Grand entrance

When the seed splits

beneath the earth

with unobserved courage,

it knows only to rise, rise,

patiently climb to the surface.

At first poke, it’s green head bashful,

breathing air for the first time,

an imperceptible cry of joy!

it’s mother, the earth itself,

stays low, shaded,

allowing the sunlight

to drench this little being

in its grand entrance.

-

When the mother bear

first pushes the cubs

out of the mouth of the cave

into the cool spring day

and they roll and play across the earth’s soft belly

she sits back, tired mother, in the shade

against the rocky entrance

letting the sun’s radiance dazzle newborn’s fur

playful, rolling center stage:

grand entrance.

-

When the human mother

cries out in pain and joy

and the baby’s head crowns,

contractions circling ever outward

like ripples in the water,

and the child becomes the center -

the mother the circumference.

Baby takes her first breath

entering this magical mystery

as the mother weeps

enshadowed by the radiance

of the miracle

of yet another grand entrance.

.

The miracle, ever-present, as long as life exists

Where the moon starts its rise

Have you ever seen

From where the moon starts to rise?

-

At the ends of the earth,

It’s the most silvery dell

In the crook of the farthest mountain

Where sunlight never fell.

-

Where unicorns romp

and satyrs play

and mermaids gay

swim with dolphin babes

-

Roses of blue

and irises of white

decorate this glade

dancing in silvery light

-

Snakes slither softly

past dandelion stalks

a silver moving labyrinth

beneath the white seeds tossed

-

They gather on the highest rock,

silver tongues divining the air -

calling down the drops of dew

sending up the gentle moon.

-

She leaves her home without complaint -

Her joy to release this magical light.

The earth’s pleasing transformation begins

as across the sky she slowly wends.

-

Foxes slink and deer stroll

raccoons eat and opossums roll

owls stay high, the mice stay low

as moonlight climbs through every knoll.

-

Even our common human feet

can’t help but dance when the magic entreats

All are transformed by the moon’s gentle path:

Beauty returns, innocence lasts.

-

But stubborn Zebras stand at the edge of the dawn

waiting for the promise of the sun

Sure enough the dew begins to fade

And the evening’s magic is lost to the day

(you know the zebras hate anything grey!)

-

The harsher light burns magic from the air

owls stay inside, foxes stay in their lairs

the smallest differences now seen as flaws

across the earth dancing feet pause.

-

Yet back in this most silvery dell

the moon has returned, it’s easy to tell:

Snakes slither down, unicorns rise

the mermaids dance, to the satyrs’ surprise.

-

and this being of peace, she rests and restores,

by the crook of the mount

on earth’s farthest shore

the roses blue, the irises white

too many to count!  They dance even more!

-

Still softly shining through her slumber,

like love unbound, giving gifts without number,

once again the old become young

in this place where ancient truths are sung

(by mermaids’ lips and snakes’ silver tongues).

-

Have you ever seen

where the moon starts its rise

leaving her home

to climb through the skies?

 

photo via shutterstock.com

After snow

Except for the deer,

our prints were the first ones

on the trail that morning.

I liked how I followed her paws

My two alongside her four.

-

Such a pretty morning

We walked farther than ever before

Crisp air lending quickness

Snow brightening the gray.

-

Finally the return;

She was at the river

when I started back, alone for a moment,

retreading our almost pristine path

observing the symmetry of the prints

perfectly together, over and over,

uninvited, the thought slipped in:

what will I do when she is gone,

best friend of ten years?

-

For a moment

the hills felt steeper

the snow more difficult

the air colder.

-

Then she came bounding to me,

river-playing icy-legged,

tail wagging,

brown and black dotted with white,

with stick in tow

to lay at my feet

then a swift bark, demanding

Play now!

Play now!

Play now!

The secret lies in the words themselves

The secret lies in the words themselves.

Here, five functional beauties:

manacle   /   spectacle   /   pentacle   /   oracle   /   miracle

Separate except for endings,

together

they teach about vision.

Do you see?

-

A manacle – the shackle

to which woman and man adhere -

a chosen prison of our agreed-upon vision of reality

to which we limit ourselves in order to feel safe.

-

A spectacle – an event that reaches the bounds of this reality, yet still lies within -

a place where few of us dwell, we who find safety in the middle,

thus we need a special name for it: spectacle.

-

An oracle, one who, unshackled, ignores the limited view and looks beyond,

telling us what is coming and what is going.

In return for this gift, we give ridicule,

saying it’s not possible to see this way,

yet we secretly go to her, in shadows,

seeking assistance with our blinders.

