The Unused Room

In Anima issue #2 coming out winter 2016

The Unused Room

Here is the quiet
and the bells,
again I hesitate
to venture with
the heart wings
into this unused room
even with such
a small offering,
just a whisper
of the deep.
A glimpse of
the golden palace.

Movement

Movement

They come in the morning
first are the crackling branches
movement unseen in
the thick of the forest.
The dark mystery of all
(where in the night
sounds unearthly come.)

Then finally a face
emerges from the green—
the other part of self
that is kept in the woods.

Stepping into your world
is a grace, a gift
from the deep heart
of things until now
kept hidden.

I see all this movement
shape-shifting change
is a move towards intuition.

I Float, I Fall

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.

Winterwoods

Winterwoods

I seek you out in sorrow
you are deeply brown
with shades of purple
set against deep gray.

Here I am.
What shall I be?

In sorrow is joy, you say,
Earth is a rich
but burrowing thing,
Brandenburg concertos
play behind:
that is winter.

Winterwoods
I am more
than what I can do.
Let me just stand here
and breathe you.

More Poems in Journal Anima

Bridges


I’ve seen so many bridges
dreamed of ancient gatekeepers
a fluffy white dress
and dogs that fly me
through the gates to the big house

I’ve come from a far off land
an alien amongst you
somehow I’ve won your love

my wandering isn’t over though
and soon another bridge
will magically appear
when the river is too wide
to ford safely
first the bridge appears
then the river
and it’s time to cross
with my children and animals

a trumpet will sound ahead
the elephants will parade first
to announce our strangeness

and like a dream I had once
I will see more names
written on the wings of an angel

I will never forget you

but for now let’s toast
to the mystical tension

between order and freedom.






Notice Me: A Poem of Aphrodite
(in the Spirit of Sappho

Inanna gathered all the me.
The me were placed on the Boat of Heaven.
The Boat of Heaven, with the holy me,
pushed off from the quay.

Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth


Desire has shaken my mind
As wind in the mountain forests
Roars through trees.

Sappho, 15


I am a sea-shell
sing through me,
radiate scarlet
to the western sky.
Laughter’s darling
is the breeze
that lifts my hair
cools the sweat
on my neck.
I am the wind silvery
with glee,
the trees ravished
with desire,
bending bodies
as if they remember
some pre-tree time
and the motion of water,
leaves like hair
sweep the earth.
Centuries run round
circles of the sun
Inanna, Ishtar, me.
Beauty catches the poet
by surprise
notice me.
Notice the glow
of youthful skin
the playful glance
remember the giggle
that catches running
from each silly child
to the other
until no one is immune.
Though I shout “stop-stop!
My sides are hurting”
notice me rolling
from side to side
finally breathless
no laughter left
until eyes meet again
erupt into a giggle-dance
again and again.
Recognize what Beauty is,
I am the purple
interwoven into everything,
the silence between things,
the song, the cricket’s chirp,
the heavy stillness
of dead heat in Su(m)mer,
the quiet of snow falling,
The wee hours
when traffic dies away.
Remember in the desert
the sound of ocean waves,
remember in the mountains
the vista of the prairie,
remember in old age
the beauty of your mother
when she was young
her hair brown and soft.
Notice me
even in the pain of love
the absence of love
I am the presence
in what is not.
I am color—
what makes you
choose one over another.
A painting for this wall?
Or to leave it white?
Like the brrrrrr
in a man’s deep voice
or the delicate collar-bone
peeping through a woman’s blouse
desire springs through
all things life-giving,
wonder at it,
this is me
this is yours.




Treasure Hunting

From the depths of the sea
a white whale rises up
across his forehead is written
“Christianity”
I am tied to his side.

The goddess Ganges is also a river
deep within I find
Axis Mundi
the alive meet the dead
I immerse myself.

Lady of the Lotus-born
buries the treasure
under the snowy mountain ranges
something is cooking underground
it is time for me to dig.

My mother is Persephone,
I am Demeter,
for twenty years
from the underworld
she has taught me how to live
Hades is not so bad
I listen
my ear is to the ground.

I find a trail of pearls
through the forest
and meet myself
at the talking spring
I peel off my outer layer
from night emerges day
I string the pearls
so I won’t forget to retrace
the path of becoming.

