Monthly Archives: February 2012

22 February

Today, a city remembers.
Solitary flowers rise
from old road-worthy vases,
a sign now of hope, or
new direction, perhaps,
like a Phoenix rising
from the ashes.

Today, a city remembers,
enveloped in a sombre shadow,
like the choking dust
of that fateful day
one year ago.

Today, a city remembers,
it is as if time has stood still,
or the year that has been
is rewound, like a clock.
To return us
(as only anniversaries can)
to the place,
and the time where we stood,
when the earth shook
us into terror
and despair.

Today a city remembers
185 departed souls.
The cicadas shrill
their song, while the shrouded sun
is in mourning, too.
Balloons and butterflies,
red, black, and orange,
are surrendered skyward,
from one place
into the forever unknown.

Sunflower, again

The yellow leaves 
of the tallest sunflower
glow their brightest 
against the fading backdrop
of a setting sun.

How is it, as the light retreats,
and darkness approaches, 
this twilight canvas
gives rise 
to the most perfect hue of all?

Are we like the sunflower,
to be truly seen, made visible, 
only in the crack
where light greets the dark?

Pop-up mall

Pretty pop-ups belie
battered buildings beyond
the wire mesh.

Cracked pavement stones
offer new homes to flourishing weeds.

Sweet aromas of coffee, souvlaki, and life
almost obscure the pungent stench
of dust, grit and death.

Jumping back in the river

“Poetry calls us to pause.  There is so much we overlook, while the abundance around us continues to shimmer, on it’s own.”
Naomi Shihab Nye

I was struck by this quote upon reading it yesterday and realized how much I was missing ‘pausing’ to write my daily small stone.  Since finishing the River of Stones challenge for the month of January, life has taken over again and I have neglected to pause, notice and write the ‘shimmer of abundance’ that is all around.  I can’t guarantee a stone a day, but I aim to step back in the river and watch where it winds.  

Little boy snoring
fights for ear space
over the bang, whistle, bang
of the far-off festival finishing.

This body

The following are some excerpts from a longer piece of writing titled ‘This Body’…

It waits, impatiently, 
hungrily, hopefully.

It wants to be still,
to listen,
to sever the ties 
to guilt, obligation, 
and fearful living.

It wants to fall to the ground
cracked open with light,
and morph  
in the womb of darkness,
into even a moon sliver 
of all that it ever imagined 
it might be.

It wants to write,  
to dance,
to glimpse its strength
and trace its contours
upon the clay of the earth.

It wants to move,
to stop, 
to breathe.

It wants to laugh, uncontrollably, 
and to weep,
for as long as it takes, 
the tears to heal the hurt.

This body wants to sink into the abyss of love,
to be loved and give love
to make love and be love
to feel love 
and touch love.

This body wants to know wisdom, 
truth and forgiveness,
deep in its core, 
its cells, 
its synapses, its blood.

It wants to know where to find bliss, 
how to lay down on a bed of nails or
a mountain of feathers 
and surrender,
before it’s too late to ever get up again.

It wants to discern its own needs and desires
before they are moulded
into words,
slowly and gently, moving
toward them, into them, beyond them.

It wants to touch beauty, 
when it sees itself, 
inside and out.

This body – 
a warrior, a vessel, 
a moment in time –
wants what it wants.

Sink into your body, let its story unfold…what would it say?

(un)welcome visitors

Disappointment and invisibility
paid me a visit today
I didn’t recognize them, at first.
I only saw injustice, standing at the door
with hard done by,
so I invited them in.

They were later joined 
by anger and frustration,
not ones to miss such a gathering.
We sat for awhile,
I couldn’t really get a word in,
and they didn’t look like they were budging.
It wasn’t long until
I felt I’d had enough of them,
to last a lifetime.

So, I went back to the door
to see if I’d missed anyone,
and there they were
waiting patiently all along
for me to invite them in.
I sat with them awhile, too,
listening to their complaints,
to their sadness and pain,
their fear and worry.

It was strange,
after I’d listened a little,
really sat with them,
they kind of disappeared,
they didn’t really want to hang about,
‘just a quick visit’ they said,
once they were sure
they had my attention.
Funny, when I turned around
all the rest had left as well.