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Posts Tagged ‘travel’

A Small Bouquet from Grand Staircase-Escalante and Salida

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 28, 2019| 2 Comments »

Hi friends, I was off camping in the desert for a few days, then travelled to the glorious little town of Salida for a reading, and finally back home … here are a few small poems from the last few days … 

 

 

hell’s backbone grill—

the mouth begins to thrill

from two-hundred ten miles away

 

*

 

in the slot canyon—

knowing myself as water

moving through these walls

 

*

 

wind storm in the desert—

even my thoughts

fill with sand

 

*

 

this revolving door—

certainty, uncertainty, certainty

uncertainty

 

*

 

she sweeps the leaves

from the walk—

red carpet in reverse

 

*

 

waking in a blizzard

while in my ears, my scalp

still red sand

 

 

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In the Airport

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on July 20, 2019| 10 Comments »

 

 

 

I wonder who else today

in Concourse A

is traveling to see their mom

in the hospital, who else

has a parent with a surgery

gone wrong? Who else

could use some tenderness—

perhaps that woman in green

on the transporter? Or maybe

the young mother chasing her child

on the moving walkway? Or

the middle-aged man deliberating

over snacks? Today, it seems

so obvious that all of us

need some tenderness—

regardless our story.

And so when the man

in 31 C offers to lift my suitcase

and fit it somehow

into the overhead bin,

I almost weep with relief,

but instead I smile and say

Thank you, yes, I need help.

All day, I think of how

one small generosity changes

the landscape of the heart.

All day, I am met with chances

to be grateful, to be kind.

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The Gate

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on June 21, 2018| 6 Comments »

 

 

It was Concourse B that altered me

as I ran past old women in sarongs

and young wailing children and men

in red ties and couples holding hands.

At first, all humanity felt like a hindrance,

living hurdles between me

and gate B-14 where the plane

for Seattle was already boarding.

But then, and who can say why,

as I stitched past B-70, B-68, B-66,

I began to notice how beautiful they were,

the ones with dark briefcases and the ones

with strollers, tall ones and fat ones and

slight ones and crooked ones,

all of us constellating in the same place

at the same time, star dust

with dreams and goals and heartaches

and hopes. And as I wove through

the fabric of us,

I felt their blessing as they parted

to let me through,

and I blessed them, too,

with a thousand silent thank yous,

astonished at how different we are,

how very much the same.

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A Poem Bouquet from Costa Rica

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 22, 2018| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

path through the jungle—

so much has to change

to stay the same

 

*

 

zipline so fast

even my shadow can’t find

a place to land

 

*

 

hanging bridges

above the deep chasms—

panic disguised as hope

 

*

 

a fourth star

in Orion’s belt—

in fact, a firefly

 

*

 

love starved—

instead of catching the bigger fish

eating the bait

 

*

 

dismantling the gate

at the chambers of the heart—

using the wood for a bridge

 

*

 

pouring out from the tree’s thorns

and army of fire ants—

nearby the ylang ylang spreads perfume

 

 

*

 

diving into the waves—

if only all chaos

had a trapdoor

 

*

 

beneath the waterfall

riding the rope swing, wondering—

does our joy release into the world?

 

*

 

meanwhile, in the rainforest,

the purple orchid peels back its petals,

reinvents opening

 

*

 

questions that start with why

are the hardest to answer—

the lizard walks on water

 

*

 

smaller than a thimble

this frog beside the river—

universe size, my wonder

 

*

 

this old oyster shell

worn by waves into a heart—

love this world, love this world

 

*

 

after two days,

the purple orchids are spent—

giving myself to the waves

 

*

 

the gray and brown wren—

its bright song a mailbox

red flag up

 

*

 

ten thousand times ten thousand

waves on the beach—

letting each one rename me

 

*

 

beside the great strangler fig

enjoying feeling small

in the big, big world

 

 

 

 

 

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On American Flight 3589 to Grand Rapids

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on June 23, 2017| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

We are entering turbulence, says the captain.

This plane does not do well with turbulence.

 

His voice crackles over the loudspeaker

just after the plane has begun to jostle in the sky.

 

I am not particularly worried about the plane.

The young engineer next to me in 14E has already

 

assured me that when considering safety factors,

the designers will double what is actually needed.

 

I am more worried about the captain’s choice of words.

It matters what we say to each other and how.

 

The ride will be turbulent, that would have sufficed.

Or perhaps, The ride will be turbulent,

 

it’s nothing to be concerned about.

The toddler in row 11 is screaming.

 

She would not feel better, regardless what

the captain said. Perhaps it is the mother in me

 

that longs to disregard the safety belt sign and go comfort her—

not so much for the child’s sake, but for her mother’s,

 

she looks so careworn and tired. I want to tell her,

It’s okay. This is just a short chapter.

 

I settle for a nod and a smile.

The truth is the world is full of turbulence.

 

The truth is it’s hard to hear anyone cry.

The truth is our work in the world

 

begins with comforting the people next to us,

strangers only until we take the first step.

