Posts Tagged ‘video poem’


Though I am undeniably broken,
I come to you with no need to be fixed.
I come to you the way one river
meets another river—not joining
out of thirst, but because
there is so much power
and beauty in giving oneself
to another, in moving
through the world together.
I come to you the way the half moon
comes into the yard—I could be more
whole, but in the meantime,
I will bring you everything
I have.

from Hush

with HUGE thanks to the amazing Holiday Mathis–wow. I am soooo grateful for you, your vision, your gifts.

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What if, while wandering the park feeling sorry for yourself, you met a Sufi mystic on the merry go round? A video poem.

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Video Poem: In Unlikely Places

I am such a fan of this blog, Journey of the Heart, and today they’ve posted another of my video poems, this one about the grace that sometimes comes out of what looks like a big big bummer … 

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As salt dissolves in ocean, I was swallowed up in you beyond doubt or being sure.
—Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

Glisten and wet lick
and thick river scent—
that is everything.

Swords. Shields.
Stories of who did what
to whom and when—

and all those hows, whether
divine or horrendous—

Even these words
you and me
reduce to vacant syllables

in the face of such
movement, such shine—
I could never explain but

it rushes in so clear
that whatever
we once thought

of as other is here
in the clamor
of snowmelt, here

in the river birch
waiting for green,
here in the shove of tumbling

breath as we realize wave
and lose
all we were sure of,

lose the path
that got us here,
lose even the loss of it.

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I can’t grasp it, but I am so very glad.
—Franz Wright, “A Word for Joy”

The weight of love,
it is sometimes,
to the ounce,

the weight of a man
as he rests
his body on yours.

Though if there is sorrow
or sickness in his thoughts,
the gravity can flatten you.

And sometimes it’s
heavier than that, the weight,
as if he first hems his pants

with lead and then
finds his way to your arms.
And sometimes it’s heavier

even than that, as if
the very air in his lungs
has millions of pockets,

all of them filled
with dull
gray stones.

And sometimes
the weight of love
is no weight at all,

is less than a blade
of orchard grass,
less than a note

hummed in quiet rooms,
less than a memory,
less than the scent

of lilac or rose,
more like the light
that lands on the hand

and makes it open
to hold what never
can be held.

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After we break
we learn there is always
more to break
the more
we break the more
our light radiates

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