31 Sunday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
Dear Poet,
Make them listen, with words
that rumble their insides,
and turn them outside,
fearing poets, again,
like they fear truth:
a mirror, a reflection,
a solid witness to a crime.
When you say you’re a poet
make the whole world tremble
when they hear it.
29 Friday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
Tags
aspen, Aspen Trees, Beauty, Courage, Death Poems, Dying, Hope, Life, Love, Love Poems, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Spirit, Spring, spring poem, Survival, Women's Poems, Yearning
early spring,
a cold aspen, clothed
in soft buds, robed in white,
like ash, born of snow;
to touch her is to quake
with the anticipation
of a thousand leaves
desperate to unfold;
a thousand leaves
desperate
to unfold you.
28 Thursday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Aging, Death, Death Poems, Life, Memory, ocean, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Self, Soul, Soul Poetry, Spirit, Truth
Another day, I’ve collected
over eighteen thousand
now, but none like this:
the birds have returned,
and the clouds hang low,
like the mist of what is
unknown, and I don’t care
to know, because I gave up
predicting the future
when I realized
I was always wrong.
The only thing, now,
is this poem, and how
it pulls me toward confession.
You see, a life recedes;
place a bottle in the ocean
and watch it slowly
carried away by the waves;
that is me and you,
this moment,
and this poem.
27 Wednesday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Courage, Forgiveness, Heaven, Horse Poems, Horse poetry, Horses, Patience, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Prayers, Trust, Wisdom
Each season,
I say a prayer,
not for safety,
because want of safety
is always there,
but for Wisdom;
Wisdom to listen,
and hear
my horses speak
the magic language
of their needs;
Patience, to wait
upon the softness
of their hearts opening to me,
which is the exact part
that starts the journey of try,
without which, there’s nothing.
I pray for Courage,
when they, in communion,
ask me to fly with them,
either on the ground
at their side
or, on their backs,
where I can grip tightly
to Trust,
and Heaven,
and what it means
to be fully alive.
19 Tuesday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Loneliness, Longing, Love, Love Poems, Need, Passion, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Spirits, Yearning
Need,
like a bliss of birds
who flow, spring to spring,
synchronized of sun and moon,
and wing of wing.
Love is best a mutual thing:
selfish, blind, and binding trust,
passion, that crushes
bones to must.
17 Sunday Mar 2019
Tags
Afterlife, Beauty, Chaos, Courage, Death, Death Poems, Division, Dying, Fear, Freedom, Hate, Loss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, politics, Sadness. Sorrow, Soul, Spirit, Suffering
Can you be in awe
of how much some
are expected to suffer
in this lifetime—
we are often given
more than we can—
I saw a moth
with a broken wing,
and though it struggled,
I could not crush it—
but placed him, instead,
among the leaves of jasmine,
and walked away.
11 Monday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Aging, Cancer, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Fear of Death, Foal, Hope, Horses, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry
My father is eighty,
has cancer,
lives two hours away,
and I worry—
could I get there
soon enough to say
I love him,
should his last moments
come quick, unexpected—
like a foal born in the night
while I’m sleeping,
even though I’d been there
to catch him all day.
09 Saturday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Afterlife, Belief, Cedars, Death, Death Poems, Eternity, Flower Poetry, God, Hope, Infinite, Life, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Soul Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Trillium, Truth, Unity, Women's Poems
O, Jamie, it’s beautiful—
everything is connected,
she said, before dying.
And Jamie thought of trillium
blossoming beneath musty cedar
at the edge of the sound,
the whole world epitomized
in heart of flowers,
and spirit of ancient,
mouldering trees.
08 Friday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
And there you lay,
on the hospital bed,
your long, liquid self,
blond tendrils–
even in dying
you were beautiful.
And your baby girl,
left behind,
forever suspended
in the golden
syrup of your soul
poured out—
frozen,
fossilized.
07 Thursday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Afterlife, Aging, Alone, Courage, Death, Happiness, Hope, Life, Loneliness, Love Poems, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Survival, Tulip, Yearning
Like the yellow tulip,
who blooms every year
in the pit behind our house,
who was dumped, long ago,
after her blossoms were spent—
yet, she screams, I’m still alive!—
every spring, among garbage
and weeds; like that tulip,
you don’t belong here.
06 Wednesday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
Yesterday’s beauty is rarely enough for today,
like manna from heaven, it rots, decays,
disappears back, which is to say,
we do not know where, but look up, out,
beyond, and do the same again, everyday—
believe me, you are a starving soul,
lost as hell, hungry, but the universe
is a feast, prepared–
even on its worst days, it offers
up a prayer, beckons you to step
into the mystery: step through snow,
through rain, through wind, with arms
held out, eager to horde–
every bite,
every drip,
every mouth full.
05 Tuesday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
I’d ask you to overlook my sins,
but it would be too late,
my old friend, you left me
at the first sign of trouble,
and you stayed gone, gone—
like a song you want to sing,
but forgot the lyrics,
and have to hum, hum.
04 Monday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
for my brother, Danny, on his birthday
Have we improvised too much,
lost sight of our true selves, surviving;
the world is a tough audience.
And now I remember,
when you said you wanted to be a candle,
and we laughed until we cried, and cried,
then we’d ask you again,
and again, laugh and cry,
strange, how life, with time, has changed,
and I think it’s worth a try
to be a candle.
What better man to be a light,
than one who brightens,
and who thought being a candle
was possible, and right?
03 Sunday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
02 Saturday Mar 2019
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Afterlife, Bernie, Chimes, Death, Hope, Loss, Love, micropoetry, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spirit, Wind
He’s been dead for four years,
but I have his chimes,
and time, like wind, passes
over their wrought iron curves,
nudging the striker,
and making its voice to sing,
ring and rise up
like message from a grave,
or another sphere,
or a person I loved,
sitting next to me, speaking.
#micropoetry