 

 

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13 Poetry Postcards from Yellowstone

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on June 17, 2017| 2 Comments »

IMG_0268

 

blue flax beside the highway,

ten thousand bridal bouquets—

 

each moment of the journey

saying, “marry me”

 

*

 

said the mama heron,

no more crawling

when you were made to fly

 

 

*

 

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surprised by the mama grizzly—

one hand on the car door,

the other focuses the camera

 

*

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in a field of avalanche lilies

each one

the most exquisite

 

*

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clapping for Old Faithful—

thrilling at predictable

astonishment

 

*

 

sleeping in a puppy pile

between my grown children—

oddly glad for cold nights

 

*

 

morning alarm—

raindrops on the tent

each one pressing snooze

 

*

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june snowstorm—

the morning takes its bikini for a drive

and slips into a hot springs

 

*

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searching every meadow for moose—

missing it like that kiss

from the boy I never kissed

 

*

 

a whole week

with no blue—

relying on the places

I’ve tattooed sky

on my inner walls

 

*

IMG_0230

seventh day in Yellowstone—

just another glorious herd of bison

and their perfect golden calves

 

*

 

the sing-along of a thousand miles—

even Julie Andrews asks

are we there yet?

 

*

 

said the desert,

you can’t smell the sage

going sixty

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One Dare

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on July 31, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

gas tank shows empty

and me in the mood

to play chicken

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A Big Bouquet of Poems from Aruba and the Florida Keys

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 17, 2016| 2 Comments »

Hi poetry friends, we’re back from a couple of weeks in the sun. Here are some tropical haikulings from our travels …

 

 

 

no answers in the sunset—

watching it redden

I forget the question

 

*

 

a warm wind blows north

thoughts become clouds—

I chase their shadows

 

*

 

enormous spider!

or just a scrap of leaf—

the heart leaps just in case

 

*

 

years after the wreck

returning to the wreck

this time with anticipation

 

*

 

this body

a million million doors

all of them swung wide

 

*

 

the further I swim from shore

the clearer the ocean’s invitation—

keep swimming

 

*

 

on the heart’s cracking walls

such tender graffiti—

you were made to love like this

 

*

 

the surf and I reach

for the same pink shell—

all day we play for keeps

 

*

 

in white sand

my fingers trace vague outlines—

what is and what is not here

 

*

 

butterfly farm—

everywhere I look

life reinventing itself

 

*

 

diving into clear water

I change from swimmer to wave—

gentle communion

 

*

 

in the arms of dawn

waking to unfamiliar birdsong—

oh rising urge to sing a new song

 

*

 

white underfeathers

of the osprey soaring—

my heart comes out of hiding

 

*

 

with a drill sergeant voice

he clips out orders for meditation—

deep peace arrives right on time

 

*

 

imaginary

this last piece of key lime pie—

still, we vote for who gets it

 

*

 

hold back, my friend says

but I fall relentlessly open—

red red hibiscus

 

*

 

after two weeks away

new birds outside my window—

or perhaps new ears

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United

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on November 28, 2015| 5 Comments »

 

 

 

 

For three and a half hours,

the man in 25 D and I

sit beside each other

and do not speak.

Somewhere, I like to imagine,

is a woman who wishes

that it were she

who got to be the woman

sitting in 25 E. I wonder

what she is doing right now,

perhaps twirling a strand

of her hair and remembering

the way his voice warms

when he says her name.

It occurs to me

that in every seat is a human

who loves and who wants

to be loved. A plane

of lovers, we are,

all of us politely minding

our elbows, traveling

with our seatbelts low

and tight across our laps.

And though we’ve never

met before and will likely

never meet again, and though

we may not even speak

to each other as we fly, just

think of it, all that love

traveling across the country

through a turbulent sky.

 

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A Giant Bouquet of Haikulings from the Virgin Islands and Florida Keys

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on April 18, 2015| 3 Comments »

heart leaf in the virgin islands

astonished by waves
turquoise beyond turquoise—
even astonishment deepens

*

never reaching
the destination they say—
but perhaps this is closer

*

in the passion flower
an enormous dark bumble bee—
smelling lemon flowers instead

*

from how far away
is it swelling even now—
the next wave

*

carrying disappointment
down to the beach—
this, too, goes on the altar

*

amidst palm fronds,
exotic fruits, red hibiscus—
my shoes still size 9

*

with snorkel and mask
the same world seen richer—
so, too, with poems

*

coral reef—
all my ideas of what is possible
swim off

*

before I loved you
there was a world—
wasn’t there a world?

*

after the tsunami
didn’t happen
a rising interest in geology

*

the ship can always slip
into the unpredictable sea—
your hand in my hand

*

scent of plumeria—
how many other surprise sweetnesses
yet to discover

*

holding my breath
beneath the waves just to feel
the rising urge to live

*

watching the white heron
something in me
grows wings

*

not one to knock
the morning dove delivers song
through the open window

*

surrounded by coconuts
I dream of eating
a cherry

*

wish that pickpocket
had taken this, too—
sense that something’s missing

*

beside the new dress
the threadbare dress—
choosing it again

*

dinosaurs, too,
heard this at sunset—
wind in the palm leaves

*

many times a day
I smooth your hair already
perfectly in place

*

billions of white shells—
falling in love
with their differences

*

staring in the mirror
someone else’s face
laughing back

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