I am so delighted to have my poem “This is How the World is Saved” featured this week at the wonderful website Headstuff and to launch their Revolution NOW series for 2016! It is a poem about the grace of the ordinary. Click to head on over and read it>>
Remember Inspired by Theo Dorgan’s poem “The Angel of Days”* And what did you do on earth? I descended daily into the hush – if only for a moment, but sometimes for blessed hours at a time. I followed the shimmering threads which lured me into the night, full of wonder at all that was unfolding. I opened myself wide to gratitude, to the delight that there was anything at all, much less pink-petaled peonies and generous handfuls of red berries, the incredible sweetness of things, or the way dawn and dusk could reveal my own new thresholds, how a
Prospective Immigrants Please Note Either you will go through this door or you will not go through. If you go through there is always the risk of remembering your name. Things look at you doubly and you must look back and let them happen. If you do not go through it is possible to live worthily to maintain your attitudes to hold your position to die bravely but much will blind you, much will evade you, at what cost who knows? The door itself makes no promises. It is only a door. — Adrienne Rich
During these hot summer days I find I want to merge with the coolness and mystery of stones. Here is a poem offering just for the joy of poetry. Look for a new Poetry Party on Monday (and a return to regular ones this fall!) Stone Go inside a stone That would be my way. Let somebody else become a dove Or gnash with a tiger’s tooth. I am happy to be a stone. From the outside the stone is a riddle: No one knows how to answer it. Yet within, it must be cool and quiet Even though a
Saints Bowing in the Mountains Do you know how beautiful you are? I think not, my dear. For as you talk of God, I see great parades with wildly colorful bands Streaming from your mind and heart, Carrying wonderful and secret messages To every corner of this world. I see saints bowing in the mountains Hundreds of miles away To the wonder of sounds That break into light From your most common words. Speak to me of your mother, Your cousins and your friends. Tell me of squirrels and birds you know. Awaken your legion of nightingales— Let them soar
Search the Darkness Sit with your friends, don’t go back to sleep. Don’t sink like a fish to the bottom of the sea. Surge like an ocean, don’t scatter yourself like a storm. Life’s waters flow from darkness. Search the darkness, don’t run from it. Night travelers are full of light, and you are too: don’t leave this companionship. Be a wakeful candle in a golden dish, don’t slip into the dirt like quicksilver. The moon appears for night travelers, be watchful when the moon is full. -Rumi We are moving toward the dark half of the year, and unlike
Lake and Maple I want to give myself utterly as this maple that burned and burned for three days without stinting and then in two more dropped off every leaf; as this lake that, no matter what comes to its green-blue depths, both takes and returns it. In the still heart that refuses nothing, the world is twice-born – two earths wheeling, two heavens, two egrets reaching down into subtraction; even the fish for an instant doubled, before it is gone. I want the fish. I want the losing it all when it rains and I want the returning transparence.
