that old crow,
perhaps he spoke first
with you
*
removing the clothes
from my thoughts—someone
left the gate open
*
out the window
I see only where the cottonwood
does not stand
*
dew on my song
have I really been singing
this long?
Archive for August, 2013
Four Continuations
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged absence, continuing, poem, poetry, presence on August 31, 2013| 1 Comment »
Chicken Little Draws a Self-Portrait
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged chicken little, poem, poetry, seeing the world anew, self-portrait, sky, transformation on August 30, 2013| 1 Comment »
Of course there’s the sky,
puddles of blue and
and mounds of white clouds
all around Chicken Little’s
scaly orange feet.
It occurs to him
only then, as he draws
his own ineffective wings
that perhaps the sky
is not falling at all.
Perhaps he is, at last,
learning a new way to fly.
Like Today
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, fence, losing the self, love, poem on August 29, 2013| 1 Comment »
Sometimes the fences
of our thoughts fall down
and in that open meadow,
we know ourselves as each other.
In these moments,
we are overcome by tenderness,
and it is impossible to imagine
anything but love.
Any positions we had,
any delusions of me versus you
any stances of defensiveness or blame
evaporate. In those moments,
we give our everything to each other,
and there is no difference between
pain and joy and fear and courage—
it is all one immense feeling
that moves through us just as wind
moves through blades of grass
all waving as one immense field.
In these moments, which are perhaps
equally forever and now,
there is nothing to figure out,
nothing to plan, nothing to build
and nothing to learn. Though when
the fences are up, it’s almost impossible
to imagine it could ever be like this.
so impossible to imagine not staking in
just one more post, just one more rail.
One More Escape
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged freedom, love, poem on August 28, 2013| 1 Comment »
I made a cage
out of my story—
love bent the bars
I Do Tanka
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hurt, memory, poem, poetry, tears on August 27, 2013| 1 Comment »
I wonder
if you remember which wound
you poured it in,
the salt
in these tears
Three Escapes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged losing the self, poem, poetry, tanka on August 26, 2013| 3 Comments »
for years
I have tried to lock
you out
not seeing that instead
I locked myself in
*
mom, he says,
do you ever think how great
it would be
to become water
going everywhere
*
standing
in the sunflowers
my whole body
practices
being sunflower
Late
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, growing, love, poem, poetry on August 25, 2013| 1 Comment »
Already the feet of the rabbit are white.
The river runs low in its rocky bed.
And though the season for growing is done,
there is still much to be planted.
Some things, love, are better begun
when its darker and heading toward cold.
We will not see the flowers that grow
from these roots for a long, long time,
chance is never, I suppose. But that is no
reason not to put our hands in the dirt,
to sow and sow again. When we are quiet,
I hear the river crossing the stones. When we are quiet,
I swear I can almost hear the sound
of roots as they stretch toward a deeping dark.
Because I Thought I Knew What It Should Look Like
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged growth, love, patience, perspective, poem, poetry, rose on August 25, 2013| 1 Comment »
I grieved
that the rose had stopped blooming
when in fact
it was opening
only very, very, very slowly
At the Border
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, no trespassing sign, poem, poetry on August 25, 2013| 1 Comment »
There it was, propped up
against my heart,
the No Trespassing sign.
I forgot I had posted it
until today when I found it
by accident really, while wandering
in a place I’ve neglected
for a long, long time. Though
it was rust stained and crooked,
the message was clear.
I was surprised to find it here.
Though after, it made more sense
why you have not come closer,
as I’ve wished you would.
It’s gone now, darling. The sign
with its capital letters
and day glo warning. Nothing left
but the holes where nails were.
I know it is easier to notice
when something is added
than it is to notice when something
is taken away. That’s why
I mention it. In case you were
blinking. In case it is not too late.
love haiku
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged haiku, humility, love, poem on August 22, 2013| 3 Comments »
you the ocean
I keep trying to measure
with my tea cup
Inc Lak Keig
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged humanity, i am the other you, kindness, poetry on August 20, 2013| 2 Comments »
A woman walks down the street.
