Meditation We cannot trap the sunshine or capture love, maybe for a minute or a night but Time sitting in the saddle of Change and Death always rides up cuts their ropes and they escape into the hills. Such suffering teaches us how to surrender to stop pushing to let it go let it all go There is a trap door in the top of every second We lift We enter God pours cups of quiet taps the drum of peace grows diamonds in our soul and kisses our eyes
Meditation We cannot trap the sunshine or capture love, maybe for a minute or a night but Time sitting in the saddle of Ch...
till we can see this is the only place our enemy Time cannot enter to steal our sunshine and our love. © January, 2007
till we can see this is the only place our enemy Time cannot enter to steal our sunshine and our love.    January, 2007
Auto-da-Fé To trust in God requires my heart be burned. Year after year, I am led up the steps I hammered & nailed, mistake by mistake, to be plunged into fire. And in the flame, my cry to drink just one glass of praise from someone, from anyone, my grasp for cash to build my will stronger than my mistakes, my plea for the din of a love affair to hide the sound of the angels and the hounds. All that is hushed by fire. There is only God and Her generous Love.
Auto-da-F   To trust in God requires my heart be burned. Year after year, I am led up the steps I hammered   nailed, mista...
Every other couch on which I beg to lie and rest is consumed in the roar of the blaze. © 1999
Every other couch on which I beg to lie and rest is consumed in the roar of the blaze.    1999
Hi Again When, naked and empty, I am delivered from busy streets into the quiet city of death, I will cry, I will be frightened a little bit the way I felt when I was delivered into this dark world God, I will need your touch, your breasts in the city where it is always light your kisses your love, your songs in those first long, bright nights, in my new home © 2011
Hi Again When, naked and empty, I am delivered from busy streets into the quiet city of death, I will cry, I will be frigh...
Birthday Poem 2012 Somehow with dancing feet an open heart and a quick prayer I have played against death and won these 73 years. Squatting on the cold tile of the kitchen floor we roll the dice, I jump up and run away to another year of chasing God’s tail through sweet fright laughing nipples and fountains of ecstasy in the House of the Moon. Oh God let us glide together on the dance floor of this earth (hair slicked back, cuffs rolled up) a few more years of Rock ‘n Roll. I’m just beginning to feel the moves. I have poems to write, a woman to love, Peace to proclaim and candies of wisdom to hand out in the park.
Birthday Poem 2012  Somehow   with dancing feet   an open heart   and a quick prayer I have played against death and won t...
In these last twirls around the floor, (oh God the feel of your sweet breasts as we turn) let our laughter and our song fill the hearts and souls of all our friends and enemies who dance and stare steal and kill sleep and starve love and die. Come Everyone, let us take the hand of God and Dance, Sing till our souls lay down their weapons, till our sex runs weeping and dancing into the House of the Moon. © 2012
In these last twirls around the    oor,    oh God the feel of your sweet breasts as we turn  let our laughter and our song...
The Canons of Forgiveness I want a pestilence to ravage the world, a contagion to drop from the stars, plague the drinking water and all the green fields. I pray for a malignant virus of forgiveness to strike down man, woman and child. All the antidotes, hate, insecurity, revenge lock them up, All the vaccines, ambition, jealousy,greed bury them. All the generals and teachers rushing to cure us of our open hearts, jail them. Let our lives be fractured, ruined, till they cannot hold
The Canons of Forgiveness I want a pestilence to ravage the world, a contagion to drop from the stars, plague the drinking...
the keen scalpel of a closed heart to cut and heal forgiveness. In the madness of our disease let us release the murderers from the dungeons we have carved in our heart, forgive the terrorist, the cheater, our father, our child, the molester, the deserter, the coward, our mother, the enemy, our lover, the friend, the rapist, our brother, our sister, the thief. Free everyone we have locked in the prison of our mind, free every thought that wounds and rots
the keen scalpel of a closed heart to cut and heal forgiveness. In the madness of our disease let us release the murderers...
our soul, release everyone who quarantines our heart, to protect us from the infection of love, the contagion that bends our knee, bows us down to forgive, forgive forgive. © 2005
our soul, release everyone who quarantines our heart, to protect us from the infection of love, the contagion that bends o...
Come, God! Come, God. Enter my darkness and pour yourself upon me, the fallow field, parched of tears and seed. Reveal yourself, here, among the dried and broken years. You, who covers me with night, you, who lift the bowl to reveal the light, Come! Untie your angels of grace. Let them till my sleep, water my dust, plant my soul. Come, God! Bestow yourself upon me. © 2014
Come, God   Come, God. Enter my darkness and pour yourself upon me, the fallow    eld, parched of tears and seed. Reveal y...
