Posted in Uncategorized, tagged chamisa, loss of separate self, poem, poetry, rabbit brush on October 22, 2018| 2 Comments »
And all at once the field
turns white with froth
as yellow tubes
of chamisa blooms
are lost, their perfect
composition giving way
to lathered dross.
The soul takes note—
considers how all patterns
come to naught
before rebuilding.
Some part of us resists.
Some part can’t wait
to lose its shape
and weave itself into
the larger cloth.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged baseball, death, life, poem, poetry on October 21, 2018| Leave a Comment »
between the tears,
a curve ball of joy—
life takes a victory lap
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged continuing, generosity, kindness, poem, poetry on October 19, 2018| 4 Comments »
Kindness is invincible.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 11.18.ix
And though I barely know her,
she met me on the street to give me
a small bottle of perfume. Scent of rose,
amber, white musk, scent of friendship
just beginning, scent of how we might choose
to meet each other—with the wisdom
of blossoms, opening. Already
I’m dreaming of ways to continue
her mischievous generosity,
imagining how each act will carry
a hint of citrus, rose, precious wood.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, conspiracy, joy, peace, poem, poetry, unity on October 18, 2018| 4 Comments »
You are warmly invited to join our conspiracy of joy,
a growing cabal of strangers and friends who collude
to create delight, who initiate random acts of bliss, who
scheme of ways to help all others find authentic jubilance,
who tear down walls that would separate us and them.
If you enjoy such subterfuge, there certainly is room
for you. To be clear, you may be charged with pleasure,
ecstasy, and truth. Next meeting, now. And now. And now
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, kite, poem, poetry on October 18, 2018| 3 Comments »
I need nothing more today
than a bit of string—not
to hold things together, no,
but to wrap around my wrist
and touch each time I need
to remember to be kind.
Which is all day. The trick
is remembering to touch it,
remembering the invitation
to choose what is kind.
A fierce wind blows.
All day, I imagine I am kite,
that I am the one who holds
it on a slender string,
the one who eventually lets it go.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged horse, love, poem, poetry on October 16, 2018| Leave a Comment »
all four legs midair
the horse thrusts forward—
loving you like that
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, beauty, busy, gratitude, paying attention on October 15, 2018| 2 Comments »
Today I woke in the dark and was busy
making lunches during the sunrise,
though surely it happened. And I drove
in the low morning light along
the San Miguel River for half an hour,
not once noticing the color of the water,
the scent on the banks, though past
experience leads me to believe
that there were thousands, millions,
of tiny beautiful miracles happening
there in that half hour alone. How much
beauty is lost on me every day, every moment?
Though as I stepped out of the car
to walk into work, I saw, stuck to my boot, one
brilliant orange aspen leaf outlined in gold,
and for a whole minute, I stared at it,
marveled at its symmetrical veins,
its delicate stem, the astonishing intricacy
of its edges. How easily gloriousness finds us, sticks
to us even. How wholly available, this art
of meeting the glittering, luminous world.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged change, Danny Rosen, geology, isostasy, poem, poetry on October 14, 2018| Leave a Comment »
Danny says the continent is rising,
it rises as the glaciers melt, it’s rising
for the last ten thousand years.
How slowly things change, invisibly
until the time we cannot recognize
the world we thought we knew.
How slowly things change, beyond
our ability to measure, but they do, love,
the crust now floating above the mantle.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged junior high, nordic skiing, poem, poetry, unpopular on October 14, 2018| 1 Comment »
Fully commit your weight to one foot.
Every skate skier knows this. To trust
the ski. To trust the snow. To trust the inner
balancer that will not let us fall.
The commitment allows us to glide,
to fly, to find bright wings inside our weight.
And sometimes we fall.
And though it’s been years since I had to change
into the blue gym shorts and white shirt,
sometimes when I fall I remember all my fallings,
and a sharp voice returns, You can’t do this,
it says. It dredges up decades
of shame, of dropping the ball, missing
the hit, not making the catch, letting down
the team. You’re no good, says the voice
that recalls what it’s like to be the last one
picked in junior high p.e., how I stared
at the floor, at the far away ceiling.
You’re weak, says the voice, but here
amongst the aspen and spruce,
there is no one to let down, but me,
so I untangle the skis and the poles
and rise and breathe and fully commit
my weight to one foot. And glide.
And fly. Become wing. First one foot.
And then the other.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged holding on, poem, poetry, revelation, unknowing, words on October 12, 2018| 1 Comment »
Perhaps when we don’t know what to say
we have at last arrived at the one true thing—
and in our thrill to share it with words, dilute it.
It is like the seed, perhaps, that in sprouting
at last understands its purpose, only
now it is no longer a seed.
How easy it is to lose revelation.
Not that it is ever gone—more that it
drops its petals, and we are left
holding an empty stem, trying
to remember how beautiful it was,
failing to see how beautiful it is.