Vanished

Vanished

“God, God…”
This, a name
shouted in the
frigid night.

“God” (Perhaps you, too
have called except
by a different name).
God…a word taught
to me from
my youth.

For so long I sought,
waited, longed for
and I cried out all
the more…”God.”

Now, a rush of
blustery wind
sweeps the ‘word’
I desperately seek…
“Come, come” but
instead ‘God’
vanishes like a
feather caught in
the wind.

I, now, fall to my
knees laughing.
Yes, laughing.

I have become
as if drunk—
intoxicated by
this name that has
vanished
for I have discovered
you in every living being.

I am drenched in love
frozen and still warmed
by God’s disappearance.

You have vanished into
EVERYTHING“…
Even what cannot be
seen~~~ I see.

Are you laughing
with me?

Go out…out
‘into’ the temple
where creation exists.

Catch your breath
call out a name…
Pray it vanishes—
Everything you once
believed.

Now—you are free
only to Love.

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Everything Has Its Time

Everything Has Its Time
(Adapted by this writer from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

For every NEW day
a season begins.
Yesterday shall never be seen and
today heaven lies under the
soles of our feet.

We are birthed into creation
and so we shall die
only to be re-birthed.

Like a seed pushed into the
darkness
we, like shoots rise—
our petals unfold
and then fall back into
the soils of time.

There must never be times
of senseless killings.
Healing the wounds of
yesterday is exhausting enough…
building a reign here, now, is
what we must seek.

For now there are tears
and they are what fill
the pools of eternal springs.

Laughter must always seep
through the broken places
and dancing should flourish
without a worry who is watching.

Stones should be skipped on
a flat bed of glassy water.
Children should count the skips
while adults truly ‘see’ the
castles built beneath the
surface.

Consciousness should guide us
in letting-go—we truly
possess ‘NOTHING’…in this
knowledge there is great gain.

A time to sew is weaving
in the hands truly knowing
how to utilize the needles—
Their voices silent…their actions
clear.

Love must endure…
like the path of a stream
seeking out new inlets.

Anything else must vanish
into the wind—
only love should be spoken
or not a word get past your lips.

Peace and ONLY Peace
leads to FREEDOM.
If war has solved anything
why is there ‘still’
fighting?

Everything happening is
as it should be.
May we be bearers
of transformation.

A Gospel of love—
ignited from the very
first breath.

Exposed

Exposed

The birth of winter
here again.
Her frosty face is everywhere
you glance.

The nakedness of the
season uncovered—
The trees once
adorned with leaves
NOW exposed…

Their trunks held
by the frozen earth
while the branches
click a different song
through winter’s
windy blast.

Winter gives time for
silent reflection
and reveals hidden
truths we have tried
to cover.

Our last attempts…
the fading colors
of autumn.

Truth so visible
still some will NOT
see…

They will cover themselves
by the work of
the poor ‘other’
whose tears now fall
like icicles—

They will not expose
the lies…
They will not take
back the cloak
torn from them.

Instead, they will watch and wait
while those others parade
themselves into
churches
singing Alleluia
and the message
preached from a hollowed soul
still waiting for
‘EMMANUEL.’

The cosmic message of
the Christ…HERE~~~NOW.

A warm blanket of snow
christened by the sun.
The chorus of birds
sings while one snow
flake after another
fills the “spot”
where the quiet angel fell.

Fell~~~ever
more deeply in love
with the winter.
Her wings glistened…
Her lashes glazed.

Exposed, yes—
She cannot be anything
but who she is.

And, she knows
in time
all naked truth
shall be revealed.

And, in the bitterness
of winter’s frosty grip—
silently she
grows ‘becoming’
like in no other season
all she has been fashioned
to become.

 

Did You Hear the Hoot?

Did You Hear the Hoot?

Dusk moved into
the day’s sky
lit by the sun.
Darkness came creeping into the brisk
frigid night.

The holy word opened.
A message proclaimed…
‘Prepare the Way.’
John’s ‘wild‘ voice…
Urgency spoken as one
by one they came to
the Baptist
submerging themselves
into the River Jordan.

He saw ‘through’ the
self-proclaimed religious
but did not turn them
away—and he asked
for nothing in return
except—METANOIA!

John called for a new way—
to make the path ordained
straight once more.

Struck by the words…
outside my window
a proclamation was sung…
it ‘sounded’ like the voice
of the ‘one’ crying out
in the wilderness.

Yet, this time
it was two owls
in their oneness
serenading all creation.
The stars now twinkled
with glee.

Holy wonder—
The shoot of Jesse
blossoms in this
winter’s night
through the joyous
hoot‘ of feathered friends~~~

Nature and all its
creatures
embrace the mystery.

How is it that we as
humans continue
seeking proof?

 

 

 

Stay Awake

Stay Awake

…Advent begins—
they call it a season of
waiting~~~ or AWAITING
what has and is already
in‘ the world.

In ‘many’ ways my spirit
takes in ‘all’ the
chaos—
not with the busy-ness of
shopping, gift-giving,
rushing here and there—
BUT, rather in the
unexpected…

‘Seeing’ the
fragility of Life—
…a beautiful
mind losing itself
and holding on
in the aging
journey
…a sturdy
companion NOW
holding on ‘for’
a support to
carry her
mighty trunk
and still she
stands with
GRACE.

My being
‘observes’ while I
try my utmost to comfort,
to care.
Still, in this
waiting, I look without
realizing a ‘preparing’ taking place…

So thief, if you are to come,
you can take anything from the dwelling
of my sturdy shelter, BUT you cannot
take the treasure that dwells in the stillness
of my heart in the HOLY moment(s) of
waiting, wonder and awe.

Silhouette

Silhouette

Yes…there you are.
Hidden within the formless void
an outline of being.

A shadow
perhaps ‘more’ real,
alive, displayed
than when eyes, ears, mouth
and nose revealed.

Open to imagination…
your ‘gaze’ seen by no one.
Expectations vanished.
Illusions removed.
Only You
who you really are—
a perfect self
at One with the whole.

No longer a need to
make it ‘right’ for
others…we are all called to find our way.

Your stage is the center which
belongs to everyone…
not only to the lonely others
who believe the world twirls
solely around them.

Nameless silhouette
you are every
I AM.

Forgiven

Forgiven

Can you forgive me at last?
Can you move beyond all the ‘pasts’?
Can you ‘see’ how much it has held you
back…holding on
to what is not yours?

Pick up that mirror—
look into those eyes…
that is whom you must forgive.

Go ahead break the glass.
Now look into every shattered piece.

It is You…whole
It is You…alive—
a prayer answered.

