Tuesday, April 02, 2013

Like a dormant tree

Like a dormant tree
naked and weathered
I stand before 

The days grow longer
than ever imagined
bringing memory
of her

If I laid down
on the moss floor
rooted my body in earth
could I too be the 
fern uncurling?

Could I learn 
to take up space
as if it were mine? 

Monday, April 01, 2013

It Has Been Too Long

It has been too long
since we have had tea
Or a long walk
a quiet moment
Or passion

I quit listening
and you quit speaking
now the words
are stuck
in the between

I have missed you
I miss my self

If I ask in just
the right way

Will you come back
to me?

Friday, June 24, 2011

The Acolyte

The large kitchen is almost dark.
Across the plain of even, diffused light,
copper pans of the wall and the window geranium
tend separate campfires.
Herbs dangle their Spanish moss from rafters.

At the table, floury hands
kneading dough, feet planted
stead on flagstones,
a woman ponders the loaves-to-be.
Yeast and flour, water and salt,
have met in the huge bowl.

It's not
the baked and cooled and cut
bread she is thinking of,
but the way
the dough rises and has a life of its own,
not the oven she's thinking of
but the way the sour smell changes
to fragrance.

She wants to put
a silver rose or a bell of diamonds
into each loaf,
she wants

to bake a curse into one loaf,
into another, the words that break
evil spells and release
transformed heroes into their selves,
she wants to make
bread that is more than bread.

by Denise Levertov

Thursday, February 19, 2009

We Need to Sit

If each day falls
inside each night,
there exists a well
where clarity is imprisoned.

We need to sit on the rim
of the well of darkness
and fish for fallen light
with patience.

Pablo Neruda

Wednesday, February 18, 2009


Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down the dulcimer.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.



Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Use Your Words

Like a 2 year old developing a vocabulary that will allow for the use of the spoken word instead of tantrums and whining, I too am learning to use my words. Words to share my inner world, words to comment on the outer one. A virtual show and tell and I don't even have to wait for my turn. What will this become? An incredible blog read daily by thousands for inspiration, the link emailed about like an old school chain letter? A personal chat with cyberspace that no one else ever reads? The incubation is incomplete, the intention is not. Words have the power to heal the world... but until that happens here are some from Mary Oliver for today...

Some Questions You Might Ask
Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
the wings of a moth in the beak of an owl?
Who has it, and who doesn't?
I keep looking around me.
The face of the moose is as sad
as the face of Jesus.
The swan opens her white wings slowly.
In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness.
One question leads to another.
Does it have a shape? Like an iceberg?
Like the eye of a hummingbird?
Does it have one lung, like the snake and the scallop?
Why should I have it, and not the anteater
who loves her children?
Why should I have it, and not the camel?
Come to think of it, what about the maple trees?
What about the blue iris?
What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight?
What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves?
What about the grass?