-

A pentacle, the symbol for a set of beliefs based on that which we cannot see,

finding power in the elements,

finding magic.

Its followers

found persecution.

-

A miracle, when something outstanding happens, impossible to refute,

in which the laws represented by the manacle are broken,

in which the oracle is frequently justified,

in which the pentacle blinks not in surprise,

in which the limits of possibility are expanded,

causing hordes to gather at the edge, ogling,

likely causing a spectacle,

-

and there they say:

I cannot believe it!

that could never happen!

It will never happen again -

but what a miracle it has happened this once.

-

Our history resides in the words we have always used;

take any group and find their truth.

These speak of what we allow ourselves to see

and what we allow ourselves to be.

 

Solstice Eclipse 2010

two twenty AM

if I lie on the kitchen floor

I can just see it from the back window

without the shivers of outside

earth’s shadow moving across the silvery-yellow orb

I’m mesmerized at the significance

of a lunar eclipse

on the eve of the winter solstice

-

cat keeps sleeping

dog yawns, wanders over, then rests

chin near my side

unamused

unassuming

unimpressed.

I wonder

why do we find such meaning

in the world around us?

-

Silvery yellow turns red

Whole sphere visible momentarily -

surely an enshadowed

cosmic lesson

with indisputable meaning -

impossible to comprehend.

photo shared from blogs.sacbee.com

The coldest place in winter

Parking lot wind-whipping cold

Suburban street red-faced cold

Side of buildings blasted cold

Alleyways screeching violent cold

Gas stations iced down freezing cold

Front porch funnels piercing cold

No haven no protection all is cold

-

I hope I can make it to the shelter of the trees,

Who create the peace of the wind-stilled forest,

Where the ice crosses the river

in fragile leaps and bounds

Protecting all beneath,

Where the gentlest mother

Patiently drops a blanket

Stitch by snowy stitch

Onto her children

For insulation,

Where the air is clean

with no smell of smoke or exhaust,

Where the tired leaves lay still

softening your step,

Where the insects

have been silenced

waiting for renewal,

Where the turtles, frogs, and bears

have peacefully retired,

Where the deer, the foxes, the raccoons

wait patiently, quietly

for this cleansing season to pass,

Where the birds

who have stayed

fluff up and sing.

-

I hope I can make it there

to the shelter of the trees

where the world

and the cold

make sense.

 

Porcelain

Small brown spider

on smooth white shower wall

bespeckled with droplets.

-

You are so delicate, I thought,

the wind could blow you to the tops of the trees!

But here there is no wind

Only rain.

-

And I admire you as you navigate the drops

legs waving, moving quickly to and fro,

sometimes resting atop a watery orb -

A skillful struggle.

-

Too lazy to pause

I continue the shower

knowing, when I finish,

you’ll be glad

for an end to the deluge.

-

The storm is over

and yet

no movement from your

still, wet crumpled form.

You had been

not waving but drowning!*

-

Oh irascible me!

Come choirs of angels

and sing this miracle of creation

to life again.

Or, if life be no option,

then let your song

blow her past the tops of the trees

to heaven above

where some craggy rock awaits

with tiny crevices

perfect for a small, brown spider

to cower away from the elements.

-

A place where unnatural

human-made walls

do not exist,

and safe-havens abide.

-

There a spider can survive

even a whimsical poet’s

carelessness.

 

 

 

 

 

*Reference to Stevie Smith’s poem, “Not Waving But Drowning”

 

Grounding love

I haven’t met you

but I know you

Like the land knows a seed

Whose roots tickle their way down

deeper and deeper with love.

-

Life’s instinct comes naturally:

to do what one needs to grow and thrive

and find joy in becoming.

-

As the skin of the earth

loves each footfall, each pawprint,

each sprouting seed, each soft leaf -

as it feeds us -

as it heals us -

as it lets us rest upon it

enveloped in security and peace -

so will I do for you.

moments

on a certain day

at a certain hour

you may feel

that the choices you are making

reach far into the future

and the steps that you take

keep time

to the heartbeat of something greater

-

and those moments

those moments

happen rarely,

but they are real,

and it is important

to step strongly -

to keep the beat -

no matter how scared

you may feel

at this sudden understanding

of your elemental role

in this very large

being,

in this very large

life.

Renewal

The calm that comes after crying

is like the peace after a storm:

old limbs have fallen from the trees

to rest at peace below.

The air, cleansed, presents a clearer picture

of the exquisite beauty

in every direction.

The ground, soft and pliable,

begins assisting the seeds

long forgotten or ignored -

and all moves forward

again

as if new.