You are forgiven—
you always have been.

 

Bliss

Bliss

Sweet ‘Whisperer’
the One who lulls me
from my sleep—
Each day
you sprinkle stardust
upon my brow
awakening my gentle soul
to get up~~~

“Come, come~~~you say”
let us take our leave
while the night sky is still
young.  No one will ‘see’ us…
it is only you and I.

Let us spend some moments
together in silence.
Take my hand ‘already’
within your reach~~~our palms united.

We shall skip to the rhythm
of the cicadas’ song
and dance while the screech owl
howls to the moon.
We’ll try counting the celestial
wonders one by one till we fall
backwards into a bed of leaves
laughing as if drunk
with the sweetest of wines—
AND
when the first sign of a new day
begins to waken the ones ready
to make their way to work,
we’ll escape
as if we never were here—

From a distance we’ll see one passer-by
getting into the car
a cup of coffee in hand—
an IPad in the other.
We’ll see another
running to get to the
office on time—
cellphone connected to the ear.

We’ll hear the clock ticking,
horns honking, sirens
bellowing…
a ‘shot‘ in the not so
distant-distance
AND
we’ll remember
our silent ‘gathering’
only hours ago.

Then we’ll
HEAR the voices, the
sounds of ‘our’ children
and
wonder
how to bring
them “back” into
this prayerful
BLISS.

 

One Last Splash

One Last Splash

The sea—
an enormous sheet of glass.
Its ‘silent’ movement
rocked the group
plunged in as if for
one final hurrah.

There they were
like the Rockets…
one after the other ready to
step, kick, glide and then
swoon.

Their attire—
endless colors
and the hues melted
within the waxy waters.

I was ready…
eager.
I, too, wanted to set sail~~~
one last splash
before FALL would welcome
the winter.

Then…
each one began to call,
‘Pick me, pick me, oh please
pick me…’

Rising to the surface,
I went down.
We ‘met’
a first time
yet, a first of many.

We danced
like there was no
tomorrow—
and, the tide
lured us home.

Take Your Pick

Take Your Pick

As she picked the fruit from the Tree
she held it in her ‘gaze,’ AND
then began to toss it from
one hand back into the other.

What would happen
when she sank her teeth
into its juices?

Who really was the Author in
this story?

A single bite?  Oh no—
the sweet, savoring
sustenance…
Why would it ever be held back?
She took a second bite.

It was ‘she’ who was seduced by the
creation to which she had been invited.

She risked everything
so she could discover life.
She knew she was no prisoner…
Why would she be brought here—
to this place
only to be held as if in chains
from tasting Life?

She snapped the locks.
Perhaps the real deceiver—
the one telling her NOT to eat
for if she did she would
discover her infinite union
with the Divine who
brought all mystery into being!

Stop…if only for a moment.
‘Look’ at the Tree—
its fruit—
its ‘GOODNESS.’

Ask yourself,
“What rational mind
turned this story into a test
which painted the image
of a fallen woman?”

Yes—she fell alright…
She fell ‘into’ love
with Holy Awe
and wonder.

She did not know the risk—
still, to be given life
she had to take the
steps to discover—“HER.”

She birthed into life~~~
SACRED BLESSINGS…
One single bite
and still today ‘we’ are trying
to bite into ‘Transformation’—BITE!

Pick the fruit.
Let your mouth absorb
the passion.
What is your fear?
What holds you back?

The One who creates—waits
and waits as long as you
need…to TASTE.

 

Rolling

Rolling

The movie started
before it actually began.

I had a front row seat.
It was dark—
only the stars seemed
to light the screen.

The sound was a million
insects, if not more,
all singing their familiar tune.
The leaves cackled
and the creatures stirred
as I listened to a click
a clack of a broken branch.

Then something played that was
disturbing to my ear.
I froze for it was not anything
familiar and it carried the
sound of pain.

I waited—there it was, but
what I did not know.
I sat watching—dawn entered the
screen…the sound seemed to drift
away
until suddenly off in the distance
a thunderous roar.

Down—down the giant tree
came crashing to the ground.
Birds scattered through the air—
the sun found its way into
unforeseen places that tasted light a first time.
Still an end—
BUT, it was not the end.

The death of the mighty tree
haunted my being—
teardrops fell one by one.

I sat watching the film each
day wondering, wondering, wondering.

Suddenly, over my head
a large winged bird
swooped upon the tallest branch.

A raucous stirred.

What was now playing before my eyes?
Two small birds scurried down upon the
winged hawk…it was devouring the
small bird’s young.
All they could do was fly
squealing, but the large beak
would not stop consuming its meal.

Death stung my being.

Could I continue to watch this
film play on?

As much as I wanted to run
from my seat,
I sat.
I heard myself beginning
to breathe again.
A re-birth of my being…
something approached.

I saw movement in the forest trees…
I tried to close my eyes—
did I want to ‘see’ what was
next?

Out she came—
Her eyes fixed on mine
mine on hers.
We sat what seemed for hours
holding each other’s gaze.

We rested—
Her ears twitched
and she made her way back into the woods.
The last thing I saw—her white tail
waving as if goodbye…still the farewell
seemed only a
new beginning
and I paused—
half held my breath
while the film rolled on.

 

Paradox

Paradox

The leaves on the trees
fade with color.
People come from near
and far to take in
the ‘painting’ stretched out
upon an endless canvas.

Pictures taken
‘capturing’ moments…
Brilliantly ‘we’ embrace
death’s final memory.

Did that come out
correctly?
Did I write the word
death?

We try to run from
death’s sting.
Blinded by the luminous colors
we are unable to ‘see’
the leaves no longer
receiving an abundance of
oxygen.

So beautiful—the leaves aging…
letting go.

Do we see the timeless
letting go in our elders?
Wisdom’s guides…
do we sit admiring their
changing faces?
Their minds no longer the rich
fluently flowing reservoirs.
Can we sit beside them in
their silence and be present?

We, each of us
will face this season~~~
this Fall.

The tree will let us go—
let us land and
once again we will touch the
earth which breathed in us
Life.

An eternal Spring
awaits us—
another season to behold.

Though I cannot see the unknown,
I trust the canvas.
My hope never far…
still it is gone.

A Milk Truck

A Milk Truck

Last night
a milk truck traveled
through the galaxies
with no specific destination.

It casually bumped into a
few stars…
banged into a few meteors
creating a shower of cream.

A few planets drank
to their heart’s content
til alas one stop—
a celestial wonder
to behold.

