New & Featured Poems

Like many sensitives and empaths; like many of us who are compassionate, caring and growing in consciousness, I am profoundly sad at where we find ourselves within the great web of living beings, living on one planet together—and the impact a single, solitary species has made upon that planet. This precious mother earth; mother to every life form upon it...

In fact, I’m surprised that I can find words at all, anymore—to utter aloud, or to write down, as I feel speechless most of the time.

Some of my most recent poems touch on what many of us may be feeling as we see and sense the earth’s pain.

Sometimes it soothes our hearts to know that others feel some of what we, too, are trying to put words to—trying to figure out how to grieve and adapt to. And still carry on bringing the good medicine mother earth is counting on us to bring, each in our unique way, alone or together, yet always linked by intention and commitment, compassion and Love. And now, a few poems...

Older in time, but

no different than

when I came in,

it seems.

An apothecary of soul...

Still not sure of anything—

much

of anything.

Should I dance?

Play music?

Keen?

Move like a river?

Or walk the stones beneath

where there is no longer River?

I'd like to wring out

whatever's left

whoever

I have breen practicing

to be

lo, these many years.

None of which has saved the planet.

None of which will save the body-mind

from this

time

we have embodied into...

There is no right way to start a poem;

no right way to end one

these days.

Dance? Sing? Keen? Weep?

Move? Stay?

Leap?

If this were my last day

on earth I would say

Thank You

to the Turkeys

too numerous to count

who ran toward me

plump bodies

on funny sticks

one by one by two

crossing the man-made street

stopping the man-made cars

somehow

all of them

miraculously

making it

to where I squatted; waited

a happy secret

beneath the boughs

of our last standing evergreen tree

palm upturned, my hand becoming

a dance of arcs

an offering of bird seed

Seeds of gratitude...

We were eyes seeing eyes

We were feathers and feet

and hearts and bones

huddled together

in sacred circle

and for just

one moment

finding

place

I think I will make a platform--just beneath the window's sill, inside.

A wooden bed that will smell of cedar and of pine.

I’ll be a child of the sublime...

My god. All those summers I will

never have again.

But to lift my spirit, I can newly pretend.

My bird friend is looking through the window pane,

head cocked to one side.

I imagine it saying: “It’s the Lady!”

which makes me laugh

as it shouts in bird-talk to its other half,

both of whom I have seen

grow

from little birds who didn’t know

what a peanut was,

or how to open such a thing.

But now we’re a team

in grief & adaptation.

And we'll have to find a way to live through

man's unkind creation;

alchemists in a world of trauma

as we try to soothe the bruise

on the back of the beautiful Mama

EARTH

What better day to sit down, press ink to a page

and deepen even deeper than the rage

in the Age of everything, everything

that is passing?

The Blessing Self

is not unlike

the small bundle

of feathers & bones

and

tiny eyes

that peer into

a world more vast than fathomable;

a life that seems too big to

navigate with only

feathers & bones.

The Blessing Self

is the songbird

born with a song

it sings,

even

when it can’t fly

for a time.

Even

when something

feels broken

for a time;

needs time

to mend, needs

a nest again, and the

safe boughs for it to nestle in:

Presence and Love.

The Blessing Self

has always been

more fragile than

The Higher Self—

wasn’t even built

for Forever

in this place.

Nevertheless,

Grace

has created It

as perfect as an egg.

As perfect as every feather,

beating heart;

beak and bone.

And The Blessing Self

keeps on finding

the will to sing

with every body it is given,

that Higher song.

The deepest Presence

not coming; not going

is a Light

that does not dim.

It began, and beget us;

all we see, all we are:

“Pick a flower on earth,

and you move the farthest star”.

The deepest Presence,

my heart; your heart

one thought, all thoughts

neither near, nor far

is a Light watching light;

is a Light watching darkness:

“Pick a Flower on Earth

and you move the farthest Star”.

From where you look,

It too, will be looking,

yet when you can’t see It,

It still can be seen.

It offers This Truth:

I AM is what You Are

"Pick a flower on Earth,

and you move the farthest Star".

Poem inspired by Francis Thompson:

"All things by immortal power. Near of far, to each other linked are,

that thou canst not stir a Flower, without troubling a star."