Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Fallen Grace

look into my eyes
so you can look
into my soul,
for when I've fallen
from my own
ruthless scrutiny,
my pupils cringe,
my eyelids go limp,
my lashes stroke
the falling tears,
and in that collapse
into a self-made prison,
your eyes
hold me
lift me
and carry me
into the heart
of fallen grace.


Monday, September 28, 2015

Loving Me is Loving You

love me
like you would
love the moon,
waxing and waning
in your eyes,
that always remember
and hold
her fullness
in her impelling darkness
and radiant light;

love me
like you would
love a song,
holding the magic
of the words and the tune,
the canvas and strokes
of a heart
who knows only
how to paint herself
in everything around;

love me
like you would
those faraway clouds,
that come and go
in the vacant blue,
watching them go
where they want to,
in search of a stillness
that they can feel,
only as they move;

love me
like you would
love the earth,
who weaves the sensuous
into the ordinary,
touching everything
with a curiosity and warmth,
feeling the weight of herself
and everything in her
that she gives roots to;

love me
like you would
love a warrior,
fierce and passionate
about a cause
that makes her feel alive in her skin,
where a battle is won
not with a beating of chests,
but with the inexhaustible weapons
of trust, love and unshakable truth;

love me
like you would
love a rose
resting on a sun-drenched morn,
not to be plucked
or tucked away into a pretty vase,
but to be cherished
for her fragrance and gentleness
that you can feel
only when she is amid her thorns;

love me
like you would
love deep secrets,
enticing you into
the growing darkness
where all the adventure lies,
free-falling
into an uncomfortable openness,
just waiting to be unearthed;

love me
like you would
love the universe,
making space
for all that is living,
growing and dying
before your eyes,
spiraling into nothingness
and yet exploding
in a celebration of itself;

love me
like you would
love yourself,
for in that love,
you will include
not only me,
but one who is most valued,
and most cherished -
YOU!







Sunday, September 27, 2015

Forest Trails

today,
I don't know why,
but I think of her -
there is a longing
to rest
among the dark pleats
of her silence
and remember home...

the forest has a way
of doing that to me -
trees look like family,
greeting me with a warmth
that I cannot feel here
in my clammy skin,
drawing me into
their haunting depths
like an old repeating dream,
or a particular piece
of a familiar song
drifting along the quiet breeze,
whispering a million stories
of heartbreak and joy,
of all the living and the dying
that they've felt, heard and seen;

the forest has a way
of filling me from afar -
for when I walk the trails
that lead me gently
to her sacred bosom,
I remember what it is like
to be home.





Freedom

wings flutter,
talons retract,
eyes focus, and
passion storms
through every cell,
as I yearn for flight,
but cannot leave
the home
where I grew wings,
for what I have
does not belong
to me,
it made me,
free.

Love

and I chase
and I grab
what cannot be held
in the narrow folds
of my palms,
but which slips
through the crevices
between
my restless fingers,
making space
for a largeness
and depth
that I can only
hope to feel
with my
beggarly fingertips.

Come, Be a Mountain!

and Life said to me:
"Be a mountain!
come, take your place
between the heavens
and the earth,
for you are not alone;
come, stay where you are,
for in that space of being,
you will find your place
in the family of all things;
yes, you cannot move at will,
but that's why you can grow roots
into yourself and a landscape
that's ever-changing -
where rivers meander off
like prodigal sons
never to return to your folds,
where birds arrive and depart
like restless pilgrims
always in search of something,
where trees rise and fall
with every wobble
of the slowly turning wheels,
where paths and trails
cut into your very soul -
those that you'll never walk on,
where men and women come
to conquer a mystery
and flaunt their valour,
only to end up exploring and discovering
their own smaller and larger selves;
come, dear one,
be a mountain!
and rest in the stillness 
of all that is,
and all that will ever be."





In the Blue of the Flame

I don't want
to sit around
or sing and dance
and tell stories
around a sacred fire,

I want to stand
in the blue
of the flame -
naked,
groundless,
yet alive,

tempered by
an unquenchable longing
to meet myself
in my fiery wholeness,
reclaiming the majesty
and insignificance
of what I am
and what I'm here to do,
in a world that's content
to share stories around a fire,
too terrified to burn
its fingers and toes.




Saturday, September 26, 2015

Autumn

and a forest falls silent,
to listen to the sounds
of falling leaves,
and changing hues,
of sunbeams cracking open
trembling boughs, and
silver highlights drumming
upon dancing shadows;
where the air is rife
with a tingling freshness,
lingering memories
and unborn dreams,
dying into the stillness
of this one moment,
where a new song
will be birthed
from this sacred womb,
and carried into the silence
of a long-hushed tomb.