Luna licked her lips
and the milk truck
poured on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inspired by the Harvest Moon’s rise as seen over the Harbor. 8/20/2013

Beloved

Beloved

…what I’m about to pen
I do not even understand.
Still the ink from within
your dwelling flows…
my spirit invited to write.

Beloved—
you wait, and have been
for so long.  Your
bride is near
her longing has been
before ‘anything’ ever was.

They…the ones leading
the people~~~they have never
grasped her.  They turned
her into ‘stone’~~~called her
a mother or even better
they celebrate a union
marrying you to a church,
a structure, a building—
(You A CORNER STONE).

They speak of a NEW Jerusalem—
A Holy City.
Far from the spouse
your being pines.

Divine masculine~~~
you await the Divine feminine—
The union of the Yin and the Yang—
One cannot be without the other.

Spirit calls for the renewal of
balance~~~of HARMONY.

From before the beginning
Creation’s breath
blew into the void.
Chaos and calm dwelt together
igniting a universe
which was for so long
without human form.

Everything dwelt as One
but, today
the towers that have been
erected are tumbling.

Children no longer have a
way to follow.
Adults simply do
not buy into the rigid rules
any longer—some
mired in the stone tablets.

The message of Love
Beloved…there are
some listening.

Is ‘his‘tory~~~’her‘story
repeating itself in NEW ways?

Is the union—
the banquet being prepared
before eyes that do not see?

Can we believe in HOPE
when others are without food
and water/while others
fill their purses bursting at the seams?

Some are crying out for PEACE.
Hear them—stop and listen
even if for a moment.

Step away from the NOISE…

The non-sense…
The need for position,
recognition, fame, fortune.

See the simple
woven fabric of love…
the seamless garment for
which they cast lots.

It has been severed by the
very hands frightened of
her restorative balance.

Beloved~~~she comes.
Not the prostitute they have deemed her, nor the whore
of Babylon.

She is wisdom—
a thin veil whose face
remains hidden…
hidden because her light
like yours is brighter
than the sun.

Beloved…take ‘her’ hand.

A Fading Flicker

A Fading Flicker

Sitting silently in the darkness
I watched a candle
begin to fade.
Slowly its illuminating
flicker began diminishing.
Yet, its glow swaggered
from side to side~~~like a solitary dancer
softly taking a few final steps—
the wick no longer
a glow.

For a moment
I held my breath.
“No,” my insides shouted,
but in the painted
black silhouette
smoke began to rise.

I could ‘see’ the many
shadows through the
years gone by.
Maybe, just maybe
until something dies
around us…’within us’
we truly are not ready
to let-go~~~surrender
to the self
waiting to embrace
the formless
I AM.

When a star dies,
it gifts creation
with ‘carbons’
spreading through the
universe adding to the
abundance of life.

In this darkness
I see the light as
never before.
In its Re-Birth,
there is my endless and eternal Hope.

You Won’t Believe This but…

You Won’t Believe This but…

You won’t believe this but…
a little girl with
long golden locks attempted to hide
each time her mother tried
to set them in rollers.
During the night the wild goddess
pulled them out.

She did not want her hair
draped over her nipples
as if to cover them…for shame.

The little girl
refused to get on the school bus.
She would not wear that dress.
No, the wild goddess wanted her
blue jeans and pastel t-shirts.

You don’t understand…let me explain
This little girl grew up believing she was
anything BUT a goddess—
yet, a Divine Goddess rocked her core.
She cut her locks
exposing her breasts to the sun.

Her skin was not smooth and soft
from scented perfumes…
No, it was kissed by golden rays
—burnt brown.

Her nails on neither
her hands nor her feet were painted.
The wild goddess
had nails chipped, cracked from
swinging on branches
packed with mud
from the earth’s floor.

I dreamed that…
Now it has BECOME real.
A vision of the goddess
wild, untamed,
splashing in pools
unafraid~~~

No longer listening to the voices
that say, ‘Oh, you’ve messed yourself
all up~~~go inside and change.’

No, this goddess is outside
for she has gone within.
Her roots spreading~~~
nurtured by the Source
of Creation itself.

Goddess…
They do not see you.
BUT, then again—THEY DO!
Illuminate the substance
of splendor spilling over
from within the recesses of
your heart.

And who will join me…
Will you…will you finally dance
free of fears?

Be who you are—
Yes, you beautiful, radiant goddess
arms so strong—
they carry heavy loads and
still they caress the tears of
the bereaved,
hold the broken ever so gently in
these same sturdy pillars.

I will walk the rocky mountains sowing seeds
and the GARDEN OF EDEN has
come once more…
maybe a first time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Written and inspired at Skidmore College: Women’s Voices for (a) Change
under the wise tutelage of Poet, June Gould.

The Dreaming Wanderer

The Dreaming Wanderer

A lonely dawn
awakened the dreaming wanderer
while drops of rain
spattered along the window’s sill.

Lying ever so still
steeped in each ‘pounding’ drop
my heart began
to follow rhythmically the flowing
cadence spilling down from above.

I cupped my hands
as if in prayer
and imagined
a slide~~~the waters
rolling and rolling until
they met the creases of my lips
and I began to drink
of heaven’s pool.

I did not realize how
thirsty I was—
or perhaps I did.

I drank and drank
like a drunken fool
inebriated, yet
longing for more.

It was alright to stop.
I was bathed in silence—
letting-go of so very
many letting go’s.

Holding on…
no more—
All is as it is meant
to be even if the
meaning has no true
dwelling.

I stare out
the window.
A branch dangles
wet in wonder.
It does not ask, “When
will the sun come out to
dry our leaves?”

No—instead,
it cups its branches as it
sips the liqueur pouring
down…

and surrenders
filling only this
moment.

The hallowed ground
its Mother—

and my spirit
sinks her roots further
into her eternal dwelling.

 

 

 

Mary

Mary

Mary,
can you see?
Mary…can you see?
Yes, it is truly me…

Mary,
I am here.
I am always near.

I AM the whisper in the wind—
the voice of the chirping bird.
I AM the fragrance of the rose
and I sit within a butterfly’s wing.

Mary, can you see?
I know that you BELIEVE.
You always understood the way
and what I had to do…

Mary—
raise them well.
Teach them always to BELIEVE…
open their eyes to TRUTH
and let them always know they are free.

Mary…
don’t ever be afraid.
I’ve sprinkled the stars to light your path.
I hold the sun to make you warm
on the coldest of winter days.

Mary, can you see?
Wipe the tears from your eyes—
bathe in the pools where you have cried.
Lead the Way.

It will not be easy.
Still—lead the way.

Many will not understand.
Still—lead the way.

Mary—
Mary—
I know you See.

