Not flame, not ice
not locust swarm,
not volcanic ash,
not avian flu
nor nuclear war
not by meteor crash,
oh, our world will end
my love, my friend
in days or ages hence
not by rage nor plague
nor greenhouse gas
but our indifference.
Archive for October, 2013
At the Root
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apocalypse, fire and ice, frost, indifference, poem, poetry on October 13, 2013| 1 Comment »
This Is Not a Test
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apocalypse, chores, end of the world, poem, poetry on October 13, 2013| 1 Comment »
The stars will not
appear tonight.
The plums will not
release their pink plum scent
when their thick dark skin
is broken. The grass will need
not be mowed tonight,
nor the lamb’s quarters pulled
from the garden. The birds
will not require shushing
tonight as the baby needs not
be cradled to sleep. And I
shall not kiss your lips tonight,
nor straighten your rumpled collar.
And the paint on the wall
will not need repainting.
The car need not be waxed.
No one will be here
to mourn or to cheer,
or to say that it happened at all.
A Short History of Humanity
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged action verb, history, humanity, poem, poetry on October 10, 2013| 1 Comment »
want
wreak
begin
leak
kill
make
swallow
break
climb
wait
chance
create
hold
hope
foil
choke
will
feast
lie
cease
argue
shame
try
again
Eight Lost and Founds
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, found, loss, poetry, short poem on October 9, 2013| 1 Comment »
one cold night
everything gold
is brown
*
where, I say, is the bliss?
nowhere, says Ulli, until
it’s inside of you
*
lost: a car key,
a credit card, a friend’s coat,
my certainty
*
two untied balloons
one glorious
sky
*
humming a tune
about October, how it goes,
October goes
*
brown, brown, brown, brown, brown,
countless unnamed shades
of (oh!) brown
*
found: another question,
a car key, a credit card,
a friend’s coat, a loss
*
to the one missing it
that much sweeter
the scent of rain
Rosemerry Meets Her Psoas
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, poem, poetry, psoas, release, surrender, Tim Lafferty on October 8, 2013| 3 Comments »
Noticing the space around people and things provides a different way of looking at them, and developing this spacious view is a way of opening oneself. When one has a spacious mind, there is room for everything. When one has a narrow mind, there is room for only a few things.
—Ajahn Sumedho, “Noticing Space,” Tricycle Magazine
Never mind that she didn’t know
how to spell it. Never mind she didn’t
know where it was. Never mind
she had never once given it a thought.
Rosemerry’s psoas was aware of her. Buried in her body,
engaged in its habitual patterns of holding on,
the psoas had not heard about how
fine she was doing, how relaxed she
she was, how she was learning more
each day about the art of letting go.
The psoas was not in any hurry. The psoas
let her believe whatever it was she wanted
to believe about her posture, her flexibility,
her strength. And when Rosemerry finally
did meet her psoas, it was a very quiet invitation.
She had thought she was on a date
with her ischial tuberosities, or perhaps
with her left adductor, her left hamstring,
or her left knee. But there, beneath her awareness,
patient and persevering, the muscle waited
in silent revolution. It’s all subtle until it is not.
The burn of it, the gasp of it, the unlayering
of pain. The red of it, she nearly panted,
the wilting of her bravery. And oh, the space
left in her then, how lying on the table
she felt how she was being breathed
and for one moment glimpsed, not with dread,
but with gratitude, a little hint of just how much
deeper she might go.
*with thanks to Tim Lafferty
Rich Beyond Wishing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ee cummings, freedom, poem, poetry, unknowing on October 7, 2013| 7 Comments »
(though love be a day
and life be nothing,
it shall not stop kissing)
–e. e. cummings, Thy Fingers Make Early Flowers
Make me then a flower
that is unashamed of blooming.
And make me a river undammed.
Make me a leaf that surrenders to death
but surrenders even more in life.
And make me a dawn that keeps
unfolding, a book that has no last chapter,
a phone that rings only love.
Paint me rose and then unpaint me.
Make me the door that forgets
how to latch, and just in case,
make me the skeleton key.
Make me a black wing that gathers
the light and gathers the wind,
and make me the light as it breaks on the wing
and make me the homeless wind.
How to Get Signed Copies of Some Incredible Books
Posted in Uncategorized on October 7, 2013| Leave a Comment »
A great way to support writers on Colorado’s Western Slope would be to buy a book in this great Kickstarter Campaign. Proceeds go to Western Colorado Writer’s Forum, which will host the Language of the Fantastic festival next weekend in Grand Junction. I just bought Jack Mueller’s most recent book … which I would have bought anyway, but this way I get to support one of my favorite writer’s organizations at the same time.
Check it out!
Post Script
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breaking, community, fragile, poem, poetry on October 6, 2013| 1 Comment »
Fragile, said the stamp
in dark black ink imprinted
on the cardboard box.
The bottom of the F
was not quite dark enough
to read, but there was no mistaking
the message. Things break.
All day, I imagine
the word invisibly stamped
on everything I see. Fragile
on the aspen trees and Fragile
on the chopping board and Fragile
on my daughter and the woman
I sit next to in the pool.
The red-tailed hawk. The cantaloupe.
The plastic bag. The lawn.
In the mirror, I see the word
in all caps on my cheeks. I remember
that afternoon in the car when
I wept and told my friend that I was breaking.
Open, she said, not down.
There is no shame in breaking.
Still, this chance to treat the world
with tenderness, as if the day
itself relies on how we hold it.
If You Are Lonely
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, loneliness, poem, poetry, raspberry on October 6, 2013| 2 Comments »
In early October, after the frost,
but before the long white weight of snow,
wade waist-deep in the raspberry thicket,
when the air is cold and the sun is low
and there is yet gold on the mesa’s hills,
all glitter and tremble and shine, and hiding
beneath the still green leaves are swollen red berries,
few enough that to find one feels like earning a prize,
but abundant enough to lure you deeper in,
despite the brambles, the snags on your sweater,
the scratches into your hands. There is no way
to be anywhere but here. The day moves no faster
than shadows can grow and hunger is a thing
that can be sated. The light meets you
exactly where you are and gives itself to you
and asks nothing in return.
And What Is It that Fuels the One Who Thinks She Is Thinking
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged auxin, letting go, plant cell, poem, poetry, unknowing, wanting on October 4, 2013| 1 Comment »
On the spiritual path, there’s nothing to get, and everything to get rid of. Obviously, the first thing to let go of is trying to ‘get’ love, and instead to give it. That’s the secret of the spiritual path. How can we give ourselves? By not holding back. By not wanting for ourselves. If we want to be loved, we are looking for a support system. If we want to love, we are looking for spiritual growth.
– Ayya Khema, “What Love Is,” Tricycle Magazine
Forgive me for wanting, dear.
I have wanted so much. Your eyes,
for instance. Your hands. Your arms.
Your thoughts. I have wanted your name.
Your time. Your words. I have wanted
your now. Your yes. Your forgiveness.
Yesterday I read about dying wood cells,
how they dissolve themselves as they die,
leaving their cellulose walls as infinitesimal
tubes in the stems and veins of the leaves.
And water pushes through the tubes
and nourishes the plant. It’s elegant,
this dying, this giving at the end.
There’s more. The dying cells
in fact release a hormone that fuels new growth.
And the growth leads to death, and death
leads to growth and on and on it goes.
What I’m saying is what if thoughts are like plant cells,
and as they die, they leave more space.
And what we once thought we knew for certain
becomes an empty frame. And the new thoughts
flow in like water and become us as we grow.
Thoughts such as there is nothing to get
and everything to let go.