Beating drums like beating wings
of the mourning dove
It purrs as it takes flight
- short bursts of fancy -
until it is out of sight.
The quiet under the chatter
- the pause breaks rhyme and meter -
even original thought might appear
before it dives back underwater
melting where ice meets the sea.
The boom of melting glaciers
the noise blaring out of our devices
- out of our mouths -
till one melds into one
then bellows into the night.
Disrupting peace and calm,
steady breathing and beating hearts
- awake without warning -
where rumination and worry
have nowhere to hide.
No noise to distract
nowhere to be
- just hear -
as my mind takes flight
and plunges back into dream.
Unconscious and subconscious
submerged once again
toiling and boiling underfoot
solving and cajoling - nipping -
Here, I gather the seeds of wisdom
(the seeds of nourishment)
The path to freedom
The path to freedom,
truth be told,
lies in the heart,
and in the letting go.
Though at times it may appear
disheveled and eroded
by river, brook and spring,
the path winds through.
Even through narrow trees and shrubs
surrounded by darkness and echo.
uncertainty looms as
decisions and choices are made.
Remember,
to embrace freedom
Listen and still the body,
Speak from the heart.
Our hands embrace
and we guide each other.
Our steps match in rhythm and stride.
A dance of truth and pure awareness
illuminates the paths unseen.
I listen to my heart
our hands let go
knowing there is safety here
in freedom.
I am a book
I am a book
all the chapters are written,
the words have been said,
the future imprinted,
even if I haven’t gotten to
those pages yet
The Forgotten Daughter
I was his child only
when it was convenient
To sweep into my life
once my Pepe was gone
To slam the door on his face
A grinned mustache, and dimpled cheeks
much like my own smile
I knew it was not to last
A temporary arrangement
until the burden and toils
a brood of offspring can bring
Much in his likeness
Quickly forgotten
And this is our path
a greeting and a ghost
a disappearance, a reappearance
Debris gathered onto the shore
carried by a great wave
discarded, unwanted
And I didn’t want to feel his desire
Only the attention of a loving father
and his doting daughter
not to be
in this lifetime
Waning Crescent
Our eyes met.
It was the waning crescent
and her bright star companion.
No words were exchanged.
Just a silent greeting
and a reflection of light.
Distance has no bearing
in our quiet reunion.
We share the same sun after all.
Sealed with a Kiss
(S.W.A.K.)
The sea breeze sends a kiss
on my cheek a mark
of our brief encounter.
It came without warning
and I was ready
though caught by surprise.
The window to my heart
opened a heart-shaped shell
a handful of smooth stones.
I wanted for nothing but
wanted more.
An empty chamber smooth and winding
it entered and a spark ignited.
Life answered the call
and I was home
whole and wholesome.
The front door sealed shut
the encounter from my beating heart
where language and oneness
have no barrier even here
even here.
Each Leaf
Change is the natural order of things.
Each leaf reached the highest highs
Full bloom and glory
And now the lowest lows
The underbrush.
Each leaf, each expression,
each color
as unique as a snowflake.
Tear
A tear in the fabric
Discarded and forgotten
no time to mend the broken
The wind broke the silence
and the leaves twirled
unable to change their course.
Strong foundations seemed to crumble
and rumble, left tattered
and back to their original stone.
Was it too late to turn back time?
Have I had enough of this game of chance
where no one wins?
The night brought an early chill,
even though it was only late afternoon.
A voice seemed to stir
from the rubble, from the tattered
and torn into shreds.
The stars shined through
A reminder that all isn’t lost
all isn’t gone in the dark.
There is a constant light that can never dim.
Of Shadow and Light
I. Shadows in the corner
A face looks out the window
as I play unaware of its piercing
eyes and snarled face.
It watches me often.
Appears here and there.
I feel helpless and scared.
Those watchful eyes and scowled face.
II. The light turns and turns
Other times I have this power
or at least I think I do.
My bedroom ceiling light.
With its round opaque glass
And swirling patterns of ribbon and flowers.
By its own accord, it spins above my head
Slowly and steadily.
Sometimes I follow it with my finger.
Other times I will it to turn.
Tracing the path
Round and round.
It gets the message.
And the glass starts to spin.
Matching its pace to my pointed finger.
Sometimes I reverse the trace,
just to see if it responds.
And it always does.
This relationship, this power.
A track to follow.
My eyes fixated on its path.
We do this little dance.
I follow you.
You follow me.
The glass never unwinds itself
off its hinges or crashes down.
Just above me as I slumber,
It turns and turns.
[ Based on true events ]
Patchwork
Patchwork of clouds
thread, thread, thread
pink, orange marmalade
light blue and a gray hue
Summer June bugs buzzing in my ears
left to right
hidden from sight.
An end of summer soiree
Easily missed
if shut indoors.
A serene scene
unseen
when we get lost
in our screens.
Healing Insights 