Category: Poems

because after you stand up
it is too late,
and you need that tight grounding
while seated,
and there may be ruthless flight.
Fasten them with gentleness
and intention
and awareness
– unfastening requires a quick and fluid adjustment.
Seat belt in flight,
different from a tether…
a necessary binding
for access to altitude.
Intrinsic hint of possibility,
potential for unclipping, rising.
While seated, buckle up.
Be in the seat.
Notice the flight,
and the impermanence of the shared journey.

Well, this is new,
this moment now.
It has a tickle of surprise,
an unfamiliar journeying,
a fresh scent of pine
or maybe lemon.
It has a widening flavour,
a roomy circle,
a gossamer and impenetrable strength.
Externally observed beside this coffee cup,
or mountaintop,
or heated conversation, or doorstep,
the forms of life are treasured and familiar,
the same as ever.
But goodness! this is new,
this is new right now.

The wolf at the door
was growling
and in the black interior
of mind’s eye
I saw red fangs,
a slathering of fear
to keep me imprisoned,
ready to be prey.

But when I opened,
the day outside was light enough
to see hungry, bedraggled coyote,
lonely and calling,
seeking my food and compassion.

The mystical response,
agog with recognition
that this seething belly
is the fractal cousin
of the places and time where clouds of roiling and boiling
spit out new galaxies…

this gaping and precise flash of awe
is a logical outcome.
There is a time when the intelligent mind,
housed in a salty vessel,
a community of parasites
managing complex energy streams,
feeding on histories and physics and geographies,
nourished by an impossible continuum,
must simply weep
with tears of joy
in slack-jawed knowledge.
There is a place where the journey does not end,
the mind’s persistent quest
hushed, in subjugated and vital service
to the understanding of home
as a place equally inside
the unfound centre of a personal cell,
and an origin three billion light years away.
An honourable mind finds time
to fall on its knees
in comprehension of deep trust,
connection to an infinite web.

And the reason
it feels like bubbles
is the uncontrollable rising
conveys light emptiness;
a giddy connection of fat shapes
in roly-poly wonder,
the opposite of swallowing.
Effervescent essence
greets itself
at play in the froth.
It cannot be contained,
existing only in the now;
pops into soft droplets of remembrance,
a residue of rainbows.
Spontaneous liberation,
it can catch us by surprise
amid despair
or deep pleasure.
Most commonly transmuted into smiles or giggles,
sometimes a snort or belly laugh,
occasionally a quiet flick of one tear-rimmed eye…
these are the dance steps of joy.

Why these fences,

slippery barricades greased for deterrence,

barbs sharpened to repel welcome?

Come! she says

but not too close;

make haste!

but not too fast

lest illusion slip,

walls collapse,

the lonely posture

change.

Scoop up rich brown handfuls,

the kundalini travelling upwards,

use belly fire, escort towards the heart,

liberating softly

these tightly curled wings.

Relax into the upwards flow,

the gentle persuasion

coaxing and unravelling.

Unwrap the cramped delicate webs,

enrich them with the flow of lower blood,

stretch enough to see their vibrant splash.

Gossamer strength,

these fragile tools

provide what we need to alight,

perch on higher branches.

I arrive adorned with trinkets,

beautiful words and concepts,

beliefs I hold dear.

The archway bids me bow,

strip down,

enter plain and vulnerable.

Heat and steam,

dark and stillness

make way for inner light.

Names dissipate, words dissolve.

Light inside a diamond

choosing to distill as one facet,

allows for return to one name,

one humbled pen.

Let us give thanks

for generous frugality,

expansive sustainability,

abundance that allows for constant planting.

Let us sow new seeds

for others to harvest,

work in fields among the rocks and wild roses,

slowly removing the prickles to leave fertile room.

Let us learn from the cycle of seasons,

from the risk of frost,

the dizzying danger of overexposure.

Shovels in hand,

we dig up buried talents,

invest them in projects

with a high risk of flourishing.

In these beetle times

with hard tight bodies,

shiny skittering

abounds

at a dizzying pace.

In the forest

a slug undulates,

sensitive softness

draping

over rough protrusions.

Without appendages,

movement comes from its thick centre

supported by earth.

Attentive feelers

respond in a delicate sway,

new information coaxing the lazy excursion.

Comfortable in its own slime.

it exudes a messy benediction,

a shimmering trail.

The beetle stops

to briefly hear

the languid rustling,

a thousand slugs receiving

earth’s massage.