poetry

Remedy: AcuDetox Meets “Self-Compassion” by James Crews

Remedy: AcuDetox Meets “Self-Compassion” by James Crews

hands push hands, push
stuck energy out

clearing the system
the way dogs shake:

discharging arousal
preventing overwhelm

needles probe
meridians

curved cartilage may link
memory to muscle to panic

arranging the sharps just so
may too conduct chaos away

put your hand on your heart and say
oh honey

put your hand on another’s and
push for your lives

lay still
while some kind soul

sticks pins in your pinnae
to clear the memories –

we’ll try anything to move
our resting state to restful

poetry

Mayan Flower Healing Ceremony

Mayan Flower Healing Ceremony

Humans being human
are usually like The Breakfast Club:
we see each other’s humanity.

At the flower ceremony
we take turns speaking:
how hard the last two years have been,
how lost we’ve felt from losing the people we love.
We grieve alone, jointly.

Maya puts us on a cloud
and invokes our ancestors,
and, surprisingly,
they show up for us.

All the people from my bedtime prayer
gather in a way they never did in life
and, smiling,
(while tears streak my surprised face)
they say, over and over,
you know how to do it
and it could be anything.

All evening I’m buoyed by new confidence,
done with second-guessing,
sure about what to do,
whatever comes up.

Oh my ancestors,
for all the years I’ve known
how to say your names,
I never thought you’d say mine again.

Tonight I’m going to look for you
on that cloud once more,
now I know how to do it.

poetry, Uncategorized

who’s to blame

who’s to blame

it’s disturbing
but for now they’re right

on some of the plots where people chose
to opt out of the county’s help
the earth hasn’t yet been mulched,
still ready for the wind to carry contaminated cinders
to the edge of town and beyond.
(shake your head here)

but on other opt-out-plots it turns out
everything has already been smoothed away –
twisted metal unscrewed from earth
ashes carried away by truck not air –
and they’re ahead of the county-trusting curve now

you know, they called it:
interference, delay, graft –
just as they suspected
but not who:
it’s business (as usual) not government
trying to squeeze more money from tragedy
carving another scar before the land can heal

poetry

Happy Birthday Darrah

Happy Birthday Darrah

Darrah burns
to do more be more make more heal more

she smashes expectations
splinters them to shards

she shapeshifts
recreates herself her place our world

eagle finds her
and she laughs with him

no matter how cruel the world
how harsh the day

she keeps offering
words earth seeds sweetgrass smoke

sometimes spirits stalk her
and she doesn’t say no
no she says yes and yes and yes

and we tremble at her pain
we humbly tremble at her power

today we honor all that unfolded
all the souls that gave her breath

all the days that amassed
to yield the gift of her birth

poetry

it gets worse / better

Photo of Val Szarek's excerpt of Amanda Gorman's "The Hill We Climb."

it gets worse / better

Inspired by a prompt from Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s Loving the Self: A Poetry Playshop.

gazing into the fire
asking what do you have to teach me today?

all I hear is
the old toddler parenting mantra

it gets worse
before it gets better

friends
it could always get worse
but what if we willed ourselves to believe
today we’re one day closer to better?

poetry

nursing the world

St. Francis Inn mural by Brian Ames, photographed by Jim McIntosh.

nursing the world

Written in response to “Saint Francis and the Sow” by Galway Kinnell, which you can read here or listen to Galway read here. Inspired by a prompt from Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s Loving the Self: A Poetry Playshop.

Galway Kinnell tells me
how to press a palm
to a flower’s brow
until its cellulose walls
feel, through the warmth of that kind, gentle hand,
the radiant energy of that soft, undemanding touch,
the truth of the flower’s self-realized loveliness.

Oh, Galway, and Saint Francis,
and yes, the flower’s green leaf,
and the sow’s muddy hoof,
press yourself to my temple
until this blessing sings through my limp limbs
so I might do the same.

All anyone wants
is to be enough.
To have warranted the atoms they’re made of.
To have patiently pressed their palm
to another needy being’s brow
and then watched them shine with joy.

poetry

some words for when there are no words

some words for when there are no words

I wish I could take away this pain
the senselessness of your immeasurable loss
I wish the day could be done over
and life could go on
without the color drained out
I wish all your warm bodies
were home safe in bed
I wish you weren’t now being asked
to do the near-impossible:
to go on waking and walking
making breakfast and holding your children
convincing them that things will
one day be okay
whether or not you believe it
I wish you were bored with
the mundane certainty of tomorrow
rather than peering down
a dark tunnel of echoes
holding your racing heart
dreading what’s next

may rock strengthen you
water soothe you
air breathe for you
fire keep the light burning
in your chest and eyes

may all beings in your path
pause and reach deep into their pockets
to hand to you
some of their very own
extra fragments of hope

poetry

Jumbo Mountain Speaks

This was an assignment for the Emergence Magazine Nature Writing class. We edited work using feedback from the previous session, so this is an edited version of the poem from the May 31st post.

Jumbo Mountain Speaks

come rest your weariness
on these hard rocks
a stiff wind will buffet your body
proving the heart entombed
in your aching chest
still beats

face west
toward the long white wall of peaks
back to the cities
the fires the shards
those fights are for another hour

feel your hardness
drain into the rocks beneath your palms
your porous bones no match
for their fixed crystals
you were not meant for this
your soft bleeding body
weeps water, not ice

just sit and be
while the wind works its way into you
until your rage flickers out
and there’s new space
between your ribs

I know what it’s like
to feel your heart mined out
set upon by pickaxes
swarmed by the rapacious
proving up on false claims
of their right to strip the world
of whatever life they like

and I know
how to lie still night after night
staring unblinking into quiet stillness
until my shoulders ease;
how to outlast dismantling

it takes an achingly long time
for the ore to lose its currency
the forest to gain a voice
and the scars to grow over

but just listen now
to the exultant tough little aspens
reclaiming this mountain
their young leaves fizzing with joy
roots binding the wounded slope
proving
sometimes healing happens
even in this brutal world

poetry

Saanich Blessing

Saanich Blessing

May the waters be smooth before your curragh.
May the firm warm bud of springtime
always live in your heart.
May you and yours breathe easy and sleep sound
all of your starry nights.
May you feel the love flowing from one and all to you
even when you be all alone.
May the sun’s warmth be a reminder
of the healing power of positive energy.
May the Easter lily show you
how to thaw even the deepest snows.
And when the next fiery sunset arrives
may the slender otter and
the tranquil mergansers sigh and say
all is well
for another day.

poetry

Katalapi

Katalapi

en el bosque
con las Cotes
el agua canta por nosotros

the notes, rapid and green,
clear away the cobwebs between ourselves
leave us feeling
like we’ve drunk from a cool spring
freshen our eyes
and still our thirsty tongues

we make ephemeral circles
understanding nothing lasts
understanding also joy is the honey
that keeps us flying into the thistles

the most powerful thing I did today
was share breath con un canelo
and put a tiny, black, shriveled seed
into the earth –
now something might someday root