A Practice

A Practice

I’ve heard it said
that singing is like
‘praying’ twice.

As an artist
who likes to breathe
life onto a page of
blank paper,
I believe creating
works of art is
like praying for a
first time…again and again.

A naked canvas—
a sheet of ’emptiness’
waiting or waits
for a touch of a pencil’s lead—
a stroke of paint from
a silky brush—
an uncapped pen splashing
with color.

The artist,
perhaps an ‘image’ in mind,
only discovers ‘something’
completely different
once let loose of
‘thought’ and the freedom
of expression
blossoms.

Yes—
a masterpiece
the artist whispers,
“From where inside did
this come?”

The work
may be seen by a few
or by many—
or perhaps by no one.

Yet, someone does
‘see’—
this the reason to go
on creating.

This is prayer.
A practice inviting
the person time and again
into sacred nothingness.

Plans…
Schedules…
Noise…
Agendas…
Excuses hold ‘one’
back from ‘union’—
that which we seek most
or what most seeks us.

Practice—creating
and then in the silence
listen…
You simply might hear—
‘Alas, you have come.’

A Wedding Feast In Cana

A Wedding Feast In Cana

Did you hear?
A wedding feast in Cana—
what a celebration it was—
they actually ran out of wine.

We know a woman was there.
For ‘some’ reason she took
it upon herself to go and
tell her son—
Yes, he was at the wedding as well.
But, she told him the sacred juices
had run dry!

Wait…you want to know whose
wedding this was?
Where was the Bride?
Was the mother in the story
addressing the groom?
Was his Beloved
hidden behind a veil?
The fear of exposing her could lead
her to the same
torturous death her Beloved
would face…
His death—a result of the
‘sin’ in the world.

The curtain in the Temple
torn in two…
But, wait—back to the wedding.

She who is
is the one behind the veil
secretly removed from the story.
Yet, she is in between each line.

What is this I’m saying?
Blasphemy…I hear it.
Another fairytale—
Yet, perhaps there are “truths”
in these fables.

The Beloved seeks union
with the one behind
the veil.

A wedding at Cana—
A communion of love.
A Gospel Message
longing to restore balance & harmony.

She waits…a reunion—
A time, once again for
the veil to be torn in two.

Time for New Wine.

 

 

NOT IN MY NAME

Not in My Name

Not in my name—
I laced my shoes
taking them off
sorrowfully laying them upon the stone altar.

No more would I step into
this barren womb
glittered in gold
marbled statues—
wooden crosses.

Follow me
that is what He said…
He did not say fall down
and worship me.

He paved a Way of Being
and at His side countless
women without NAMES.

They did not need their names to
be remembered.
Up from the skeleton graves
they rose…
the dirt streets—
their Cathedrals.

They knew the
sufferings
and pressed on.

Their egos far behind…
Their silence—pure action.
Their very movements
open displays.

They did not seek
glory, fame, recognition.
Yet, their beings radiated
LOVE.

This, the reason—
the ‘higher,’ the ‘rational,’ put
them asunder
to keep them in their place.

Their place is limitless.
A secret—
yet rising.

OVER STONE WALLS

They are crumbling
as we walk amidst
the rubble…
yes—women walking
over the same paths
as yesteryear’s.

A circular motion
of balance and harmony is
beginning to be restored.

NOT in MY NAME
but in EACH and EVERYONE
of OUR NAMES.

The stones cry out
rubbing together as they fall
up from the rotting floor boards.
A spark
now a flame
burning with a passion
fueled beyond words…

Rising, Rising, Rising
the sweet incense of mercy—
empty sacrifices
NO MORE.

An inferno
hand hewn.
A unanimous
clap of thunder bellows…
it is time
NOW.

Dusk came
and it began as if from the beginning
illuminating all things
from within the DARKNESS.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In gratitude to June Gould whose wisdom and teaching of poetry inspired my work.

Dissolve

Dissolve

Who am I?
I sat in the darkness
of a room
whose only light gently flickered from a candle’s wick.

The flame danced
left then right
as it swirled again and again
casting a performance on
the walls…
a ballad
designed for only this moment.

A tear formed in my eye
and ran down my cheek
at the exact moment the
wax of the candle
spilled from its edge.

In that moment
we were ONE
dissolving into nothingness
yet, finding ourselves in the
absence like two lovers
intertwined as if for a first time.

I touched the flame
yet, I was not burned.

An ember kindled a blaze within me
unlike any other I had ever
known and in this moment
cannot begin to grasp.

I’m dissolving—like wax.
Will I find me NOW?

Alabaster Jar

Alabaster Jar

An alabaster jar
sits empty upon
an unknown shelf—somewhere.

Three tiny flowers are
dipped in its
hollowed walls
while the sweet
scent of perfume
lingers upon the
jar’s smooth lips.

Yes, lips that once
poured out their
fragrance upon a
body being made
ready for its burial.

A Beloved follower—
‘She’ knew~~~BELIEVED
the words spoken.
Her heart broke open
as the ‘expensive’ perfumes
mused with her tears and
fell ever so gently
upon His feet.

Her hair
desperately attempted to
dry the ‘balm’
comforting His being.

A moment of
Transformation
—sweet fragrance
—lifeless wonder
—eyes opened.

The Alabaster Jar…
I believe I smell its
lingering aroma—still.

Mary’s Lamb Named Ewe

Mary’s Lamb Named Ewe

Mary had a little lamb
She chose to name her Ewe.

No one knows the story of where Ewe
came from—not even Mary.

Every where Mary went, Ewe seemed to follow…
Ewe listened to whatever Mary said
and did whatever she asked.

There was something very different about Ewe.
Ewe was not afraid to be out in the pasture alone.
She enjoyed grazing.

Other sheep would join Ewe…it was then that
there always seemed to be a celebration.

Mary encouraged Ewe especially as she grew
to go out into the world and share all
the kindness, love, tenderness & mercy that
Mary had shared with Ewe.

Ewe went her ‘way’—others left their familiar
pastures and went a new way with Ewe.

More and more grazed with Ewe, but
there were some who were suspicious of Ewe.
They did not like the fact Ewe was showing
others where they could eat freely
and live abundantly.

These others were used to being in charge
of the other sheep and felt like they were
losing their stronghold.

Ewe invited these others to ‘see’ a new way
where all were welcomed—all could enjoy
a banquet of plenty if all were to be accepted
as participants in the wonderful mystery of life.

The sheep heard Ewe and went out to set a snare
to trap her—She, Ewe that is, was too wild,
thought the others, and will lead lambs astray…
We must get rid of her.