The Warrior

don't pull out
your staggering sword,
don't work out
to the end of your breath,
don't carve your muscles
out of your porous skin,
to brandish and soak
in the blood of glory
flowing through your words;

for when you are spent
and return home,
from a battle
you thought you'd won;
you'll feel the longing
and the emptiness return,
your eyes brimming
with the softness
of withheld tears,
your skin smarting
from the raw tenderness
of old untended wounds,
your breath falling
like a forgotten coin
into the empty hollow within;

and then, you will know
how to hold
the love of your life,
in every step you take,
what battles you must
take on and fight,
and when to lay down
your arms with grace;
and you will know
you can pick up
the waiting chisel,
instead of a swiveling sword,
to carve your heart
upon the fiercest chest,
the true warrior
who is up, for every test.








Friday, September 25, 2015

Dreams

I wonder why
our dreams
carry us
across the heavens
on fragile threads,
that could
make or break,
our tender hearts
wandering
like lost flotsam
suspended
in timeless uncertainty,
carrying the smell
of our deep longings
and our flawed humanity;

I guess it takes
one dream
etched across the heavens,
carrying us
toward the darkening light,
to find our roots
or wings.






Can You See Me?

can you see me,
not in the cards
I deal out
for all to see -
what's taken,
what's rejoiced,
what's abused,
or what's rejected,
but in the cards
I haven't played,
what I've singled out
and held close to me?

can you see me
as I am?
where the glory
and the gory
are friends,
not warmongers?

can you see me
as I am?
where your heart
meets mine,
for in that seeing
is a knowing
of all that is me,
not what you think
is me.



Roots

and so that
my intricate world
can entangle with yours,
my veins of blood
can mix with yours,
my fragile walls
can crumble with yours,
my engraved lines
can smudge with yours,
my restless thoughts
can dance with yours,
I grow roots
into your heart,
your soul,
so I can feed
and feel mine,
for what are surfaces
but depths
into the pain
of our being,
waiting to be met,
explored,
and loved.



Thursday, September 24, 2015

Grace

and as I stand
a little closer
to my grave today,
when strands of silver
line the oval of my face,
I am learning to look into
the half-glowing heavens,
in silent curiosity,
with a steadfast faith
coursing through
my pulsing jugular,
and with one full breath,
call out my own blessed name,
and raise a full-throated song
giving thanks to this world,
which always gives me
my choicest meal,
without ever asking
for my name.



Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Overflow

there was a time
when I was afraid
of fullness,
too scared to reach
the frontiers
of my emotions,
and the dark edges
of my fallible existence,
and so I would skirt the shores,
keeping away from the waves
rushing in excitedly
to sweep me off my feet,
and I would watch them
with feigned indifference,
from the safe rims
of my half-open eyes,
and dip my trembling toes
into the receding waters -
the easier part of the flow;

until that one moment
when I looked into the eyes
of a foaming wave,
running in to gather me in her arms,
filling me with a terrifying anticipation,
washing me over with her love,
and grinding me to a deathly pause
on the sands of uncertainty;
and in the quiet presence
of the firmament above,
my being rested among the waves,
as I was held in her endless dance
of arrivals and goodbyes,
of losses and renewals,
of belonging and abandonment,
of fullness and emptiness,
and I knew then
in that one blessed moment,
how to hold myself
as a brimming cup,
where parts of me took form,
from the brink of that fullness,
born from the overflow
of a love
that cannot be held back
but only given and shared,
with a world that thrives
on quiet unseen abundance.



Tuesday, September 22, 2015

The Book of Your Life

there is a joy
when I pick up
the book of your life
and open it
to read a page
in silent reverie,
where words
become stories,
where spaces
become pauses,
where memories
become new arrivals,
crying out to be held
against the softness
of my palms,
where lines
become the web
of our one entangled,
sacred existence.


Monday, September 21, 2015

Becoming Me

and when I'm not full,
like that mellow fruit
on a pregnant tree, 
I let you in -
to fill me,
to become
you in me,
dying to what I really am -
a soul that's not up for sale,
the harvest of a love
that cannot be demanded
or plundered,
but only given,
in quiet patience,
as the tree holds her fruit
and her wholesome shade,
for those who care enough
to stop by and relish her bounty,
and sit under her radiant boughs
that speak incessantly
to the sun, the earth
and the dark heavens,
singing songs of love
flowing from the fullness
of a heart that hears
the stirrings of the universe,
and what it takes
to let you be you,
and to 'become me'.


Sunday, September 20, 2015

Wall of Words

and you throw words
in the way
of my seeing,
so I can first
touch and feel
the walls of your heart,
so I can grope
and stumble
and fall in
through the black tunnels
of a love
that does not seek light
but only wants to live,
and feel
unapologetically
alive!

Friday, September 18, 2015

Skin to Skin, Heart to Heart

and when you speak,
I feel the world
come alive
under your skin,
throbbing
with the waves
that rise and fall
with my skin,
as I drop into
the silence
of uncharted depths,
drawing me through
their smudged creases,
now spiralling,
free falling,
into the abyss
of a love
that can be felt
only skin to skin,
heart to heart.



