Waves of Grief

flickr.com

The waves of grief rolled in,
I bobbing in my little boat
along their peaks and valleys.
Times, I thought their fierceness 
would swamp my fragile craft,
but I plunged on and 
somehow stayed aright.

Times, all I could see
was greyness in all directions,
with no horizon
to help me make my way.

At others, there was a flatness  to everything.
I could see which way to go,
but had no wish to travel.

The waves of grief eventually lessen,
but sorrow never leaves us.
Our departed loves come to live in our hearts.
We make a hallowed space for them there,
safe within the temple of our being,
ours now, only ours.
As the rest of the world moves on
and slowly forgets,
we will carry them with us, always,
till our last breath.

for Sumana's prompt at Mid-Week Motif : Waves

A Rabbit On the Lawn

Along the window, my treasures,

too many for this small space,

but too precious to give away,

wink in the sunlight.

So, my heart is too full 

of the comings and goings 

 that carved deep etchings

onto its surface,

down which blood falls like tears.

And yet one's soul stretches

like a mountain gully,

expanding to accommodate

all the loves and losses,

peaks and valleys,

of a life,

the meadowlark's trill at dusk 

often enough to patch it up

to live another day, 

when too much has been

stripped away.

I have been less than I wanted to be

in this life,

yet more than I might have been.

It cannot be done over.

Watch the sunset transform 

the color of the sky. 

There'll be another dawn or two,

still, for you and I.

I saw a rabbit, this morning, 

on the lawn.

One blink, and she, too, 

will soon be gone. 

For Real Toads, in the style of Jane Hirshfield's STANDING DEER

My Heart is a Fiddlehead Fern

My heart is a wild fiddlehead fern,

unraveling its stem slowly as I raise my face 

to the sun.

My veins are sap rising,

sending nourishment to my leafy arms

waving at the sky.

My feet are planted deeply

in Mother Earth,

loving the warm dark underworld,

so rich with life and nourishment,

so sustaining,

that encourages my unfolding.

My heart is a wild fiddlehead fern,

that needs an intact forest

to survive.

We think that we are apart from nature, when in truth, we are just another of nature's creatures, neither less nor more important. We are systems, intricately designed, by a Master Engineer, to give us - each human, each worm, each fiddlehead fern - exactly what we need to survive, as long as we understand our interconnection with all things. And even when we don't, so generous is Mother Earth to her creatures.

This is one from 2014, reposted for  Poetry Pantry # 251. Happy sunny Sunday to one and all!

Once You Were Warriors

First Nations in Nuu Chah Nulth Territory

Hashilthsa.com photo

Once you were warriors,

free and brave upon the land,

living with the forest and the sea

in harmony.

Now I drive through the reserve

where the government put you,

see the imposed poverty,

a landscape that makes it hard

to dream.

In the eyes of your elders,

I see pain:

the memory of residential school,

the worry that your language 

and your culture might die out.

They have lived one hundred years

of painful history.

They have suffered much.

In the next generation,

I see the defeat

visited upon some of your people

by poverty, addictions, generational trauma.

Yet also, I watch, with joy,

a spirit rising,

that says

"Our culture is our greatest strength,

and we will honor it."

In the eyes of your children,

starting the day with strength and pride,

drumming the sacred drums,

holding the feathered wing,

chanting the prayer to the Creator 

for a good day,

the pride of heritage will live

into another generation,

one in which hope and dreams are strong and limitless:

that you will rise up

and be warriors

- with your message for living 

in peace and harmony with the land -

once again.

This morning, my friends, I drove Sebastian to school and waited to hear the drumming and singing with which the Haahuupayak School begins their day. I am happy to see a strong love for culture surviving the abuses heaped upon First Nations people since Europeans arrived on these shores. In the shining eyes and smiles of the children, in the leadership and strength of the teachers, I see great promise of a day when First Nations truly will rise again, proud and free upon the land. They are rising now, all across Canada in the Idle No More movement. For they know the way we have used the land is not sustainable. They have much to teach us about sustainable living, if we only listen.

The Sea, At Dawn

Meet me 

at the place

where riversong meets

the ululating susurration 

of the sea,
waves in endless cycle,
withdrawing,
coming back
to me.
I left a fragment of my heart
upon its shore,
will not be whole
until I can return
once more.

Let's raise our faces to 
the morning mist at dawn,

feel its gentle kiss

our face upon,

watch heron picky-toe along 

the fragrant shore.

Meet me where my soul,
to thrive,

needs nothing more. 

for Michael's prompt for Get Listed at Real Toads. I chose the words, fragment, withdrawing and sea.

My Heart a Tiger's Nest

Tiger's Nest Taksang Monastery in Bhutan

photo by Sushma_KS

My heart yearns towards a monk's cell

perched on the edge of a mountain cliff,

halfway between here and heaven.

Yet here I am, in a gray little town

in the valley,

trying to fashion my unwieldy life

into something

that does not give offence.

My challenge, the cliff-walk

of understanding the distance

between where you are

and where I long to be.

My practice, the lighting of incense

and, sometimes, hearts,

with the weaving of words.

My sorrow, the mantra of my soul:

how to tame

the tiger's nest of

keening for all that was,

all that may never be again,

so it may bed down

in peace. 

Peace Pilgrim

Peace Pilgrim

from 1953 until 1981, she walked 25,000 miles,

on a pilgrimage for peace. She walked 

until given shelter, fasted until given food.

"I shall remain a wanderer until mankind 
has learned the way of peace," I decided
and, thus, my journey began. 

I walked through all fifty states,
the ten provinces of Canada,
and parts of Mexico,
spreading my message of peace:
peace among nations, among people,
and within oneself.

Sometimes I slept in ditches,
with only a newspaper to cover me 
from the cold.

On one occasion, after 45 days 
of prayer and fasting,
I had the most beautiful dream.
The nations were arming for war. 
I spoke to them, but they would not listen.
I wept for them; they paid no attention.
And then I saw that the people of the world
were praying with me.
A luminous mist was rising, 
a radiant being emerging.
'Put up your swords 
or perish by the sword!' he said,
in a voice like thunder. 
And the nations of the world
put up their swords.

People of the world, let us join together.
Join me in my prayer for peace.
Send your messages of peace
to all the leaders of the world.
If millions share the same vision 
if  a billion voices are heard, 
a change will come across the land
and peace will no longer be
only a dream. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Peace Pilgrim's  death was untimely, a head on collision as she was being driven to a speaking engagement. 

"Free of earth, free as air,
now you travel everywhere."
-five of Peace's friends, in Sante Fe, 
upon her passing.

for Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif: honoring Our Elders. I thought of Peace Pilgrim, who lived a most amazing life. The italicized words are taken from Peace Pilgrim's writings.