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Archive for May, 2016

Said the Traveler

 

 

 

throwing it away,

that old map toward happiness,

choosing instead

to let my feet wander

whichever way they wander,

each step

an invitation

to arrive

 

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Rewrite the first chapter,

the one in which someone else

starts to tell your story.

Notice how when you erase it,

all the chapters after it

go blank. Fields of blank pages.

Skies of blank pages. Blank minutes,

blank days, blank years. Listen

for what’s left of your story—

nothing. Miss your friends.

Miss your mom. Miss your old house

and your problems. Go back

to chapter one. Rewrite it exactly

as it was written, but keep

the pen in your hand. You want

to be in charge of the story

from here on in.

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How It Feels

 

 

 

Remember that day

when you felt as if

there were two sumo wrestlers

inside your gut? Remember

how they whumped and slammed

each other and your whole body

felt bruised with their weight?

That was the day you said

you would never let yourself

be small ever again. But

here you are, considering

how to cut off your limbs

to fit into someone else’s box.

It’s no mistake you are here.

There is more to learn

and unlearn about who you are

and who you are becoming.

Those sumo wrestlers, they’ll

get tired and when they do,

offer them tea in very small cups.

Ask them where they’ve been so long.

Cheer them on when they finish their sipping,

when they start to fight again

making in you more space

than you’ve ever felt inside before.

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For Her to Find

 

 

 

She watches the window waiting

for the owl to arrive with a letter

in its beak with her name on it,

or perhaps for a faun to show up

in plain clothes and escort her

to the gates of Camp Half Blood

where she might be claimed

as the daughter of Aphrodite.

Oh how she prays for any

formal invitation to a place

where she would discover she is something

more than just a normal girl

with normal talents and a normal

life. I don’t tell her that there

are invitations even now

for her to discover her true nature—

in the pond, on the trunk of the cottonwood,

in the river rocks, in the moss—

all of them magic, just waiting

for her to open them.

 

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Every morning when I was a girl

my mother would wake me

with song, the same lilting lyric

every dawn,

 

It’s going to be such a lovely day,

good morning, good morning I say.

 

It sounds too grand

to call it ceremony,

and she would have appeared

an unlikely celebrant

in her bathrobe and slippers,

but she infused

this daily ritual with prayer

 

and to this day I wake

certain that the world

will have beauty in it

and certain that I will find it—

this the most beautiful gift

any mother could give.

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before I push

the dark seeds into the dirt,

preparing the dirt

 

*

 

waiting

for a beginning—

roomfuls of gold

 

*

 

patience

I say to the empty vase

my heart

 

 

 

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Beyond Wishing

 

 

 

And when there is fear,

then let us be flowers

unashamed of our blooming,

and let us be rivers undammed.

And when there is loss,

then let us be leaves that surrender to death

and give even more in life.

And when there is ache,

let’s unfold like dawn in layers

and layers of ripening pink,

let’s be bells

that ring only love.

And when there is sorrow,

let us be dark wings

that gather the light,

and let us be the light.

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Dear Poetry Friends,

Last week I was so thrilled and honored and humbled to be a part of the the Ars Nova Singers’ Shared Visions program, a collaboration of artists, poets, composers, a conductor and a fabulously talented choir. Here is a link to a review of the concert posted today in The Scene.

I felt so wildly lucky to be linked with artist Wewer Keohane of Carbondale, composer Paul Fowler who is chair of the music department at Naropa, and Tom Morgan, who founded and directs Ars Nova–and then all those dedicated singers.

With the performance, I felt as if I knew the poem, “Yet Another Layer,” in a wholly, holy new way. I felt, indeed, unveiled and full of wonderment and wondering. 

Why not consider a collaboration of your own–find a friend, or perhaps a stranger who will become your friend, and see what you might create together.

 

 

 

 

 

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One Conversation

 

 

said with tenderness

even the most alarming words

contain sweetness—

clear drops of rain

on the thistle

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Fruitful

 

 

 

today the heart

is a golden field with no edges

abundant with grain

and here in the center

a scarecrow

with open arms

croons to the birds,

the farmer, the mice,

come on, there’s plenty,

plenty for all

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