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Posts Tagged ‘surrender’

Riparian

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 28, 2020| Leave a Comment »

To be known by the river—
that is what I wanted,
which is to say,
to know the self
as the river knows it,
as something that might be carried,
something that will be eroded,
something that might wade
into the center and then join
in the flow of all things.

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Surrender

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 27, 2020| 6 Comments »

 

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Some mornings I wake and the peace

that I tried to find yesterday finds me—

arrives in the open palms of the river scent,

in the erratic path of the warbler,

in the low golden angle of sun as it slants

through the gray knuckled branches of cottonwood trees.

Even the broken watering can seems to bring me

news of what’s been here all along—

the peace that holds up the turmoil, the mess.

And the dried grasses in the field

and the tiny new leaves on the currants

gather me into them. They’re like old friends who say,

It’s okay, make all the mistakes you want

around us. Some mornings, through no effort

of our own, we are gathered into the peace

of the patient lichen and the still pond.

It’s the difference between breathing

and being breathed, between asking for grace

and finding that grace has been asking for us.

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Staring at the Penstemon, the Scarlet Gilia

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on August 3, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

A flower in the field

is always changed by rain.

It is never indifferent

to sun. Even the slightest

of breezes will bend it,

will rearrange. An ant

walks through its center—

now so much more is possible.

It never pretends

to be unaffected by the world.

I have so much to learn

from the flowers of the field,

how they never turn their backs—

they don’t even have backs.

How they withstand hail

and flood and snow and chill

and still, they bloom,

they spill seeds, they

bring all the beauty they can.

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The Girl Who Didn’t Want it to Rain

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 18, 2018| 5 Comments »

 

 

After all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

And so after shouting

and whining and begging

and crying and whimpering,

simpering, weeping and sniveling,

sobbing and blubbering, bawling

and name calling, wailing

and flailing and thrashing

and sprawling, and after the threats

and after the bribes, after

loudly groaning and prostrated moaning,

at last she was quiet and felt

against her cheek the damp,

and she noticed the whole

world a-glistening and she

walked in the rain, hair wet,

clothes wet, and instead

of complaining, she began

listening, listening

to the humble, beautiful

song of rain.

 

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One Abandon

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on October 23, 2018| Leave a Comment »

 

 

drenched in the downpour—

the feet, now reckless,

find a playground in every puddle

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One Surrender

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on June 13, 2018| Leave a Comment »

 

 

hijacked by the moon

my heart stops trying to know better

and lets the light drive

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Getting On Board with Ms. Bishop

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on March 11, 2018| 2 Comments »

 

Lose something every day.

            —Elizabeth Bishop, “One Art”

 

 

Lose something every day, the poet said—

and how I laughed the first time that I read

her words. My keys? My gloves? My place in line?

My favorite socks? A name? My glass of wine?

I’ve got that down, I thought, and shook my head.

 

But then I thought of passing time, the threads

of dates unraveling—and how I try to wind

them back, reclaim those squandered hours as mine.

Lose something every day?

 

And then I thought of certainty, how wed

I am to thoughts, convictions, faith. Instead

of losing them, I cling. Then they confine.

Some things are better lost—my rigid mind,

my prejudice, old chains of shame, my dread—

lose something every day.

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What Took Me So Long

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on February 12, 2018| Leave a Comment »

 

 

playing referee

between the sun and clouds,

eventually I take off my stripes

to be a spectator instead—

how pleasant

without all that whistling

 

 

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One on the Eve of the New Year

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on January 1, 2018| 2 Comments »

without a map

I row my small canoe—

a leash of moonlight

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For Two Hours Beside the Highway

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on September 28, 2017| Leave a Comment »

 

Sitting in the rain

in the dark

with three good tires

I think of Confucius,

who, when arrested

by accident didn’t fuss,

rather sat in his cell for five days

playing lute until his story

untangled and he

was set free.

It is dry in the car,

and though the radio works,

I do not turn it on.

I never learned

to play lute,

but sense that perhaps

I am being played, what

with this long neck,

with my deep round back,

with my body still learning

to open.

The rain keeps

inconsistent time

on the windshield.

It is not deliberately

that the world

throws rocks

in the road.

Or is it?

The dark is only

the dark.

I feel a lessening

of the tension,

a tuning,

and who is it

that pulls

the strings.

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