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Posts Tagged ‘camping’

Let me remember this night
dancing in the deep woods—
the patio our stage
the stars like sequins
the full moon a spotlight
and every song a love song
when sung with love
and my god, did we sing,
after all that talk of heartache,
yes, until our voices were near gone,
did we sing.

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I was once
a mountain
—the sand

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red hands on the cave wall—
asking my own palms
what mark will you make?

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lying on the earth
shivering beneath the stars—
all night knowing where I am

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stomping bull of doubt—
a blue butterfly
lands on its nose

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distant coyote—
the heart doesn’t howl
alone tonight

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delighted by pot shards—
could I find my own brokenness
so precious?

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the seaweed, the pink hibiscus
inviting the self
to fall in love with both

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when all the hearts wants
is a hole in one—
bogey after bogey

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slipping into the ocean of love—
how did I ever believe
it was a puddle

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after the conversation
there is only
after the conversation

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holding my father’s hand—
a low sun lighting
the whole ocean

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rumors of big sharks
swim circles around
my mother and I in the channel

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all this talk of sharing
our most vulnerable parts—
sunburn on my belly

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on the airplane home—
hearing in the whir of ventilation
the waves of the ocean

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IMG_6255

 

making up songs

as I set up the tent—

or a song making up me?

 

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beside the lake

rowing the memory

of a blue boat

 

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bald eagle dives into the lake

then rises quickly

in its beak, a heavy poem

 

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sitting with a blade of grass

until it reads me a story—

once upon this morning

 

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laughter in darkness—

this, too,

a kind of campfire

 

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hiking through ponderosa

a subplot wonders

if it could become the main story

 

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cold, clear night—

spiking my tea

with Cassiopeia

 

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third morning camping—

waking up in a chapter

written before this one

 

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watching the mama moose

wade in the shallow lake—

remembering to breathe

 

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clear night

inside the tent

raining by dawn

 

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beside the campfire

singing an old song

no one else knows

 

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night so quiet

I hear the river roaring

inside my thoughts

 

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the world so itself

and inside me

the blessing of blessings

 

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even a crow

can be trained to talk—

come, hurt, find your words

 

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everywhere we step

a ring of mushrooms—

oh if a path could laugh

 

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eating wild strawberries—

the heart, too, is accustomed

to bliss in small bites

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I ask the earth

please, a little more time?

it spins on, spins on

 

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finally dipping my toe

in the lap lane, already

I dream of the finish line

 

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a bucket of anything

is best drunk a sip at a time—

even bliss

 

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news from the heart—

it knows how to heal

its own holes

 

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resolving to treat

all my concerns as poems—

now doubt, too, is beautiful

 

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packing up the tent—

if only all habits could be folded,

bagged, stowed away

 

 

 

 

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(somehow leaving out the trip to Urgent Care, the lost bicycle wheel, the dead car battery, the mangled sun shade, the flood … )

 

 

turned into an orange kite

the tent tangles in pinyon—

hello Motel 6

 

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riding the single track

so easy to be nothing but

riding the single track

 

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letting the crickets

choose a key, harmonizing

a lullaby to myself

 

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that squawking bird

with its one note song—

still, it sings, it sings

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eating wild plums—

the back of the mouth rucks

the lips quiver for more

 

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in the hot springs—

letting myself soak until all I am

is a woman in the hot springs

 

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raindrops on the tent—

I practice how to whisper love

in rain language

 

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earwigs in the sleeping bags—

there is nothing nothing

good about this

 

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bribing my daughter

with ice cream to hike—

each step a victory

 

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apricots so perfectly

apricot, I clap as I taste them—

longing to be that true

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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hello friends, back from a glorious few days of being unplugged … here are a few poems from the last five days. 

 

 

 

falling asleep beside the stream

it carries away

the day, the years

 

 

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whatever a partial moon means—

cradling it in my hands

to give to you

 

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inviting Audrey Hepburn

for pancakes and tea—

she arrives with two tiaras

 

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familiar path—

a year later

this new woman walks it

 

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it takes four days

before my hands open enough

to let in the world

 

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riding our bikes

on the old dirt road—

baptized in scent of pine

 

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sitting on a rock

long enough

no one feels like an enemy

 

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beside the path

one ripe wild raspberry—

walking through its door

 

 

 

 

 

 

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darkening sky—

packing up the tent

and driving straight toward the rain

 

 

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camping at the edge

of the river, all night

I dream of thirst

 

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asking a question

I don’t want answered—

earwigs under the tarp

 

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waking to rain

on the tent—

no rainbows at 2 a.m.

 

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give me a day

not measured in hours—

splash, spoke, step, flame, song

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