Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gardening, patience, poem, poetry, work on June 19, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Push again the small dried peas
one inch into the earth. The gaps
in the rows where they did not grow,
do not take these personally.
Not everything comes to fruition,
but that is no reason to stop planting.
In fact there is every reason to believe
that not so long from now
the sweet green song of fresh sweet peas
will serenade your impatient tongue
if only your hands keep doing their work.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged heron, patience, poem, poetry, slow on February 27, 2016| 2 Comments »
blue heron
in the tree top—
this quickening heart
*
I draw for myself
a new starting line—
on your open palm
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, drought, giving, patience, poem, poetry, rain on May 26, 2015| 5 Comments »
It is not only that the desert longs for water.
Of course the water longs for desert, too.
Any raindrop can fall and get lost in an ocean,
but to fall where it’s parched, where just
the smallest amount of wet can launch a hundred
hundred blooms, can set ten thousand thousand
seeds into frothy flight, oh. Now that is something
worth falling for. No imaginary desert. The real thing,
all prickle and spine and thorn and barb.
And the petals after. The heat can spend months
holding off just the briefest sprinkle. But then
no one said it was going to be easy, this going
where we’re needed most. Patience is the marriage
of sweetness and sting. To bring life one must also be alive.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged becoming, forgiveness, patience, poem, poetry on March 6, 2015| 3 Comments »
waiting for forgiveness
as if it were a train
and the rails are long gone
*
my heart an apple blossom
afraid it doesn’t know
how to become apple
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alium, patience, poem, poetry, spring on May 29, 2014| 1 Comment »
begging the alium
to open faster—nope,
weeks of foreplay it is …
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged collaboration, Matt Hayes, patience, poem, poetry on February 20, 2014| 1 Comment »
a collaborative poem written with Matt Hayes
The poet says there is no hurry.
Time has wasted its soul.
I thought I knew what time was,
a constellation out of space.
We are the constellation
destitute of truth.
I thought I knew what truth was,
but mind and heart cannot contain,
the cage breaks, the bird forgets it has wings,
it drowns in the emptiness of space.
I thought I knew what space was,
but comets gain.
We are the comets,
the goodness of space.
There is no hurry.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged anticipation, love, national wine day, patience, poem, poetry, sauvignon blanc, syrah on February 18, 2014| 2 Comments »
that just happens to be National Wine Day
Again I sip the syrah,
all smoky and black cherryish
and try not to wish
it were sauvignon blanc
all pucker and grass.
But no. Each sip suggests
dark violet. Black hue.
And each sip I think,
well, it’s nice, but
oh for a hint of grapefruit,
nettle, passion fruit.
But the syrah is like
a lover who stands
in the center of the room
and slowly unzips his pants,
then waits. He knows
that thirst is a fact.
He’s ready now, but
the rising heat doesn’t
bother him at all.
He is not in any hurry.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged growth, love, patience, perspective, poem, poetry, rose on August 25, 2013| 1 Comment »
I grieved
that the rose had stopped blooming
when in fact
it was opening
only very, very, very slowly
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged buddhism, patience, persona, poem, poetry, sarcasm, suffering on November 29, 2012| 4 Comments »
We should be especially grateful for having to deal with annoying people and difficult situations, because without them we would have nothing to work with. Without them, how could we practice patience, exertion, mindfulness, loving-kindness or compassion? It is by dealing with such challenges that we grow and develop.
—Judy Lief, “Train Your Mind: Be Grateful to Everyone”
See how lucky you are
that I’ve brought you
these baskets of woe.
It is your blessing
that I am stubborn,
that I cannot fix
my own car, that
I would rather write poems
than sweep or dust.
That habit I have
of interrupting you,
that is your benefit.
My aversion to bathing,
your good fortune.
How else would you grow
if I did not break your heart?
But it is not to annoy you
that I am myself. Nor is it
malicious that I am always
the last person to leave
a party. That I stay up
too late. That I lied.
It’s just that you’re lucky,
such fortune, such luck,
all these baskets of woe
I serve you every day.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fog, love, patience, poem, separation, unity on August 25, 2012| 4 Comments »
It touches everything,
the fog, each tree, each
home, each shoulder,
each street, and drapes
us with uncertainty. It
blurs our lines and softens
the boundary where one thing
ends and another begins—
the boat and the water, the peach
and the branch, the farmer and
the farmer’s wife. Why prefer
a clarity, an empty blue bell-ringing
sky when the fog, it holds
us all so unconditionally.
It will be clear
soon enough.