comfort
over theirs.
I wonder
if it’s just
because they are small
that I can justify
the act.
I wonder
where the line is,
how big
would be
too big.
I force myself
to look
at their eyes
still bright
as I take them
out into
the night.
Five Upcoming Writing Workshops in Colorado … starting tomorrow in Mancos!
Posted in Uncategorized on October 15, 2012| 1 Comment »
Walking in Two Worlds at Once: A playshop that leaps between outer and inner realms
Mancos Library
October 16, 6:30 – 8:30 p.m.
FREE
Chink. Chink. That’s the sound of our hearts breaking open to show a bit of who we are. Ouch! And oh! In this workshop, we’ll explore how we—and the poems we write—can sometimes walk in two worlds at once: a sensual, physical world—the world of robinsong, blizzard, snakeskin and mud; and also a world of emotional memory, a world dedicated to meaning making—the world we inhabit when we dream, imagine and feel.
With play and practice, reading, writing and sharing, we’ll do a little balancing act of our own, leaping from the inner world to the glittering or glumsome details of the outer world and back again. And again. Bring your pen and paper, bring chocolate, bring your beating heart and your best friend, too. Most of all, bring your clear-witted awareness that we’re all walking on the edge of impermanence. Come to frolic with words and be willing to lose them, too.
contact Kate Kearns, kearnsiskate@gmail.com
*
Lost in Motherland: Writing to Discover Who We Are(n’t)
Wilkinson Public Library
October 27, 10-2
FREE
Motherhood changes things. Amidst the blessings and the challenges, we transform. As one mother put it, “With my first child, I lost my interests. With my second child, I lost my identity.” How do we lean into motherhood’s paradoxical blend of miracle and loss? Writing can help. As James Pennebroke writes in Opening Up, writing “clears the mind” and helps us “understand and reorient our complicated lives” and “helps keep our psychological compass oriented.”
In this four-hour program, local mothers and writers Ellen Marie Metrick and Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer lead other mothers in a writing practice that includes a lot more than just writing. What happens when we ask, “Who am I?” As Ramana Maharshi says, “The purpose of that question is not to find an answer but to dissolve the questioner.” What’s that supposed to mean? Come play.
Everyone welcome. No previous writing experience necessary. For those who have taken this workshop previously, the material will be all new. Registration is required. The program is free.
For More Information: Contact Paula, 970-728-4519.
*
Walking in Two Worlds at Once: A playshop that leaps between outer and inner realms
Brush, Colorado Morgan Community College
Nov. 9, 12-1:30
FREE
Chink. Chink. That’s the sound of our hearts breaking open to show a bit of who we are. Ouch! And oh! In this workshop, we’ll explore how we—and the poems we write—can sometimes walk in two worlds at once: a sensual, physical world—the world of robinsong, blizzard, snakeskin and mud; and also a world of emotional memory, a world dedicated to meaning making—the world we inhabit when we dream, imagine and feel.
With play and practice, reading, writing and sharing, we’ll do a little balancing act of our own, leaping from the inner world to the glittering or glumsome details of the outer world and back again. And again. Bring your pen and paper, bring chocolate, bring your beating heart and your best friend, too. Most of all, bring your clear-witted awareness that we’re all walking on the edge of impermanence. Come to frolic with words and be willing to lose them, too.
For more information, contact Rachel Kellem, 970.542.3203
*
The Weight of the Unknown: Writing from the unconstricted throat
November 10, 10 a.m. – 4 p.m.
Weehawken Arts, Ridgway
$85.00 for Weehawken Members and $93 for Non-Members
We live in a culture that wants to know—we chart, graph, test, outline, classify, name and judge. But what of all the messiness, mystery and unruly potential that breeds beneath our longing for certainty? What would happen when we engage, as Adrienne Rich writes, with “the weight of the unknown, the untracked, the unrealized?” In this workshop we’ll explore how we might draw strength from “the great muscle of metaphor,” launching our poems and ourselves into the vast realm of possibility.
In this workshop, we’ll read poems that lead us deeper into paradox and write our own explorations of what if and what else. Let’s see what even a small bit of wonder might do …
Call Weehawken Creative Arts at 970.318.0150 or visit Weehawken online at http://www.weehawkenarts.org for more information or to register.
Moving with the Muse: Yoga and Poetry Daylong Retreat
December 2
Grand Junction, CO
Details TBA … email wordwoman@mesa.net with questions
Four Fallings
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged god, love, poem, poetry, release, surrender, tanka on October 14, 2012| 2 Comments »
empty the trees
and thousands of lily bulbs
not yet bloomed—
in my heart
still spring
*
floating into the pond
the cottonwood leaves—
each one a boat
I would ride in
with you
*
for some things
it is too late, some nests
will never be built—
every hummingbird
is gone
*
I have wanted
to love you perfectly
petal after petal—
now I just want
to love you