Ewe knew her end was near…Mary’s heart was broken.
Mary taught Ewe ‘goodness’ and tears spilled down
upon Ewe’s wool as Mary wept
holding her lifeless lamb.

Mary carried Ewe to a quiet place laying Ewe in a
soft bed of glorious flowers—Ewe loved flowers.

Ewe’s closest friends gathered beside Mary and they
stayed in the pasture of flowers until the
setting of the sun.

Days later…
Mary came to the place Ewe was laid BUT
Ewe was gone.

Mary stared in disBelief—
who, what could have taken Ewe’s little tent of a being?

Just then Mary heard a distinct cry.
Atop a rocky crag—why, it looked just like Ewe.

Mary thought to herself, “I must be ‘seeing’ things.”
It began to leap closer and closer to Mary—it was Ewe.

Ewe has risen.
Just how, NO ONE really knows.
Yet, Mary BELIEVED.

Infinite Wonder

Infinite Wonder

My heart steeped in dew
barely rises in between
each breath.

So heavy, my heart, in sorrow.
Still, it knows the
joy of bliss.

A red bird sings.
Its voice soars
echoing through
the mighty branches
swaying in the breeze.

My heart lifts to reach
for the song
it knows it can sing for
itself. YET, not now.

For now the heart listens
allowing the music of
the bird’s song to fill
a breaking heart.

Tears…
they do not stop—
for so many reasons,
they fall.

Love—
yes, love is why it hurts
so very badly.

We live in a world that
has everything—(in some places)
yet, we ‘cannot’ hear
the sounds of our elderly.
We do not hear the cry of the poor.
We cast out those different
and exclude them from
what we ‘think’ belongs
only to us.

This—this Creation
is a gift to ALL…
NOT only humans.

We think we are the
privileged ones.

My heart aches
for more than it can
possibly hold.

I don’t know how to carry
it.  I lay it down
while two playful robins
flutter so near my feet.

They seem to want to
carry this woe of mine
casting it into the air
returning it to the vastness
of Life~~~ Infinite Wonder.

My thoughts so finite
stretch to embrace a
new dawn…

My heart…I hear
it beating as the tears
roll down.

Rain Drops

Rain Drops

My words intermingled
in rain drops.
As soon as the ink touches
the paper, a splash
falls down upon it
erasing whatever surfaced.

How to begin?
One tear falls and then
another—

How can there be celebration
in the streets when
one by one by one
life is taken…
limbs of life lost…
quality of life changed?

A tree branch crashes
to the ground in the heart of
the forest…she bleeds—
no one hears.

Listen…no one has won.
This was not a game.
Life is not a sport.
Creation weeps this
day mindful of what each of us
is losing.

In the name of God
some cast people to Hell.
I think in some ways
‘we’ have become our
own ‘gods’ determining
where one goes in the
end.

Where did you learn your
theology?  Your words
are violence.  They could
never come from a
‘Source’ that loves
what has been
fashioned as GOOD.

Before anything, darkness
existed…it welcomed the
light.  Together they
knitted the great
web of life—the
chain of Being.

The nameless ‘One’
waits, breathing
silently and in the
stillness and noise
HOPES again and again to
Be RECEIVED.

Sophia

Sophia

Upon the shore
balancing on the rocks
like a trapeze artist,
‘she’ was all around me.

Each wave
rolling over and over
spraying me—filling me with glee.

I was soaked in wonder.
We played
hide and seek.

When I caught her,
I held her knowing
I had to let go
for she could not be contained.

When ‘she’ caught me,
she embraced my soul.
She pointed me in the direction
of the sun’s light.
I was blind,
but for a moment.

I saw.
I could see what
for so long had always
been, but I could not
grasp it…

Now I held it
letting it go again and again.

She breathed her
wind through
my hair.
My being shivered
and yet I was
so warm inside.

My heart laughed
and the seagulls
chimed in—
a symphony written without notes.

Others passed by
stopping for a moment to
look…they, too, saw her.

Then Sophia rolled
in her clouds
clapping her hands
in a thunderous
roar.

I did not want to
leave, but I knew
as I waved goodbye that
she was far from gone.

A Girl

A Girl

Her small voice
hushed the noise of
the T.V. blaring news
of a new Pope.

She looked up at her
mom and, with
utter delight, she
inquired…
“Can a Girl be a Pope?”
Her eyes full of wonder…
her heart awaited a
response to a question
that for years had
been answered with
complete falsity.

The mom…in a soft
spoken voice—
tears slipping down
her cheek even before
the realization of the
words that she would
allow to spill from her
pursed lips said…
“Only boys can be priests.”

The child sat…
thinking only for a
moment before another
inquiry ensued.
“Does that mean girls
cannot help God?”

Do we ‘hear’ the messages
we ‘leave’ for our children?

We set the stage—
their little minds
so expansive.

We have the power to
transform/restrict their
creativity, their compassion,
their desire to do
GOOD—

Her question…
What will our answer be?
Perhaps it is time for us
to break the chain of
fear…speaking truths
only to let the light
that has always been
shine in NEW WAYS.

PARTICIPANT

Participant

You…
have set my ‘feet’
knotting them—
telling me a
Woman
where I
can and
cannot go.

You have
held my
voice~~~
‘sealing’ it,
allowing me to set
the table, prepare the
food, but you hold me
back from sharing
the words.

You decide what is
best for my body even
after it has been broken…
abused and yes, beaten.
Yet—
‘One’ who is BEYOND you
speaks through the
wind…
whose breath has
blown its way into
my soul, into every
fiber, cell, pulsing
in the transformation
of my being.

I am stretched
though you try to hold me.
I reach connecting to all creation
which fills me with life.
I sing for my voice can no longer
be restrained.  My refrain—endless.

My body
like a tree
is planted in ‘sweet’
surrender…
Still, the soil
holds me—
the birds nest in my arms reaching,
soaring in every
which way.

The sun warms me
while the rain bathes
my essence.

The snow freezes my
shell, my bark—yet,
my core, unseen
EXPANDS.

When leaves grow,
they join my
song—

You can try to ‘hold’
me—
yet, you’ll
never stop
the
‘moving’

I am a
participant in
the JOURNEY.

 

 

 

The Tempest

The Tempest

For a time
the swirling winds
of the rushing tempest
seemed to have ceased.

I walked amongst the trees…
we chatted.
A simple song they sang…
the gentle breeze echoed through
their branches.

My heart space
‘wonder-struck’…
A calm serenity was found
in the still silence.

Then, without notice
pellets of hail, sleet
fell from the sky.
Any subtle form of air
was now a fury
lifting me from any solid
foundation.

