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


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


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

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


distant coyote—
the heart doesn’t howl
alone tonight


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


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


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


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


after the conversation
there is only
after the conversation


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


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


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


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

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making up songs

as I set up the tent—

or a song making up me?




beside the lake

rowing the memory

of a blue boat




bald eagle dives into the lake

then rises quickly

in its beak, a heavy poem




sitting with a blade of grass

until it reads me a story—

once upon this morning




laughter in darkness—

this, too,

a kind of campfire




hiking through ponderosa

a subplot wonders

if it could become the main story




cold, clear night—

spiking my tea

with Cassiopeia




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




clear night

inside the tent

raining by dawn




beside the campfire

singing an old song

no one else knows




night so quiet

I hear the river roaring

inside my thoughts




the world so itself

and inside me

the blessing of blessings




even a crow

can be trained to talk—

come, hurt, find your words




everywhere we step

a ring of mushrooms—

oh if a path could laugh




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




finally dipping my toe

in the lap lane, already

I dream of the finish line




a bucket of anything

is best drunk a sip at a time—

even bliss




news from the heart—

it knows how to heal

its own holes




resolving to treat

all my concerns as poems—

now doubt, too, is beautiful




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




riding the single track

so easy to be nothing but

riding the single track




letting the crickets

choose a key, harmonizing

a lullaby to myself




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




in the hot springs—

letting myself soak until all I am

is a woman in the hot springs



raindrops on the tent—

I practice how to whisper love

in rain language




earwigs in the sleeping bags—

there is nothing nothing

good about this




bribing my daughter

with ice cream to hike—

each step a victory




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





whatever a partial moon means—

cradling it in my hands

to give to you




inviting Audrey Hepburn

for pancakes and tea—

she arrives with two tiaras




familiar path—

a year later

this new woman walks it




it takes four days

before my hands open enough

to let in the world




riding our bikes

on the old dirt road—

baptized in scent of pine




sitting on a rock

long enough

no one feels like an enemy




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




asking a question

I don’t want answered—

earwigs under the tarp




waking to rain

on the tent—

no rainbows at 2 a.m.




give me a day

not measured in hours—

splash, spoke, step, flame, song

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