In Thanksgiving

DSCN3871In the hush of early morning light,
step into this new day with a grateful heart.

Remember you are our Beloved’s gift to the world.
Don’t be afraid to share you.

There is a smile or helping hand, laughter or a wink,
a word of encouragement or a hug not released
too soon, that is needed today.

You are what love is. Release your glorious self
into this broken world to heal, even if what you tender
seems so small so as to not make a difference.

It does.

In the rush of this day, amidst piles of food, in games
won and lost, emotions bumping into attitudes,
reach inside to your gentling, where sweetness
and gratefulness are paired.

Be thankful for you, see the gift you are, only then
can we be fully grateful for one another.



How do I settle myself into one way of beingd601cd54-6128-492d-940a-1a9d178c75b8
where answers come from eyes that see through
one prism, many sides and angles sparkling
in rainbow light, but still within one way of being.

I walk with many, who through compassion weave
their way from one point to the next not so concerned
of the correct way, the one way, but know the only way
will unfold by staying true, moving gently as One.

I walk my path with my words freely given
patterning the road, trimming clouds, embellishing
trees, ornaments delicately suspended on branches,
perched on stems, fields baptized with me.

I am free of musts and dos, onlys that try
to explain what something doesn’t  mean.
I rest under wide sky berth of Eternity
mantling every being, not just a chosen few.




For more on this poem, visit Journey/lex, my weekly reflection.


I wish you knew how crazy you make me12274318_10206727773744914_7556958992277019281_n
like bony arms of winter trees
heavy with ice scraping across
the window, clawing the roof
in the blizzardwind of my mind
I want to scream

I wish you knew
how my naked feet catch on water
warped wood near the fridge
that leaked unnoticed for weeks,
the pleasure of sliding them
across smooth varnished floor
taken by indifference

I wish you knew
how the turn of your head
away from the opening door, brushed
aside as if I hadn’t entered, makes
me want to scream, “I am here, notice me”

I wish you knew how fire burns
when your smile ignites, your eyes
catch mine in those moments
where we meet in words shared
from ancient ones who know how hidden
souls entwine so tightly by accident, or by
some sweet mystery only known by
another’s Hand.

I wish you knew when I open my eyes you are
there in the silence of each new
beginning given and how I wish I could
tell you.

A Prayer for Paris

Today is the day, the moment, the now,
12243580_10206976435363662_5343385536768881250_nextinguish the flame of fear.

Smother embers of hatred beneath
steps taken in compassion.

Let smoke of bitterness rise,
dissipate into wide ocean sky.

May clemency shine through us to
quell the bleakness of terror.

May our hands join to bear our Oneness.

May our voices lift above the madness
to sing a song of accord.

Guide us to be strong in You.
Amen. Amen. Amen.




Author’s Note:

For more about the poem and photo, please visit my page: Journey/lex.

DNA of Snow

I am of a land of snowIMG_3474

Grey sky clouded, a silken mantle
penumbra of summer’s fireball,
my rooted winter seduction.

Here I rest.

My body loosens heavy with DNA
bonded to white earth, a lineal marrow
from ancestors long past.

I know this spell.

A postulation on a spiral staircase,
each rung fashioned in every cell of my being,
passed from one generation unknown
to the next. My lungs inhale
chill laden breath and I am at ease.

I am native to this acclimation.

Somewhere my alphabet of four letters,
my twisted ladder of encoded knowledge
begins where flakes mass, light is vague,
and sound is pillowed into nullity.

I am of a sanctuary of snow,
my tribe’s nucleus bequeathed to me.




Author’s Note:

Unlike any other time, when the first snow falls, well, at least four of five inches, I feel my body relax. I am not one who thrives in bright sun, hot breezes, and sunglasses.

Today we had such a snow.

As I reached the crest of Smoky Hill, the vast sky was grey, flakes were falling, and snow covered the front range of the Rocky Mountains filled my view. I breathed more deeply, my grip on the steering wheel loosened, and a small voice inside my head whispered, “Finally.”

I’ve been reading about how scientists are finding that trauma from the past of those who were tortured or abused, that those events actually change their DNA. It is then passed on to future generations who can experience the trauma themselves years and years later. If this is true, then it must partially explain my deep connection to snow and soft grey skies and cold chilly air.

I thank my tribe, whoever and wherever they were, for bringing me home today.


Do you know elephants?12006127_1103243059705752_4166992915962856763_n
The deep bonds they form,
matriarchal, led by the largest,
all caring for the youngest together.

Do you know elephants?
Memories span years, not to be forgotten.
And compassion, they grieve, cry tears,
play and paint if given the freedom.

Not what you would expect from
something so grey.

We came to your door, my elephant
and me, because we heard you welcome all.
You see, my elephant and I don’t fit most
places, don’t meet traditional demands.

We took a chance, my elephant and me,
stood at your door, suitcase in hand,
ready to share with abandon, finally be
fully received, me and my elephant.

We waited and watched, but discerned
your sign slyly drawn. Not lettered large,
but your splatter rang clear,
“Strictly No Elephants” allowed.

You made up rules
set down by what should be
only because it has always been,
without a thought to elephants.

You mustn’t know elephants,
or me.
I am sorry.

Daylight Savings Time, A Prayer

The sun sleeps early now, low below mountain
brim in contrived time for convenience sake.
Darkness fills all corners of my yard, dry leaves
crackle without a seeming force, a chill girdles my
bones. I cannot move. But on this day of remembrance
thinned by seasons conjoined, a balance of eternity,
I nest eclipsed, hushed by your whispers.

Joe, grandfather beekeeper, Globeville cobbler,
you taught me how to tie my shoes.
Agnes, grandmother prayers ascended day and night,
your gentle silence offered wonder of the Divine.
Annette, mother chef, tap-dancing seamstress,
you filled me with your singularity and sweet creations.
Leo, father craftsman, steadfast protector,
you taught me how to do it myself, never give up.

It is not perfected saints that light my path.
Miscues, omission, infirmities, offense do not
bypass any foot that falls upon earth. It was your
patient touch, your noble grace, your broken soul,
and your constancy that formed me,
still guides me from obscurity towards radiance.
I walk my way because of you,
held in tenderness, brave in my passage.
I sing to you in gratitude. Amen. Amen. Amen.


Painting of St. Theresa of Lisieux by Teri Shackelford Harroun

For more about this poem please visit my page: Journey/lex.