I twirled in the air—‘freezing.’
I was caught in the rapturous
whirl.

My mind raced—
I could not turn off
the noise penetrating
through my head.
My being ‘rocked.’

It was no use trying
to fight all the elements
rushing
toward my center.

I’ve known this place—
and this time I am
more aware of myself
within these encounters
of chaos.

In every way I am stretched—
refashioned and yes, maybe
reshaped—TRANSFORMED.

The tempest far from over—
The flying debris leaves me
blinded.

Yet—

I see.

I vision—a way
through this ‘place’…
still, silent, alone
yet, never by
myself.

Hidden within
the tempest I am pushed.  Yet,
I do not resist.
I know I simply
must let-go.

 

Be Still

Be Still

Come
sit gently upon
the budding flowers.

Suckle sweetly
the tender juices…in the heart
of the garden’s
abundance.

Be Still~~~
taste and
see
all you ever needed
or wanted
is all
around you.

It is not simply
around you
it is
within you.

Sit quietly
and be still.

Frigid

Frigid

Frigid…
I see my breath
in the framework of the night—
it shatters like a thousand
tiny pieces of icicles in mid-air.

The cold
creates pools which form
in the very corners of my eyes…
they slip down
freezing before they spill from
my chin.

The blustering wind
pierces my cheeks
like a sewing needle
weaving its way through
a seamless garment.

Why am I out here?
To listen~~~but to what?
What is there to listen to?
A tree cracks…
a lonely leaf scurries across
the icy terrain.

I’m frozen—
my nostrils await
another breath
before ‘sealing’ closed barely re-opening.

I listen…
and hear nothing.

The silence—it’s intoxicating.
I drink it in
one shot after another
and suddenly ‘inside’
my being I’m warm.
I’m listening to the chill of
nothingness—
and in this moment
it is as a
burning flame.

Our Mother

Our Mother

Our Mother
You are throughout the Universe
strewn in between the galaxies
and infinite solar systems.
You are in every star beaming within
the Milky Way.
Holy Woman is your name.

Your Creation is NOW
and shall be for as long
as you desire.
There is no separation from the
Cosmic Wonders you ordained.

Each day you gift to us…
You, Holy Mother, nurture us with
sustenance from your breasts—
spill milk of a lasting kind
until we are no longer babes.
Feed us with the riches of
spiritual maturity
so that when we fly from your
womb that has carried us,
your love holds us if our wings
should tire
and we fall to the ground.

Lift us again and again
so that the resurrection of
our spirits
sets ablaze our hearts
burning with love’s desire
for you and you alone.

For in you Holy Mother
transformation dwells
awakening our minds
set free from illusions.

Forever and ever
may you birth into life
goodness and kindness
mercy and steadfastness.

May love be the endless
fruit filling us
forever and ever.

Awomen

 

Yellow Flowers

Yellow Flowers

When I was but a child,
I wore a shirt of yellow flowers—
it was so beautiful.

I held it in my hands for a long time
before draping each of my arms
through its sleeves~~~slender shoots.

I buttoned each circular sphere
imaging myself
that very flower blossoming open
with so much wonder…

I could not wait to get to school
so as to ‘show~off’ this
dazzling cloth which my tiny tent
of a being adorned.

When I arrived at school
I was alive, unfolding…
the yellow flowers seemed to shine
from inside my heart.

I rushed to share this bouquet with
my friends, but as I approached—
yes, from a distance
they began to laugh.
I could not imagine what they were
chuckling at~~~it couldn’t be me—
could it?

As I entered the circle,
my joy suddenly shattered—
My friends began to mock, make fun of
my beautiful yellow flowered shirt.

I allowed them to pluck away
the gift of every petal…
the tiny thorns in the stems, not even
visible, pierced my fragile heart.

No one saw the tears that
blanketed my pillow that night as
I clutched the shirt in my arms.

So long I tried to pretend I did not
see the beauty of the yellow flowers…
I tried to ‘fit’ in.  I tried being
someone I was not…it felt like prison.

Then one day, walking alone,
the tears from so long ago slipped
beyond my cheeks and fell to the
ground.  I looked ‘down’ and realized
just how alone I was NOT~~~

Bursting from the earth,
tiny yellow flowers~~~
covered the damp ground
and began to reflect their beauty
upon my soul.

Lovely, these yellow flowers,
gifts given from the Source
of all things created…
and yes, even I am one~~~
budding amidst the yellow flowers.

What Gift do you Bring?

What Gift do you Bring?

A piece of Paper
empty, life-less…
without color.

A box of Pencils
endless colors…
sitting, as if in waiting.
For so long their ‘points’
longed for union~~~connection.

A Story
in a mind
always creating…
still~~~holding back
WONDERING, PONDERING, HESITATING.
What gift can I bring?

Then ‘She’ knelt upon
the frozen earth
under the silent moon
lighting the empty paper.

She picked up the colored pencils
or maybe they picked her?
None the less,
She ‘mused’ them ‘into’ the
naked page…

Splashing with delight
She discovered ‘her-story.’
It was her gift to bring
and NOW how could she
not share it with the world?

A Love Story
filled with the tapestry of colors
and the page, or pages of paper
are anything but empty.

The Empty Pitcher

The Empty Pitcher

Pour out the contents—
every last ounce of ‘whatever’
remains; let it spill out
and dissolve so that it might
not be found ever again.

Hollow, the Pitcher
at last…
This is how it first arrived
in the world after being
held, kneaded and placed
in a fire—
it came out of the kiln
absolute perfection.

Somehow—
so many of ‘our’ pitchers—
yours, mine…a collective ‘ours’
have been filled, tarnished,
scraped, cracked from the
inside…and for too long
what we’ve come to believe in
are the falsities of who we actually
are.  It is this we are not
this is not what defines us
and yet, it has.

Wounds inflicted—
‘we’ have allowed to fill us.
Some we actually believe true.
Imagine NOT believing in your own perfection.
WAIT—imagine
BELIEVING in your
perfection.

Empty your pitcher.
‘Look’ inside…
maybe its shine is a bit lackluster after
so many years—
perhaps a mar has
formed and
your pitcher broken
in places.

Can you finally ‘see’ you
in this emptiness?
Behold the splendid
Pitcher you are and
always have been.

It is in this very
emptying you are
finally FULL.

Now—splash yourself
everywhere that will
receive the love that
is YOU.

The Trees Are Crying

The Trees Are Crying

They know what is coming.
A storm is approaching—
They, yes, each tree
big & small, tall & short, barren & filled
with autumn’s last leaves~~~
Each begins to sway.

