Thursday, August 23, 2018


The heart that hurts is ready,
ready to burst and quench
your love-longing
with a torrent of healing tears,
washing you up on the shores
of your precious soul.

Your path is to be,
and be on the path you are on,
but only as it falls,
right now, in this moment,
beneath bare feet.

We are beings, not doings,
and we never truly stray:
the next breath tells us
the new breeze reminds us,
the waking Sun beckons us
to remember.

And whether we remember or forget
wake or sleep, dream or despair,
the truth of what is

And whether passions are blind
or eyes wide open,
these Missoulian Floods of the heart will continue
to rise and burst, rise and BURST,
until the Columbia Gorge of our soul
is carved apparent
and the floodplains of our longing,
nourished with rich sediment,
are themselves bursting,
overflowing with Harvest!

And so the story goes, and always has:
We know not what else to do but love,
because love is the only real doing.


Soft to my eye
cool to my cheek,
I bask in you
each time
I come to rest.

And yet,
for us
you, great sister,
have never ceased in
your great efforts.

You have always handed
down the light
for the hunt.

And while we
take the lives
that we must to survive,
you are busy
filling wombs,
giving life in silence.


HOW DO WE LEARN???!??!?!!

By sight, by sound, by smell, by taste?
Well, to learn without senses seems quite a waste...
with no touch and taste and talking sounds
I wonder what else could be found?

Perhaps there is some wisdom that comes from within,
yet that wisdom relates to this world that we're in
and while it's a little bit different for the deaf and the blind
we each know a precious "something" of this world that we find.

Then our "somethings" mix together and with some good communication
the World, as it is known, becomes all of our creation
Effort falls, gives way to the innate participation
and the bodies mirror minds of sensuous imagination.


Over silence worlds are spoken
spinning round these sounds so fiercely
under crawling tides the moon wakes
bravely seeking forward motion
all ways

Over silence words are spoken
weaving round these forms so sweetly
under crawling tides, the Moon's wake
bravely seeking constant motion
all ways

Earth above Moon
water reaching down,
yearning to wet the dust,
weeping because
grace is such beauty and
grit has oceaned the pearl to be
always all ways

(Nov. 20, 2000; sleeping by the side of the road, off in the woods,
I awoke before dawn to the sight of the moon overhead, weeping with joy.)

Open Mouth

the uncomfortable scream
of being alive
defies all efforts to be hushed,
rounded or understood

it is the sacred fire
beneath our umbilical wound
that inspires the wind
across our throat,
past the heart,
into the depths of longing

it is the roaring blaze,
the deafening current,
an ultimacy of loud
filling all available
space and time

yet, echoing a mystery,
it somehow leaves room
for the great


trust the fallen ashes
those wispy reminders of change
their image conjures faith
like my breath teased up the fire

they might have been
the caterpillar's bonds
torn loose and
scattered lightly

or my loved one's body
prepared to dissolve
at last
into an ocean

who knew gray
dust could be so powerful
could demand such courage
and inspire us gently

to surrender
to let go

just as the ocean's
ever-changing roar
instructs us
for now

Two Plum Park

On a swing
witnessing the willow
focusing within the blur,
every angle discovered,
tasting each one,
my mind's eye sees a possibility
the sharing of this vision
set to music
and suddenly
I'm desiring many new hats

Subway Ride

Young child rests
in her father's broad arms,
smiles radiant white light
in the tunnel

I see her eyes
she sees mine
suddenly we both know
a really funny secret

She beams like the North star
unblinking, unwaivering
my laughter bubbles up
spills onto the page

Her mother notices
our giddy exchange
and as the family stands
she imparts to me
a larger rhyme
of her daughter's grin

∞ 1

gracing the Now with
a blessing,
an ode to the Infinite,
a story that captures us
only to set us free

Moment 2

spaces may join
and jostle us
brim to brim
with laughter

humoring a moment
into being

mMM..Om, meant 3

The moment is open
time fell down flat
weighed by the myriad reviews

Spongy romping sauces
dripping pattycake time
frying under the projection light

Good pop bad paparazzi
jangling a discourse of

Someone speaks fritteringly:
"When—Time herself—has gone
to the bathroom
She'll be backwards
after the nevermore"

I wanted her there
so I'd have a moment,
a moment to do
the wanting

Free-write #2.5 "Sing"

Just put the pen to the paper
please don't mistake this for a caper,
a trick for your mind in time
before and after the right kind of third lime
me ole Brannigan fishing
for daisys on death's door
knocking over colored milk bottles
along the way and
frightening all but the
enlightening singing in the distance...

a woman's voice,
soft and low...

lift up the shadows and be
creative god-blam it!
See. Beauty. EVERYWHERE!!!

Calm down or don't
Your lungs will find you til afterwards
quietly try not to try
wish away the fortune
trust in humor above all and
command me to do something,
anything you want:

"sing a song"