Merlin retreats into stone
stone retreats into forest
in visions Merlin visits
with coned hat alive with stars
he gives me his hat
and a blue third eye.
A door in an oak tree opens
words and then pages fly out
The oak says, “Unlock the secrets of nature.”

I dream the Dalai Lama smiles
and gives me a sacred stone
as I hold it in my hand
images and colors flow out of it
I fly with the stone
to the innermost circles
of his Buddhist palace
new architecture appears
new circles emerge
within old ones
here babies are asleep
a chamber orchestra plays
women wash white linen.

A pattern emerges
what is hidden
buried deep within
earth, water, and sky
in the architecture of the soul
are rooms I seek
here one thing transforms into another
just as straw is spun into gold.
Apparently, I am ready for alchemy.




A Local Habitation and a Name

To sit in the moonlight
wrapped in a blanket
rocking back and forth.

As the dark grows
I hear many walking
in the woods
I see only shadows
in the pale light
as they walk or
scramble through the
fallen leaves
to be close around.

I hear breathing,
some walk slowly
stopping to consider,
others follow each other
in a mad dash,
all the while
the owl hoots
high up in his overview.

Nocturnal comings
and goings,
dreams while awake,
bathing in cold moonlight
all heals an un-named pain.

Beauty, movement, animal
beings, dream sequences,
happen outside me now.

The dark formless
inner stirrings
take shape
and are given
“a local habitation
and a name.”*

* from William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream

Poem in journal: Anima (in Summer)

This Grove of Trees

There is a wide circle
I am surrounded by it
and it is filled with silence.
Each day is a documentary,
I consider what is growing,
how to make my life sweet,
the slant of morning light,
the complaint of crows.

I will slowly turn moments
turning towards a breeze
suddenly
nothing has changed
but it will.
Love and honor this
for I was born to love
even to disregard blue light
as great engines
slowly, suddenly, pass by
this grove of trees,
shaking the ground,
while I stand still knowing,
this grove of trees

that I am here knowing,
this grove of trees
that was once
not forgotten.

New poem 2015

Where I Am Perched

Where I am

is where I am,

perched,

as a cormorant

on a stick.

Light on water

dazzles.

Just am here

though cold

rough beauty

is arresting,

as are tops of sailboat

masts amidst

 gaggles

of singing,

no where else.

The Little People

(It's Spring and Fairy is afoot)

The Little People

If I stand on tippy-toe

and turn ever so lightly

a space will open in the air

the smell of it drifts past my nose.

Sometimes when I turn like that

it is a rose garden all green

and pinkish, heavy with beese.

I know little people live in the creek

I know the perspective of looking up

through the underbrush as if it were jungle

the branches grow together overhead.

Sometimes the sun never peeks through

but there is always leaf on leaf

green on green—bright green jewels

lit from within—the green suns of our world.

At night in the pale moonlight

we play and play like we do all day

and all over, the blackness is touched

with a soft yellow of the fairy Queen’s nightgown

that she has thrown off playfully

and it floats down all around the world

the grass glistens moonlight on the dew.

The only thing we miss is the people-music

their instruments that sing like us

their baking sends smells down to us

we grow mischievous then and plan

ways to sneak through kitchen windows

at night we raid their refrigerators

as if we were their teenagers

who get a notion at midnight

they are a lot like us.

If only the people still remembered us

and left their food out on doorsteps

playing their music for us

sometimes joining in a dance

(that’s okay—we’ll do the singing).

  

I remember when the creek grows dark

under the cool branches and the leaves

are lit up and jewel-like,

the music is just out of ear-shot,

then my eyes can’t leave the clearness of the water.

Published in Parabola (Print) 2011, and Skyline (Web)

Spring for Edwin


I went out to meet
the wind half-way;
something new is always
turning up,
though the crows complain.

When Mom died
Daddy went to the ocean
to meet the tossing--
the change halfway.

It should be winter
longer than this.
For a very long time
I should be buried
in snow.

It seems wrong
that the very day
you were buried
change should ripple
out in such a way--

Everything blooms in shock.

The spring equinox has come
and someone else will
be the teller of the seasons
since you are strangely silent.

Yet the master of language
you are, now speaks
in perfect metaphor—wind,
the red-bud tree, the deer
in the back yard...

You continue,
evenso,
my heart is in some
snowy place.

Dancing Princess (Published online in Silver Birch Press Dec. 2014)

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.