All is held here
a buried treasure inside
Nature’s patterns tell the story
The answer lies within
each leaf, branch and twig
strong yet bending to the forces outside
a rip, a tear, a break
Everything has its limit
the trick is to go to the edge
before it cracks
to have the strength and know when
to back off and let be
Landscapes
I.
Landscapes and borders blend
pitfalls, unknown, lie ahead
with stable footing I step forward
to peer over the edge
eternity and reality converge
one point just out of focus
trance-like, translucent
I breathe in this space
Place out of time
in its own rhythm and rhyme
We all have these seasons
There doesn’t need a reason
Just allow it to unfold
The blending will mend
what needs tending.
trusting the process
I look over the horizon.
dreams become reality
II.
deep tones
light and shadow
swim in the sea before me
culminating a crescendo
of sound and fury
a powerful force indeed
III.
Blend and meld
We are one
Where I end and you begin
is just a figment of the imagination
Words are Spells
Words are spells
silence is complacency
Words can uplift and inspire
a promise for progress
We can be the change we seek in the world
with positive, cooperative speech
It is not toxic positivity or ignoring reality
it is creating a constructive discourse
to get from here to there
without remorse or regret
Today we stand at the threshold
between what was and what will be
my words can shape a future
to be proud of, where my children
and grandchildren will thrive
The choice is ultimately mine.
Silence is not golden.
Silence is complacency.
We stay in the dark with silence
Words are that beacon of light
of hope, of remembrance, of what could be
The world is filled with beauty
and opportunity
and I will be silenced no more
My words will not divide but defy
the status quo to stay small and quiet
It is an inner rebellion that ripples out
Remember, words are spells
Gratitude is more than an attitude
Gratitude is more than an attitude
it’s an outlook, a lifestyle choice
it’s a way of being and seeing
and soon more blessings arrive
the world has been waiting
for this recognition
the gift is ours
the time is now
I gather my wildest dreams
words, images, a key phrase
catches my eye and I smile
I sit at the page
or on the meditation cushion
and I follow the breadcrumb trail
The path is not known
The beginning starts with a spark
of inspiration, of intention and creativity
There is no limitation here
just my wildest dreams stretching out to the horizon
Like a colorful, wild meadow
unidentified, undefined
a full expression of what it means to be free
Graves
Do the graves vibrate deep in the earth
when a church bell rings?
Are they untouched,
the final sleep at last?
Do they tremble and quake just a little?
Unbothered by the rumble and undertones
The tombs spread out like a picnic blanket
A quilt of patchwork of names and dates
Important perhaps
Everlasting
Beyond one human life
a remembrance for loved ones
Do they linger and visit here;
or is it a forgotten, sacred land
that outlived its purpose
or its loved ones’ memory?
Why keep a milestone etched
and mark up the land
who once was and never will be?
The purpose outlasted us all
Time is cruel and nonlinear
How can that be?
The river streams and overflows no more
and the dying are laid to rest
We hold their memory
whether we go to a sacred place or not
What is sacred is personal anyway
I like to stand among the stones of lives
forgotten and long moved on
Like a reunion of lives maybe lost
but a legacy of sorts still lives on
The light in the dark
The darkest weeks ascend toward us
The circles of wind-swept dead leaves
approach and scatter as I walk
I tread lightly and look to the sky
The shimmering light of morning sun
dazzled and greeted me
My curious heart reached out
and leaped to meet the current
of light and warmth above
It is a welcome reprieve
The dazzling sunsets will tuck me in
to a play of color and a gift
from the painter in the sky
whose hues and shades and strokes of
pinks, oranges and purple
stir me to a relaxed lullaby
of warm tea, a blanket and a book
We all need to rest and gather
during these darkest weeks
It is a welcome reprieve
Childhood
Childhood is a fleeting state
where joy, and permission to
pretend, and be anyone we choose
becomes our whole world
The real takes a back seat to the imaginary
And this is a gift bestowed to the human race
The world is our oyster and our playground
We try on new personas like a new hat
and we can imagine grandiose lives
and change course on a whim
We suspend reality and just become
the superhero, the villain,
the dancer, the performer
Magic is real and all around us
Pure love and joy can reside there;
sadness and angry outbursts
feel just as powerful.
We are consumed and carefree
To be a child in this world
is a gift to behold
a season in my heart
The heart-shaped clouds of sunset
orange, deep blue and cotton candy pink
pepper and patchwork the sky.
I am in awe
anchored in the here and now
The seasons capture my attention.
some are lighter and brighter
with growth and opportunity;
others in darkness, quiet
a stillness blankets the earth
Like marble that follows its track
towards light or dark,
it doesn’t matter the trajectory.
They are both sides of the same coin;
You can’t have one without the other
A seed can only sprout under pure darkness.
and like the ocean tide,
like the phases of the moon,
we must not forget our periods of
rest, renewal, of turning inward
So that our wells become stocked
with fresh ideas and inspiration come spring
Devoured
Warm chocolate pastries
all night they rested in the cold oven
frozen rectangles on the verge of freezer burn
lay quietly on parchment paper
over the course of the required nine hours
while I slept
they defrosted, rose and grew
to almost 4 times their frozen size!
In that early morning wakefulness,
I stumble into the kitchen to turn the oven on
memory served me and I wanted to get a head start
The oven light clicked on and they began
the final leg of their journey
into fullness, their greatest potential
becoming a reality in my toasty oven
the white pastry dough
became golden like the rising sun
and their baked delight
swam into the air and nestled
into every nook and corner of our walls
If I closed my eyes tight enough,
I could imagine being in my very own bakery
The timer dinged and the baked chocolatey,
ooey-gooey goodness rested on the stove
until it was safe enough to handle
and then they were promptly devoured
by my daughter as she read her fiction book,
crunching the flaky crust
The smell lingered on
long after the chocolate croissants
were devoured and gone
Healing Insights 