How it Goes

I always end up back at home

in the aftermath of some hard-won victory

out in the world,

strung out from adrenaline and effort,

hauling some plastic cup full of mardi gras beads,

and needing a sit down with a straight-talking angel.

All Things Shine

Biglove

Once I asked how to remember

a dark thing

with joy and gratitude

It was answered

by good time

As heartfelt questions are

Unfolding in a lifetime of wins

and losses that turn out to be wins

and time whispers like a breeze

evoking all brilliant beautiful shining things

 

blessing for sweet time

Garden 2

let these days go on and on

these that have been snatched away

now reclaimed from effort

stolen from line standing

rescued from busyness and business

divinity took it back

without effort

because it is time

to have time

for the good earth

for enough sleep

to make breakfast

to listen

 

 

 

 

 

upside down creator medicine

Dandy Lion (2)

We built so much as neophytes

We propped it all up with a wink to the truth

It wouldn’t last but we didn’t care

Like a toddler when the jig is up

We scrambled to get our licks in

We’ve been slapping it together fast and cheap

While she’s been on her way to snatch us up

Mother love knows no transgression

That cannot be forgiven

But even while enjoying that degree of grace

We could only build things that beg for death

Like a wildfire or  a bloody revolution

Like an addict

Shoddy and hollow

In answer to our wordless prayers

In the before time

She whispered to some

But now the truth has been loosed

For whoever might care to listen

And it can’t be put back in the box

 

 

 

 

Malware

photo of green data matrix

Photo by Markus Spiske temporausch.com on Pexels.com

malignant code is running

in the background of your mind

invisible hurts metastasized

their poison overwriting your grace

inscrutable code

transmutes your beauty

into vile duplicity

what I would give to have known you

when you were three or four

how would I show you

how wholly sufficient

you are

 

 

 

 

Peach tree 6.3.16

Stepping off  my ride to nowhere

which can yield nothing

compared to warm red tomatoes

I find the ohm

between sleep

and all this cold coffee

and unattended need

I pick dewy weeds

barefoot

having silent conversations

with the patient mother

who inscrutably coordinates all things

in this green heaven

where flowers turn to peaches

and death to loamy earth

With an unrelenting circular cadence

she makes me think about buckwheat and honey bees

rising creeks and moon phases

I am reminded to strive

for nothing

because working and dancing 

are the same thing

 

 

 

 

Losing as Winning Again

balancing rock formation

Photo by Tina Nord on Pexels.com

 

A sweet epiphany

Joyful liberation

Upon awakening

As the weight of trying

Evaporates

Leaving me slightly disoriented

But with a transcendent peace

In waves, appreciating

The heaviness of so much grinding

Realizing the lightness of it’s absence

Slowly counting each new opportunity

Every new place

The sun can get in

Revealing the gaps

Where the poison once crouched

And we will fill in the holes

To make pockets of gold

Fill them with the lightness

And the light

Of ourselves

 

 

 

 

How Home Is

coffee

Industry percolates out back in a house of windows. A pitcher of  late summer weeds and medicine greens anchor the center of a round wood table that wears the beauty of decades of purely utilitarian treatment. There is room for all of us at the table, including the unnamed and as yet, absent, who will arrive in various states of enlightenment and dishevelment.  We are joined loosely by constraints and steadfastly by principle.

My tribe has drawn close to me. We are busy and the work of our hands is fruitful. Our laughter and our labor keeps perfect cadence as we play in the music of the hum of the earth.

In winter, morning finds our circle closer. The fire already crackling and glowing as I arise. Cello music and warm cats, fresh coffee and rich cream against the gray sleet falling on our garden. Soft voices planning for spring, collected around the hearth. Last year’s seeds waiting for April in the bountiful larder of our collaboration, fortifying our bones and our dreams. Our rhythm slows to a heartbeat’s pace among the blankets,  catalogs and blueprints.