Thursday, September 17, 2015

There is Something in the Silence

there is something
in the silence
in the kitchen,
while I stand there
chopping, stirring,
pouring, swishing,
tasting, smelling,
reaching for, or
putting away,
what's needed or not;

I hear the dry rattle
of paper thin wings,
that belong to
a golden dragonfly;
she was circling the light,
as if she knew
when to close in
or move out and across
invisible walls of light -
now resting, now dancing,
now changing course,
encircling herself
in that strange silence;

there is something
in the silence
in the kitchen.



Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Take Away

take it all away -
everything that we
shared
enjoyed
lived
dreamed of
buried
left unsaid
created,
take it all away;
of course
you don't know
that when the sun
dips into the distance,
sinking into the
blue of my eyes,
my eyes bleed,
for your blood
is mixed with mine,
in the patience
of the vast emptiness
where everything is born,
where everything dies,
yet leaving themselves
in the hearts of things
that can never be taken away
but only left behind.


Desires

desires -
they are inside
that middle drawer
in my kitchen
that slides back out
soon after I push it back in,
again and again,
standing out
like a sore thumb,
attracting my attention,
refusing to stay
where I want it to stay -
closed shut.
but then,
it keeps me on my toes,
as I watch it carefully,
giving me space
to look in, and pull out
what I want
in a jiffy,
to lay itself open
to my roving eyes,
that have too much to see
in this busy world,
drawing them
to a fervent pause
to watch the longings -
not to put them in place
but to feel their journey
from in to out,
to that exact point
where they stop and stay,
rooted in the presence
of warm eyes
that leave them
open or shut,
all day.

Monday, September 14, 2015

The Weavers

oh yes,
it was a dance -
of weavers spinning a web,
with the turn of the seasons,
the pull of the moon,
the song of the night,
the patterns of the day,
the dreams of the stars, and
the sowing and harvests
of entangled hearts;
but wait,
something's amiss now,
things seem to have changed,
the warp and the weft
no longer rest in the game;
threads have become knots
that cannot be undone,
but for a snip here and there,
the hearts still beat while they're lost,
but can never be found.


Friday, September 11, 2015

You Know That Feeling?

you know that feeling
when that goodbye
is stuck in the lump
of your throat,
when your eyes film
with the salt
of your flooded heart,
wondering whether
to stay open or shut?
you know that feeling
when you draw the curtains
just before you go to bed,
and catch the moon
as she takes her rightful place
on that cosmic stage,
and wonder why
you cannot be out there with her,
but have to take a peek from the wings?
you know that feeling
of getting to the end
of a book you lost yourself in,
not knowing where you were even,
or that feeling when you're
standing along the water's edge
where waves part and caress
your shifting toes,
only to receive you in?
you know that feeling
when you are suspended
between an inexplicable emptiness
and a bewitching fullness,
knowing you've played your part
and that the time has finally come
when you ought to move to the wings?
Yes,
for that's how stars are born,
that's how flowers are made,
that's how the earth turns,
and that's how the seas roar,
in the great family of all things.
 

Thursday, September 10, 2015

One Moment

we are here
but for a moment,
to feel alive,
in the faint flicker
of a firefly,
on a dark night,
and yet,
we stretch that one moment
for as long as we possibly can,
so drops grow into orbs,
circling the lost moon
feverishly,
on a cold dark night;
we fall and we rise,
we fight and we make love,
we rage and we preach,
all for that one moment
of life,
before we die.


The Village that Raised Me

banished
from the warmth
of my ancient home,
I wandered,
an empty vagrant cloud
upon a taintless sky,
looking to be a rainmaker
where there was no rain;
and then I gathered
the mighty rivers,
the hidden springs,
the swelling seas,
and the dewdrops
on fallen leaves,
to build a raft
from the void
to arrive at the village
inside of me;
the village that raised me,
now welcomed me.


Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Touch Me With Your Skin

peel off your mask,
it is not your skin;
it yearns
to feel the warmth
of a giving sun
through its every pore,
to breathe into the wind
that rushes through
stirring every cell awake,
to touch the moistness
of the holy mud
that embalms your spirit,
and to simply remember
how it feels
to touch another
with your human skin.


Walking on Knives

and I learn the art
of walking on knives,
where every prick
touches the folds
of a white rose,
opening herself up
to hold up my feet
with her thorns.

Fire and Ash

tend to the fire,
throw in the logs,
stoke the flames
of your deepest desire
that rages in the heart
of all the darkness -
soot-laden logs
who, in their burning away,
feed the light
and the warmth
of a fire,
that's learning
to feel itself,
as it rises
from the ashes
of a life half-lived.

