Monthly Archives: March 2012

A Memory: Deep Lake, August 2010

A Memory: Deep Lake, August 2010
For Dad. Happy Birthday!


Flowers, unable to contain their mirth,
earth’s red, purple, and blue delight
echoing everywhere we walk.


Mountain air expanding us
with each breath until we become
free as sky, steady as rocks.


Lakes, mirroring the sky,
pure, cold, and full of fish,
darting arrows pointing to dinner.


Companionship and ease,
gentle conversation, genuine laughter,
warming and brightening cold nights.


Love, like no other love,
deep, wide, free,
stretching beyond mountains and meadows.

This is Why We Write Poems

This is Why We Write Poems

“Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.”



Insistence on logic and reason

whips flesh, warps souls

until the balm of poetry

closes gaping sores,

straightens the soul

back into fullness with images

birthed by pulsing intuition

through a view of the world

hopelessly hopeful and true

in a way that cannot, must not

be proven

or disproven.

Origin of a Poem

Origin of a Poem

Ten minutes into the meeting

in which we are informed

of yet another procedure

to police our time,

souls, desperate for escape,

ooze from their containers

through holes punctured by tyranny,

then blend in the middle of the table,

a soul soup compelling this poem,

or anything wild and true,

to save us all.


Each evening, I tuck them in for sleep,
rotating their moist vessels for equal exposure,
snipping weaker members,
offering drinks to the thirsty,
loving touch, kind words
to carry them through long, still-chilly nights.


First thing in the morning I burst through the door,
eager to discover magic made manifest while I dreamt.
I hold my breath and tiptoe to their ledge,
not wanting to disturb their noble efforts.
Bending down, I take stock
of the miniscule but mighty growth since last observation.
I beam, clasp hands in delight
to see that true leaves have emerged,
stuck seeds have been shed.


In their holy presence,
I inhale musty soil and give thanks to all
that lies beyond my knowing.
I breathe the purity emitted by tender green sprouts,
cleansing me with their simplicity, their fortitude.
The singularity of their struggle,
the unfaltering acceptance of their purpose
inspires me to pursue my own life with such discipline,
such humility, such faith.


Each day I observe their journey, wanting to do more than watch,
wanting to bury my toes in a little pot,
curl into a ball underneath silky soil,
and begin to grow thirsty roots
connecting me to a deeper, more basic calling.
I want to slumber in the shelter of damp earth,
nestled between brothers and sisters in the process of becoming.
I want to awaken one morning to the gentle tug of sun
and exert a fierce, tenacious thrust
through the rich, moist canopy cradling my infant self.
As my roots solidify, anchoring me into purpose,
I want to stretch tender arms toward the sky to embrace light.
I want to throw my head back and dance with the breeze
strengthening my fragile body and instructs me in joy.


Before pollination,
before fruits appear,
I gather this delight,
this fantastic obsession,
my first harvest of the season.
I am nourished.


On Becoming a River

On Becoming a River
Keep flowing
no matter how cold,
how lazy,
how much you crave stillness,
just flow.


Move forward
without asking where
you’re going,
know that you will go
where you need to be.


Be gentle at times,
tender with kindness.
Rage when necessary,
expressing your truth
with all that you are.


Retain memories
of each rock, foot, twig, fish
you have held,
while opening yourself to more,
without regret, attachment.


Reflect light
from sun, stars, eyes,
and remember
your own ability
to sparkle.

Be Who You Are

Be Who You Are
BE who you are.
Not imagine or sometimes act like,
but BE.
Don’t plan it or regret it,
just be.


Be WHO you are.
Not what or how,
but WHO.
Be someone, a personality,
distinct, thriving, growing.


Be who YOU are.
Not who other people are or want you to be,
but YOU.
Only you know who you are
in that wild and instinctual way.


Be who you ARE.
Not who you act like, dress like, talk like,
but ARE.
Find who you are deep inside
that pulsing, glowing, core of yourself.


Be who you are.


A meeting with clarity at the river,
standing with the morning,
seeing my shadows,
knowing them, shaking hands,
Welcome, I’ve been expecting you.


Understanding why, who, how,
reasons stripping away layers
until I am naked bones
not shivering, just being
by the river, in the river, with the river.
Being bony trees,
not longing for green garments,
just being,
honoring stillness, bareness,
being little more than essence,
everything else stripped away,
peace cloaking me,
even though I didn’t need covering.


This must be what truth feels like—
weightless, ticklish, still, serene,
curiosity steeped in courage
propelling me further into the rubble
where I am still standing, standing still,
receiving, exploring,
listening to clarity whisper,
Be who you are.”