The wind holds nothing back…
branches click and clack
and then a ‘break’
and then a silent rumble
as the tree crashes to earth’s floor…

If you listen—
really listen—
you’ll hear the trees cry.

They creek aloud understanding
a Fall.
Anything BUT a fall from Grace…
rather a fall into GRACE.
It is a time to weep…what was is passing.
What is to come remains unseen
and for this moment~~~it hardly matters.
NOW the trees cry.

Bend with them and listen—
it just might break you enough
to realize they, yes the trees,
embrace the mystery more than You or I.

 

Ghost Wagon

Ghost Wagon

You ‘see’ it don’t you?
I mean really ‘see’
it is anything but ‘hollow.’

At night—it is then you can
see it and them—
Yes them…

When the stars light the sky,
the canopy covers the wagon.
A team of galloping stallions
begins shuffling its hooves.

Inside…there they are
artists in their own right
poets at play, and a choir
of heavenly hosts.

Paints of endless colors begin to blend—
words flow from a pencil’s lead
and the singing is soft almost silent
as ghosts go traveling to ‘bedrooms’
where dreamers sleep unknown.

The haunting—
sweet mystery
send messages to the slumberer’s
night…
visions, illuminations, transfigured
awaiting a sign.
Yet, no sign need come
nor message be
had.
BUT—if one
discovered…
a treasure at last.

So…
sleep peacefully
tonight and, if you
hear the sound of
hoof beats, close your
eyes…quickly~~~FAST.

The ghosts in the
wagon are
coming at last.

Little One

Little One

What did you find?
Oh, yes…it is a treasure
It is such an amazing ‘gift’
that you could never put it in
a box with a pretty ribbon
for it cannot be contained.

My only wish…
no one take away what
you’ve discovered…
I pray you are not told
‘ARISE’…look how dirty your knees are
‘look’ how wet your new pants are.
Now, hurry…get up—

I pray no one says, come now
we must be going…better things to do
with our time than simply gaze into water
and skip stones on her crest…
Oh, don’t ever let go of this treasure.

I pray the silence here fills you again
and again—so you’ll never tire of coming back.
The noises you’ll hear in your ‘space,’ what
others will call home…never accept them as the norm.
Run back to the treasure you first discovered, Little One…

Pufffffff…

Pufffffff…

How could I pick it?
How could I not
and yes, so I did…

I took a deep ‘breath’
and blew ‘the seeds
not 10
not 20
not 30
so many more.

‘They’…each tiny seed
caught in the wind’s~~~
whisper and spread
to places of newness
to lands, waiting for that
one seed to find its way
to ‘change’ the face of
the landscape…

So…
God says~~~
how could I pick ‘you’ from my garden?
How can I not says God
and so God did…

God breathed~~~ God’s very breath
and blew
not 10
not 20
not 30
but so many ‘beautiful’
images of God’s self
out of the womb of Eden
and into a world~~~
the landscape of creation.

Each of us~~~God breathed
into life.
We have ‘seeds
within us…unique
gifts only we can
birth…

Trust the Spirit in ‘YOU’
and may the wind
carry you to what you
still cannot imagine.

Incarnation

Incarnation…

Began with the birthing of
dawn
out of the brilliance of darkness.

Stardust drizzled from a bursting star
gifting the landscape.

A single breath
through a nostril of Divine
Wonder brought into life’s
Cosmic Mystery
Humankind…

‘we’ were added to the dance—
to the ebb & flow—
to relational
love-making of Holy Awe.

ALIVE~~~
this was
the message
spoken.

Fulfillment was
offered…
it is in our
Hands.

Get On

Get On

Quick, quick
come quickly now.

Yes…it’s time.
You know…
You see…

Come…get on—
that’s it.

Now…
all together.

Listen…
can you hear it?
It is silence~~~
Quiet now…
Empty all thought…
isn’t it beautiful?

Still, still, still
The echoes of silence.

Get on, get on
before you ‘rush’ to get off.

Keep balanced—
we are in this together.

There is no telling where the silence
will lead…really it does not matter.

And …perhaps it does~~~
If we simply silence ourselves
maybe we will come to know one another
without ALWAYS speaking.

Perhaps we will ‘see’
how similar we
are and balance on
this cosmic globe.

Silence…can you
‘hear’ the world
spinning…

You have it…
Get on~~~
the dance has
begun.

Where Will Our Children Play

Where Will Our Children Play

We wake
and both choose our favorite blend.
Aroma rising…
‘we’ fill our cups to the brim.

You pick up the paper—
I put down the noise.
You read the headlines—
I gaze at the stars.

In between sentences you hear about the violence
and wars
while I’m perched hearing the
songs of the waking birds.

You shudder, aghast…health care
reform, deficits, tax increases,
millions of dollars to pilot air force one.
I sit beside the trees bending
to greet the sun.
A breeze runs through my hair
while a chipmunk scurries
through the blanketed grass.  A
dragonfly lands resting itself upon
my knee…

You are not wrong…
I am not right.
‘We’ both ‘see’ yet, through
different lenses.

‘We’ both ask,
‘Where, where will our children
play???’
If ‘we’ don’t listen NOW and
rise for them…what will any
of this mean?

Can we ‘stop’ the division
and seek a way—
without answers, yet a common
goal of justice for all?

What really is equality?
Stop hiding in the shadows
negating what is ‘real.’

You see, you see…
get off the pulpit—
try ‘seeing’ from the pew.

Where, where will our children
play?
Are we able to get them off i pads—
so they can hear…stories,
told orally, from of old?
Are we able to avoid fast foods in
a rush to get to the next
event…
and share with them
the sacred art of
spitting watermelon seeds
(are you laughing…
remembering)?
Are we able to push them away
from the T.V. and let
them run through the
sprinkler?
Are we able to let them
fully clothed get wet?

You and I may ‘see’
differently,
but I know
We both want our
children to PLAY—

Down the Block

Down the Block

Down the block…
the past unseen
and it was brimming with life.

No one ‘saw’ the first ‘Son’ rise
or beheld all the shooting stars.

No one witnessed the first flower—
unfolding petals created landscapes of carpeted cushioned beds
and yet ‘she’ stood
apart, separate from any rib.

She already was
because she came from down the block.
Her voice burst, like a BANG, and opened the cosmic storm.
Yes…Sophia~~~Wisdom shook the splendor
and wonder-lust of nothingness
splashing light
radiating darkness.

It was not from her rib that ‘He’ came into
being, but He from her heart
down the block.

She needed no introduction or Heavenly Queen-ship.
Her being was love personified
and her tears
fill the pools, the oceans and rivers
who still know it was ‘she’ who
brought all things to be.