Monday, September 7, 2015

Tears

Have you ever been
caught in a moment,
when your eyes
welling up
with flood waters,
poured themselves
into the toothless smile
of a child,
who knows only
how to laugh
into Life's face?
Tears hold more than
what the eyes can see
or the heart can feel.


Somethings Are Just Far Away

somethings are just
far away,
the heart-shaped cloud
pinned to an orange sky,
the salt of the sea
from the darkening edge,
the giggling of stars
at a midnight feast,
the ravishing half moon
strolling upon a gentle breeze;
somethings are just
far away,
so they can be owned
but not smothered,
touched but not possessed,
journeyed with
but not arrived at;
just so
in the distance
between the longing
and the cherished,
the blues
deepen and seep
into the far edges,
lost in the light
of a world
that cannot be
seen or touched,
but only lived. 
somethings are just
far away.....



The Love of my Life

"Life is cruel", I said
the other day,
in a moment of apathy,
like a little child
cursing her mother
for a love
that she could not feel;
and then,
as if to respond
to that moment of weakness,
she held me today
like a true mother,
whispering sweet nothings,
through the words of a friend
I haven't spoken to for long -
a song from a heart
that seems to know mine;
words that rose
out of the blue nothingness,
where my eyes and heart
melted and flowed
into each other,
held in a timeless embrace
by the one I most love.
Life.

The Way


and I watch them go,
as I watch the waves
parting
from the stolid shore,
knowing that they leave
but not knowing
when they will return
in another form,
revealing the ground
that appears
for me to walk on now,
as I take the next step,
only the next one,
into the emptiness
of walking with myself,
alone.
black ribbon rising
eyes trapped between boundless blues
explode into wings

Sunday, September 6, 2015

a leaf stirs awake
as I strain my ears to hear
stillness in silence

The Pill

you take a pill
when you can just chill
in the space between
where you were
and where you want to be;
would you rather
swallow yourself whole,
and not look down
the dark hole,
where pills fall
like wishful pennies
into the well of grief?
what is relief to a soul
that's here
only to find succour
in itself?


Saturday, September 5, 2015

The Shrine

the pilgrims arrive
sometimes one by one,
or in waves
washing through
the silent corridors
of the shrine,
cleansing
every nook
and crevice
as they leave
with the light
they came to light.

Friday, September 4, 2015

Dreaming of Home

I am sick of this world
where lines are drawn
before hearts can open
to breathe and listen
to the song
of our trespassed humanity;
I am sick of this world
where you have to tell me
where I can go,
where I belong,
where I can take my place
in the family of things
large and small;
I am sick of this world
where fervent knocks
are slammed shut
with indifference
and misplaced indignation
to hold one life,
one voice
more valuable
than all others drowned;
I am sick of this world
where after eons of searching
and countless rites of passage,
I am still not home,
but lie face down
on a faceless shore,
amid broken shells
and unlived dreams,
too scared to even dream
of my true home.

To You, With Love

and I let you walk
all over me,
not because
I want you to love me,
but only so you know
what it takes
for me to love myself,
so I can love you.

Thursday, September 3, 2015

One Voice

sometimes I feel
I'm standing alone
along the edge
of a still river,
calling out to you
across the void,
where one voice
becomes
an illusory two,
bouncing off
the jagged edges
of an expressionless cliff,
drowning the longing
to meet another voice,
in the silence
between me and you.

Recycled Love

this moment
I find myself in,
holds the harvest
of yellow green summers
threshed out of their husks,
and a white field
of virgin snow
waiting
to be consummated
with gentle steps,
making their way
with and into
recycled love.


Life's Like That

life's like that -
things fall apart
and come together,
over and over,
like imperfect floaters
in the light of my eyes,
there now,
not there now,
and I learn to play with
or ignore them,
to make room
and look beyond
to what must be seen,
what is always there,
in the space between;
for life's like that.

Planted

There are cracks in walls of stone,
There are pores in stiffened clay,
There are sunbeams streaming
through the darkest depths,
There is starlight kissing
the night queen awake;
Often,
you learn to breathe
when you are stifled,
You learn to bloom
where you're planted.
Space.
Freedom.
Growth.
Love.
It's all inside you.
It's all you.

Lime and Onion

beyond the ordinariness
and insipidness
of an unexamined life,
is the simple garnishing
of emotions -
the touch of class
that completes it,
like a dash of lime
and chopped onions,
haunting taste buds,
and inviting them into
the richness
and freshness
of a life well lived.

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Heartbreak

and you broke my heart,
like the arrows of rain
impinging upon a vacant earth
who looked to the sky,
only to wet her lips
with a song
waiting to be sung;
the pain and tightness
now yielding
to the uncertain space -
a quiet, gentle becoming
into something soft and pliable,
expunging stiff shells,
and giving
all of myself
to the very quiver
from where they came.