would you mind

would you mind if I
stop the car here
on top of this little mountain?
I speak to the would-be angry
drivers, but no one is
in the rear view mirror.
I catch my breath
which was captured away
by the purple clouds
scattered across the sky
above the violet blue ridge
mountains in the distance,
misty jewels all along the throat
of the wintry earth.

Recent poems

Sept. 25, 2010

I Follow the Moon

I follow the moon
in the pink twilight
as it moves down
the leafy street.
I follow still
looking for a way,
It still moves.


Oct. 2, 2010
Curious and Rich

When I walk past
the fragrant forest
after heavy rain,
which smells like
the freshest salad
you ever ate,
some vegetation
from Otherworld
that when eaten
makes you feel alive,

then I listen, listen
and there is
nothing, nothing but.

When it is almost dusk
and the horizon is tinged
with the most delicate
hint of lavender,
against it dark
silhouettes of tiny
fruit-tree branches,

I listen, listen
there is nothing, nothing but.

When I pass the small mountain
rising like a god
impressing the night
and the still liquid sky,

I listen, listen
and there is nothing, nothing.

But nothing is something
curious and rich,
and I have heard it.

Some New Poems 2010

2/15/10 I Float, I Fall


Snow falls repeatedly
in a weekly pattern,
covering over.

Clearing away,
small areas
reveal themselves,
then the falling again.

I fell from the stars,
all is foreign,
I am always homesick,
but trying to pay attention,
to why I’m here.

Beauty keeps me
in its spell,
my soul
floats to earth,
and gathers,
mystical white.

It clears a little
and something
is revealed,
something is discovered
underneath.

Somewhere flowers bloom,
the stars twinkle,
I float, I fall.



1/9/10 The Sky is My Monastery, the Forest My Cathedral (this was "given" if you will--but not sure I'll leave in "thee" :)

The sky is my monastery
the forest my cathedral
and so I must
constantly go to church
to seek,
throughout the world
all the places
of sublime beauty,
and like them
must mimic
divine light,
not doing anything
but just be
who I am
along with thee.

Beholding is enough
that we might
support each other
in wordless devotion
hearing the music
of love and beauty
and the life-force
that springs from thee,
to me, and back again.

This is my quest
and how I am free
which delightfully, brings
joy to thee, and
therefore to me.

This is a new time
and I no longer need
to be a sacrifice
labeled a virgin, or a whore,
burned at the stake,
thrown into prison,
or over the wall
of Edingburgh castle
into the North Sea.
That’s over.

I am healed
and not afraid
to be me and free
from religion and politics
and misogyny.
I can heal you too
by just being me.
though to speak it
sounds crazy.

No words then
I will mimic divine light
and just be.
with the forest as cathedral,
and the sky as monastery.



6/20/10 The Earth Rotates, Clouds Pass By


Years go by
and I am still transfixed
by the earth rotating.
From this perspective
it seems the puffy clouds
float by and the planet
is still, yet it’s not.
I am the one moving,
The clouds are moving too.

The fact and the metaphor
still surprise me,
perhaps when I feel dizzy
there is good reason
that I cannot see
at first.
All is motion after all.

Perhaps if I feel
stillness and sameness
boredom with myself
there is movement
that is almost imperceptible.
How could I think
anything is still?



7/18/10 In the Midst of Summer


In the midst of winter
one cannot remember summer
It’s a foreign thing,
so spring dancingly
lets us in.

And in summer it is
usually the same,
but this summer
I do remember
being covered over
with many snows
buried in beauty,
wonder, and fright.
The weather god
let us have it.

In this appearance of heat
sticky, constant, sweat,
there is another existence
like the Celts believed
that other world lives
side by side
easy to step
from one to the other.

In the imagination
the other comes back
in a moment.

Favorites from section called "Love" from chapbook "The Stars Reach Down and Speak Diamonds and Rubies"

Our hands were firmly cemented
With a fast balm, which thence did spring,
Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread
Our eyes, upon one double string….”The Ecstasy”, John Donne


The Secret Garden


That further dimension
that true love makes
the secret garden
of the matched lovers
the place no one else enters.
What is that mystery?
Bloom and sparkle
the light of the eyes
the mystery of new time
pushing a new curve
into the center of things
the soul that is
the two made one
the one soul
that makes the two
more distinctly who
they are
to then give
the better self again.




Miracle


I am a snow maiden

I have taken on your climate

see, I am to be your bride

has the snow begun to fall?

There is a basket of fruit

ripening on the porch

the hills are lovely

summer must be so glorious

its exuberance simply out

of contrasts. I am happy.

This is mine, all of it

when the snow falls

I have visions, bells ring

I see you and me by miracle

a veil lifted on a green land.





Dancing Princess


I have waited up till very late
the quiet sings to me
ice and snow cushion my defenses
the leaves have frozen in mid-air
a diamond offering.
I will forever go to the dance
wear my shoes out in the underworld
and you are invisible still.
I dare you to bring
that diamond token back
to show my Daddy.
I waited up
with a night full
of conversation
on the tip of my tongue
whispering warmth
pillowed against the cold
once again—you never show yourself.
I put the feast away
carefully covering the pies
lock the door
peeking once more
out at white and shadow
a visitation of winter
to this sunburnt land.
I feel the mist on the window
know the frozen sight
somewhere deep inside
the stars have sent
their sparkle and chill
to my very landscape.
I think of you
on your journey to me
and of the great distance
you’ve had to travel by now.
I wish for you a magic cloak.



Knitting


I’m knitting another row
it’s the same old Penelope story
written in a woven shroud
(aren’t we dying every minute?)
my living starts another unfolding
dreams are made of this
the folding in of another chapter
the knots of unforgetting
each stitch a question
each row a manifestation
each ball of yarn changed.
The story grows and at the end
I hope it will make sense.

I look to see in the morning
if the weaving sticks
if the fairy tale is beginning
is it something I can touch?
Will the story bring the stranger/Other back?
even with all his wild thread?
or is this another unraveling?
the dream gone dark again
caught in my throat
before it has had its chance?



Mid-Winter Spring


I can see your mind
speedily working out equations
to understand and open poetry
to no avail
it has its own mystery
so you come with a gift
in the opening
of mid-winter spring.
I receive your eyes
and my heart is like
a summer bird returning
with a song
it hasn’t sung yet.
Shall I deliver it?
Its sweetness sputters waiting
tossing and turning
in the star-driven night
and the new moon
sits bright and quiet.




You Meet Me Halfway


I’ve followed you down the amber roads
of Africa, as the sun sets
behind tree silhouettes
whatever is cruel, and predatory
your wisdom and beauty will overcome.

You move gently towards me
which surprise my expectations.

In everything which calls for action
you have thought the deed and moved
but in this—the space between us
you meet me halfway to who I am
and anything is possible now—
call me by my first name.

You have no need to kill a lion.

I have no need to tame him.

The dream has awakened again
the day sits dewy on my eyelids
everywhere I leave a trail of amber
soon, very soon, I will chance to meet you
in the world-time, in the mid-day.