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Archive for April, 2016

Secure

 

 

 

Just trying to keep things safe,

this innocent, valiant inner mason

who built this stone fortress

to protect me from the vicious wind—

of course there are no windows,

no doors.

That’s how a breeze might come in.

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One Beautiful Madness

 

 

 

just past the cliff edge

where land yields to infinite air—

spreading our picnic blanket there

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Ritual

 

 

We should have each other to tea, huh? We should have each other with cream.

“Lovecats,” The Cure

 

 

Perhaps you don’t like tea.

Perhaps you don’t like cream.

It’s not what’s in the cup that matters,

though of course there’s the lovely

unfurling of leaves and the way

that the water accepts what

it’s been given. But no.

It’s not about the tea.

It’s the ritual of the pouring that matters.

It’s the sharing from a single pot

and the all that is said and

the all that is seen as we sip.

We can fill the pot with water.

We can fill the pot with wine.

All that really matters is

that we take the time to sit

together and slowly drink—

we, two separate beings who

are choosing at the same time

to accept the same thing into ourselves.

It’s a little bit like love.

 

 

 

 

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What would a painting sound like? Come find out at the Ars Nova Singers presentation of Shared Visions this weekend in Denver and Boulder (I will be at the Boulder concert on April 30). They invited Colorado artists to submit work. Then poets responded. Four composers chose four poems (one was mine!–the composer for my piece is Paul Fowler, music chair at Naropa, and the artist is Wewer Keohane, an amazing artist from Carbondale). I am so excited to hear the result! I hope you’ll join me! What a fabulous, collaborative process!

You can read more about the artists, the project, the concerts, and the ticket sales here: Shared Visions

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Three Answered Prayers

 

 

 

in the beginning

before the word

the silence

 

*

 

walking the other

direction it’s so obvious,

that waterfall we missed

 

*

 

in my pocket

this laughter—all day

I pat it to check if it’s still there

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One Entering

in the breath, a back door,

in the door, a lock, in the lock

a catch, in the catch, your name

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What Doesn’t Work

 

 

And so when his bridge was destroyed by the sea,

Xerxes I had the sea whipped. Three hundred lashes.

He branded the water with red-hot irons

and ordered his soldiers to shout at the strait.

 

I have tried to lash these errant thoughts,

have wanted to whip them to keep them in line.

I have wanted to make my mind eat soap,

have tried to force it to sit in the corner.

 

But the sea cared nothing about the lashes,

just as the mind is nonplussed by the soap.

The sea laps its tongues against my frustration.

Salt gets into my eyes, my beliefs, my throat.

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One Perennial

 

 

 

singing harmony

with the melody missing—

lotus, no water

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On An April Evening

 

 

 

The creek is rising, love,

all surge and plunge,

a rapid, eager coursing—

do you see how the water

surges, falls over itself

in its springborn hurry—

all around us, ahh, do you hear?

the world is a-scurry

with reachings and rushings

and places to go,

and in me this wish

to do nothing but

touch you very,

very, very

slow

ly.

 

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Two Marvelings

 

 

 

just another full moon rise—

is it any wonder

I can’t stop bowing?

 

*

 

how, I said,

to the river bed

do you make

of yourself a home?

I let the flow shape me,

the river bed said—

flood, current,

shimmer, stone

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