Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Radical Gratitude

how do we give back for so much beauty?
sight, and laughter, and love and dreams,
rushing river, burbling streams,
the miracle and mystery,
the beauty and the blight,
the chance to keep trying
to get it right.

give back for it all.
give thanks without ceasing,
even for the unwanted passage
that turns out to be the very portal
your soul has been seeking.

Oracle Owl calls from the forest deep:
don't go back to sleep, don't go back to sleep.

posted for Susan's timely prompt at Mid Week Motif: Gratitude

Tuesday, November 25, 2014


Old Shaman by Marek Hlavaty

Up in the sky
there is an upside-down world
the mirror opposite of this one.
There, the shamans and dreamweavers
rule by a system of restorative justice.
The old ones make sure
that all the children are fed, and loved,
and told stories, and not one tear falls
that is not comforted.

What the trees breathe out, 
the humans breathe in,
and so trees are considered sacred.
There is no excess, no waste, no More,
in order that all may have Some.

Up in the sky
is a world peopled by my dreams.
On a clear day,
I can almost catch a whiff
of smoke from the pipes of peace.
I hear their drumbeat, always,
in my heart.

For Anthony's prompt at dVerse: to write about a place of our imagination.

A Spine Poem

The searching spirit,
the audacity of hope -
fire in the soul.

Reason for hope,
a return to Love -
paths to peace.

Being peace,
peace is every step -
the open heart.

Compassion in action,
I give you my life -
How can I help?

A spine poem in response to Izy's post at  Real Toads.

Monday, November 24, 2014


photo by Jon Merk

Graceful heron
swooping across
the evening sky
like a pterodactyl,
Prehistoric bird
on a treetop,
my heart swoops
with you,
then stills,
standing by
the silent pond,
waiting for the night
to settle
around us both
as feathers.

One from the archives, kids, as I am a bit under the weather. In need of some rest, also some inspiration. Someone throw me a prompt, LOL!!

Sunday, November 23, 2014

In the Bracken

A Port Alberni back yard owl

If ever you would speak with any tree,
come walking in the forest here with me.
I'll show you the wild mushroom  and the root,
but where the ancients gather, set no boot.

If you would speak with nature spirits wild,
you must maintain the heartbeat of a child,
learn riversong and  mountain chasm deep.
You must commune with angels in your sleep.

As you step lightly on the pungent moss,
and feel the leaves the winter wind doth toss,
let your spirit fly away among the trees.
It will return upon the morrow's  breeze.

I go into the forest dark and deep,
every night after I fall asleep,
become a woodland guardian, reborn.
I do not want to leave when it is morn.

Last night my spirit fought as a black wolf,
against four brown wolves on the forest floor,
This told me that a battle lies before,
my spirit having recognized its door.

Come with me. I will show you secret groves,
moss-hung and ancient in this stand of pine.
Deep in the bracken, where the hoarfrost glows,
the Old Ones are singing Home this heart of mine.

One from the archives of late 2012, my friends. Posting it for the Poetry Pantry.

Thursday, November 20, 2014


River Road photo by Lisa Melanie

grey sky
soft as a dove's wing,
river pock-marked with raindrops,
ripples swaying with 
the gentle current,
traveling to where
the water meets the sea

bare twiggy brush along the shore,
heron lifting heavy wings, 
skimming the surface

misty West Coast morning
grey clouds hanging low, 
heavy with tomorrow's rain

I take a mental snapshot
to forever remember
This Moment,
being perfectly

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Becoming Young

I did it backwards,
came to life at 27,
turned 40 and ran away all free and wild.
I was born old,
far too scared of hell and heaven,
raised all my kids,
and then became a child.

I started rocking it at 64
(will you still need me,
and still feed me
as before?)
Stay tuned.
I trust that there are
still, of years,
some more.

With each decade
I have become
more of my Self.
It's cool (if you're me)
scary (if you're related to me)
how life has filled my cup.
I live in such a way
that every morning, next door,
I can hear them say,
with foreboding,
"Oh, God! She's up!"

I know
all of my songs
are not yet sung.
In the best of worlds,
as we age,
we become
Forever Young.

for Kerry's prompt at Toads: Youth and Age
I have limited computer access this week, kids, as am away from home. 
If I dont make it around to everyone today, I will visit you tomorrow.