It does not matter her name,
the color of her hair, her age,
or how she votes. What matters
is if you would go help her rise
when she trips and twists her ankle.
What matters is if you look openly
into her eyes when she is seeking yours.
What matters is if you see how she,
like you, is holding onto something dead
and has not quite yet managed to let
it go. There are cultures where people
greet each other, strangers and lovers,
by saying, I am the other you.
What matters is if, when you see the woman
walking on the street, you believe this is true.
Three Rivulets
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, rivers, short poems, water on August 19, 2013| 2 Comments »
foolish woman
writing these poems
as if the word water
could quench a thirst
as if the word love
*
river of joy
river of sorrow
they become one water
*
for two billion years
the amount of water on earth
has remained the same
how to explain
all these tears
Eight Unhingings
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged doors, forgiveness, god, poem, poetry, self on August 18, 2013| 3 Comments »
I begged God,
enter me, God said, yes darling
you bolted the door
*
all this time searching
for a door, not seeing the door
inside me
*
knock knock
who’s there? you are.
you are who?
*
slipping this love letter
under the narrow gap
of the wrong door
*
god in the bolt,
god in the door, god
in the hand that bolts
*
standing
on my own welcome mat
roses in hand
*
knock knock
who’s there? forgive.
forgive who?
*
unbolting the door
only to notice the walls
were already gone
Five Humannesses
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged haiku, humanness, love, poem on August 17, 2013| 1 Comment »
holding three flowers
thinking only of the fourth
that lost its petals
*
valentines
in August, a heart-shaped
hole in the night
*
unfolding memories
trying to read through
the creases, the tears
*
staring at the aspen
all those living scars
so beautiful
*
another hole, another
hole, my wounds make it lovelier
this music
Driving Away
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, goodbye, light, short poem on August 17, 2013| 2 Comments »
not just the light
though that, too, how it bloomed
across the green lawn
but also her waving hands
so empty, so full of light
It’s Laughable
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bolete, life, mushroom, poem on August 14, 2013| 1 Comment »
So easy sometimes
to forget how to be alive,
and then, walking the edges
of the spruce forest,
we come across in the duff
not just the brown cap
of boletus edulis but
that whatever it is
that we have forgotten,
simple and humble and miraculous,
it was there all along,
not really hiding,
just waiting for us
to find it.
Metempsychosis
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, poetry, sustainability, tree on August 14, 2013| 5 Comments »
Here in the garden
the trees do what trees do—
they do not grow beyond
their ability to support themselves.
In the top of this weeping birch,
the branches are leafless and dead.
They will never grow again,
nor will the tree replace them.
I think of all the ways we try
to heal ourselves, each other.
All the ways we go back to the pain
of the past as if it has some answers.
What if we could let them die, those thoughts,
those wounded ideas of how it should have been,
let them turn brittle and gray, and when
they have lost their weight, let them fall away.
I see how the breeze moves through the leaves
that remain, how green they are, how alive.
On the Shores of Lake Pewaukee
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged childhood, distance, Pewaukee, poem, poetry, sisters and brothers on August 14, 2013| 4 Comments »
Sitting beneath the weeping willow,
what did we know then of distance?
Everything was close then—
the Five-and-Dime, just a few blocks away,
where we could buy a roll of Necco wafers
for just ten cents and share them under the tree.
The great strings of leaves hanging about us,
a canopy, a room of green, a world where we could hide,
though there was nothing much to hide from.
Remember how we, even with our fingertips touching,
could not hug even half the tree, our cheeks
pressed into the thick gray bark in an effort to span something great.
There were days we would slip ourselves into the low split
in the enormous trunk and not come out for hours.
We would pull back the bark to where the trunk was smooth,
a warm brown, and there on the underside of the bark,
we uncovered the curvy carvings of beetles or worms.
We thought they were treasure maps, and spent days
deciphering the strange markings. Oh my brother,
those days were the treasure.
The lines to you now are long curves on a map
that stretches east from the Rockies to the Great Lakes.
I am reaching these grown up arms toward you
in an effort to span something great.
What did we know then of distance,
those green summer days?