Silently she speaks as
her daughters
find their voices
down the blocks of ages past.


Desire

Desire

Tell me of your desires
and I will tell you of mine.

When I sit gazing upon a tree,
I desire every part of my being
to be nestled deep into the soil.
I want to ‘breathe’ packed in mud
and shoot through the veins of
the trunk until I’m dangling
from a branch.
I want a caterpillar to nibble
upon my leaves
and I want the birds to
sit within me singing, singing, singing.
That is my desire
and I am One with the tree.

When I splash into the sea,
I desire to be a wave folding
over & over gathering sand
and displacing it so it can discover
new shores.
I want to be calm one moment and
then move into a tempest
swirling every which way—
no direction necessary.
That is my desire
and I am One with the Sea.

When I stare at the
sky, I desire to be a
cloud…puffy, white
and full of vapors.
I want to hear the
sound of little children
magically trying to
create something from
my formation. I
desire the painted blue
screen I float within
to intertwine in me
until at last I am
One with the Sky.

When I climb a mountain,
I desire to reach its
summit just as when
I enter a canyon
I desire to get down
into its endless
abyss.
All this—I desire to
be One with the
mountain and the
canyon.

Tell me of your desires
and I will tell you of mine.

Wings unfolded, talons
outstretched,
I desire to be a hawk
lunging with the ease of
speed
eyeing the trout skimming
the water’s surface—
Darting…any sort of brake
disengaged
in my talons.
I seize the mighty fish
and off to my nest I fly…
my young already delighting
in the tasty water spectacle.
My desire in that one single
bite,  a taste of holy communion,
and now my feathers dry
in the cool summer’s breeze.

My hooves touch the ground,
but in a moment of fearful
desperation I leap…my legs
life springs…a gentle deer I
desire to be.

In early mornings…the sweet
nibble of fresh grass then down
to the river the deer saunters to lap up the jewels
of the stream—
An animal of such grace.
My steps, a rhythmic dance…
I am One with the
deer and my
desires embraced.

Tell me of your desires
and I will tell you of mine.
I desire to be a bell
in a tower cast in
far away lands.
Yet, when I ring—
when my whole being
swings clanging the
chimes to the bronzed
frame…
all who listened
no matter how
far
would ‘hear’
their desires
fulfilled
and in that moment
all desires would
be ONE
and then suddenly
a Divine Reality
would whisper

Yes…your desire
is good.

 

Two Stones

Two Stones

On a shoreline
two solitary stones sat side by side
naturally, there were hundreds if not
thousands of other stones gathered
beside the two—

yet, together they gazed upon life
they shared very few words
they enjoyed basking in the sun—together
they savored the rains…being washed anew—together
they were comforted by winter’s white blanket—together
they laughed in the fog when they could not ‘see’ one another—
but, together they knew they were
side by side
never alone

Then one day—a storm raged
the waves pounded the shoreline
the pummeling crash of the ocean’s fierce breath
turned the tides—making loose one of the stones
and it was washed into the surf
carried by the waves sweeping in and out…

Gone…so it seemed—
the other stone now appeared lost
it felt the sun in a new way in the absence of
the Other
the rain now was like a tiny pool in the Other’s space
the snow fell cushioning extra layers
reminding the stone of the Other’s presence
and
when the fog rolled in the stone imagined the Other
and in the Other’s absence the stone knew
the Other near…nearer than ever

the Other was ‘transformed’ into ‘everything’
around, within and about the stone—
and its loneliness was no more

A Sailing Ship

A Sailing Ship

There I was
nestled near the edge
of the shore
when suddenly it made
its way across the
glass-countered sea top…

Moving with ease,
it did not ‘see’ me and so
I carefully hid myself
behind a patch of elevated
cat tails

No sails moved this
unique vessel…
this sailing ship— not
even a motor

A large tip~~~its bow
and its stern
a giant paddle caressing
the seas

The body of this ship
strong—yet, its movement like
a soft feather tucked
inside a bird’s nest

Closer and closer it came
I could not resist to catch
a ‘full’ glance and at that
the tail parted the sea
creating a splash which soaked me
with delight…

the sailor’s ship now submerged
and I~~~soaked with laughter

She Hung There

She Hung There

It was time
did she really understand
what it meant?
I think not…

“Still,” she set her silky
tent
She spun it round and round herself—
it was a ‘perfect’ fit…for now

She thought to herself…
I could stay like this forever
BUT…something began to happen
in the silent, waking months

Her cocoon, a warm safe haven
was simply too snug
so she pushed, stretched, and caught her
breath…yes~~~she heard her breath

She burst from her dwelling
a hidden womb tucked in
the branches of a
tender tree

The tent…now an empty
tomb
and she a ‘transforming’ image
of the One who first formed
her to Be

 

HOODIE

Hoodie

Can you ‘see?’
are you able to open your
heart to embrace the
pupils‘ you cannot view
beneath the hoodie…?

Some’one’ is underneath
the cover
Why is she/he shielded?
Have you asked?
Perhaps you’ve drawn a conclusion.

Why the choice not to
be revealed?
Has the person beneath the hoodie been abandoned,
left out, cast aside?

Has anyone touched the face
caressed the many tears
that flow under its protective
cover?

Who is truly under the ‘hoodie?’
Is it perhaps you or me?
Maybe ‘we’ don’t wear our
hoodie outwardly, but do we
inwardly?

Why the hoodie?
I don’t have the answers,
but I do know what it feels
like to have my face
touched

the warmth of a loving presence

I’ve never been the same…

Let’s try to embrace at least
one face, one invisible face
captured under the hoodie

 

Whooo Said…

Whooo said…

Who said one must color in between the lines?
Did they ever really take the time to look
up into the sky dancing with magical creatures
in the puffy white clouds~

Who said one must sleep during the night
and miss the splendor of the darkness
and the stars shooting across a sea of
blanketed velvet glass?

Who said the deepest truths and mysteries
in life have all been discovered?
Was ‘anyone’ really there when all
matter was formed, when energy flowed
in directions that never moved in any
way other than everywhere and nowhere?

Who said the first ‘breath‘ of life
was experienced by a human?
They’ve never seen a flower push its way through a solid rock and
blossom like it is the only thing
existing in this very moment.

Whooo said, ‘Owls’ only come
out at night?
Certainly not I…

I may not be as wise as
our ‘feathered friend’—
Yet, we can all reach for the moon.

Who said it has not already reached us
and ‘touched’ us with its magnificent GLOW.

Who said, “All things are Possible…”
Do you BELIEVE
Who said