Feint

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Little bee
you came out
almost
too soon,
winter’s trickster feint

But sun is warm
bones thaw
you move again with grace
about your daily chores

Your wings loose
and stretch
ready for flight

Violas call
You cleave

And I ride your back
honeymeade our drink
eternity our design

Misnomer

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Misnomer

I walk to hear birds

They are back
after winter break
building nests, returning
in sunrise I hear them
distant

Squeaky chatter
you tip your wing
a glimpse of orange golden glow
Sits atop

How can there be seagulls in Colorado?

sea….gulls

I am told there are no such things as
sea…gulls,
a misnomer

They are opportunistic
Make homes near reservoirs
Cold is no bother
as long as they are well fed

They also live in the Arctic

gulls

Simply
gulls


I wonder which they
prefer?

Colors

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Shaman Dreams, detail, by Lex Leonard

Shaman Dreams, detail, by Lex Leonard

First you learn to see
hues and tints
shadows and light
they are always there
not always noticed

Let go of what
you think you see, what you
want to see. Allow for unexpected
to surprise you

It will

You watch, without
judgement, without need

See, it will unfold
invite you into a new
way of being

 

Authors Note:

Happy National Poetry Month and Glo/NaPoWriMo!

Spring

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Spring

 

Winter negotiates spring,
i
ts last watered drops, ice tears
nourish that which will be,
release of what no longer serves.

After snow, graupel,
downpour of rain, I see your
green blush arms reach
to azure sky. I await, I inscribe your
nod to a new found spring.

 

Awww. It’s spring, at least in part. NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo begins tomorrow.

I welcome this as much as longer days and quick melting snow and birdsong.

Won’t you join me?

 

Pull

Pull.jpg

I feel that pull again
simplify
stop gathering
breathe
rest

You see I’ve worked my time

I’ve played the games
I wanted to be noticed
Seen, acknowledged
Let people know I know what I’m doing
Manipulate my life into what I think I want
Control the outcome, control everything

When that ends
there is peace
a quiet to hear
frogs, yes, frogs
I’ve never heard before

When that other stuff ends
I reside in what has been given
Wet sidewalks after spring rain
Running brook that last week was dry
Mother Tree, always
Ravens who now come when I am present
Deer scat in the middle of suburbia
A moon so bright it wakes me up
Snow so deep with sideway winds
our aspen takes its last bow
Squirrels to taunt my Bean

And yet I continue to gather
stuff, new now
paint brushes, canvas
ads for collage
containers, easels
stones and bells and candles
and statues and rattles and drums
and crystals and scarves and
journals and meetings
and Zoom calls
all blessings, yes
yes
yes

But..

My space gets smaller
inside and out
tighter, less room to breathe

I’ve worked my time.

There is freedom calling

Freedom that asks just to sit
Not mediate
Not journal
Not journey
Not chant
Not sing
Not pray

Just sit
Listen
Be grateful

I’ve worked my time

It’s time

Now

I found myself in that place again
that place I thought I left behind
released
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cracked the container wide open
to watch contents drain
into the gutter flow
into the sewer wash
into the ocean

Here I am again but
I know better now

I am at cause
my feet on Earth
next to tree
I create that which
serves

In wonder I pick up
a twig somehow
knowing this piece of skeleton
broken
dry
dismembered from its whole
is still at cause

Energy is neither created nor destroyed
It just changes form

Into compost,
Little Twig,
transform into
nourishment for
Little Seed
roots and stem
buds and leaves
from what seems
nothing

I am at cause
I create