The shopping trip

shopping...alone
l I was able to trace my sadness back to my early 'Mom' days going shopping with my kids who are all so filled with energy and laughter. Even though their absence in this activity happened slowly, over time, it now feels sudden to me at this advanced age. Sometimes I hear the sound of laughter that is elevated above the constant din, and I stop and my heart, illogically, quickens because my mind slides back into a dream, and I am lulled. The sound of their laughter, their voices, is what I miss the most, all the time, but in the grocery store, it, at times, is especially poignant, and sad, and just as they are right now, tears escape and slide down in rivulets from my eyes to catch in wrinkles that have formed like ruffled satin on my face.

side by side, hip to hip

…and in the darkness of our nights
       We gather,  one by one.
A fire is set and sheds it’s warmth
  And calls to us,
     To each of us.
Alone we come, and together,
                                  into the light
                                          and warmth.
    …and sitting side by side,
                       shoulder to shoulder,
  As if to hold each other up,
                   we share our tears
                                           and joy.

…and the darkness of our night becomes
             another thing.

   Shoulder to shoulder,
Hip to hip.
In the circle
  We become
                another thing.

…and the stories emerge,
One by one,
           and merge
                    and flow
                         and join
                                and shine.
Together.
Shoulder to shoulder to shoulder
Hip to hip.

to write the song.....

I sense it,

   treading lightly,

      poised on toes of dust.

Shadowed fingers

      reaching for my shoulder.

A charcoal sketch,

Sentient.

It is memory.

A squeeze, a pinch, a caress.

There to remind me, that all life

                                       is a ticking clock.

And each tick

A still life,

A memory.

societal ambiguity

my deep down heart is confused and bruised. the tenuous veil of civility that evidently hid a grinding, mean spirited cancer that weaves its tentacles throughout american society has fallen and we discover the real alien, the one who lives next door, or down the street, or across town, and whose goal has always been the de-struction of the illusive american dream. brotherhood, open, accepting arms, a place where anyone has the opportunity to succeed. illusion. delusion. illusory invention. designed to keep the natives appeased. the veil has fallen. it is exposed, and we of kind heart are gut punched.

Response to Amy Ferris re: suicide

 I feel the pressure of your shoulder, leaning into mine. The gentle heat, the perceived light. The true vibrations. The truth. I sit with eyes closed, limbs tightly wound, head down, mind roiling; and your words, your presence, bring me back to my own truth. My circle reconnects and suddenly I remember sunshine. 

Spirals

Spirals

We are spirals
floating freely
like dust motes
in sunbeams.We are spirals

Breezes flow
surround
the spirals
spinning
some fast,
some slow.

Some sparkle
some drift
out of view.
We are at once
new
and old.

remade
remade

We are all spirals
some drift
some spin

together
yet apart.
some drift,
some spin.

Who walked here once?

Who hears the voice of rock, of tree, of vole?
   Who steps in silence,
through forests damp and dim?
   Who leaves no trace of passage?

Lives once lived,
   In autumn’s dancing color,
Danced as well.
   Now gone,
To sleep in dreamless ether.

But walk through forest paths,
    In footprints left
 beneath the duff and detritus
 of years,
   and wonder
              what remains?
Who trod here once?
   Who left their sigh?
Drifting vague, through treetops
   Sway and shiver?

No fear, but know
   The air is limned,
the line,
The shape
Not gone, but drifting,
   vague, in treetops sway
                                    and shiver.