Cottonwood for Sarah The Cottonwoods, pouches split by flakes of early Summer sun scatter clouds of seed and dance the Eastern wind thru fields of sky arching o’er my morning walk are topped by taller winds that fly South to shine the sky the blue that heals the wounds of winter and I remember the color
Cottonwood for Sarah The Cottonwoods, pouches split by flakes of early Summer sun scatter clouds of seed and dance the Eas...
the sky sang when I watched from the church childhood builds. This morning the song returns and races the smell of grape flowers & the sweet scent of Locust to ring the sunshine bell of my little boy’s heart. Summer is upon us The Peonies drunk with their own glory sprawl across the lawn, heads down on their pillow of green but
the sky sang when I watched from the church childhood builds. This morning the song returns and races the smell of grape f...
it is the seed of the Cottonwood that chimes the deepest tone within my childhood’s heart. Come, sharp Summer sun and slit the pouch that grew around my heart during the darkness and the cold. I want to ride the tall waters of the sky. Come, windy Spirit blow the dirt from off my soul till it is clean and fluffy like the Cottonwood seed, till I rise, float across Lake Champlain, touch down
it is the seed of the Cottonwood that chimes the deepest tone within my childhood   s heart.  Come, sharp Summer sun and s...
among the poplars days from now in the clasp of some island’s fertile ground. I can feel it. I can. Sometimes when I pray I feel the winds of grace tip up my toes and float me just a little off the ground. So watch for me some June day. Look up, you’ll see me gliding
among the poplars days from now in the clasp of some island   s fertile ground.  I can feel it. I can. Sometimes when I pr...
with the soft seed of the cottonwood and the cloud drifting out over the lake. In sweet flight we’ll float, over all the green and struggling world and from the bounty of my slain and open heart I’ll spread my arms and shout a million fluffy seeds of prayer. © 2006
with the soft seed of the cottonwood and the cloud drifting out over the lake. In sweet flight we   ll float, over all the...
Fox Hole Atheist Its not who I pray to when I’m gutted by loss, or pinned against the rusty blade of my own mistakes. It’s who I pray to when my heart is fat with joy, and my pockets full of coin. That is clean glass. I can peek in and watch the way my heart commands my ship. Does he strut upon the gun deck or does she kneel in the salt spray and weep with thanksgiving? ©3/19/03
Fox Hole Atheist Its not who I pray to when I   m gutted by loss, or pinned against the rusty blade of my own mistakes. It...
God-Flow I accept your love, God. I accept. Flow, Pour into me though the passage be blocked with rock. Cut it! Gouge a path to convey your raging care. Rock that requires a million years eroding, blast through in a single night. I am ready. I have no more places to hide. Roar through me. Take the thunder of your waters to my deserts and my towns, transform the land to something rarely seen, a country where your slightest touch is cause for tears. A land where my caged affections break free
God-Flow I accept your love, God. I accept. Flow, Pour into me though the passage be blocked with rock. Cut it  Gouge a pa...
to feed upon the foliage of your love ©2012
to feed upon the foliage of your love   2012
God’s Ambition The priest is queer. The Rabbi’s dour. The preacher’s greedy. The Imam’s angry. The Buddhist llamas have hearts like rock and the Brahmin of Shiva love their temples filled with furs and gold. That’s the facade we see, so many of us wounded in the splash, this puddle of existence, muddied by the ambition of man. But, what about God’s ambition?
God   s Ambition The priest is queer. The Rabbi   s dour. The preacher   s greedy. The Imam   s angry. The Buddhist llamas...
In every Cathedral there’s one Seeker dropping tears of ecstasy tickled by the touch of God. In every Synagogue there’s one Traveler chanting the drumbeat of the holy call. In every church there’s one Saint dancing up Jacob’s ladder into the arms of Light. In every Mosque one Dancer whispers the Zikar into the ears of the Allah.
In every Cathedral there   s one Seeker dropping tears of ecstasy tickled by the touch of God.  In every Synagogue there  ...
In every meditation one Bodidsatva stands in the field of a thousand Buddhas tossing galaxies from the Nature of her Mind to the redemption of all sentient beings. In every satsang there’s one Lover dragged by her mala into the bosom of Krishna’s peace. God’s ambition, is to catch us outside, without our clothes, kiss our ear, roll us in the grass, keep us in bed
In every meditation one Bodidsatva stands in the field of a thousand Buddhas tossing galaxies from the Nature of her Mind ...
past noon till our hearts turn to gulls and fly beyond the color of the sky. © 2008
past noon till our hearts turn to gulls and fly beyond the color of the sky.    2008
I Love Your Beard... Your Breasts I know, God you don’t have a beard, you don’t have breasts, you don’t play music and love is only a human construction. At least I know all that with my little mind, my science mind. But with my other mind, my big mind, the part of me that yearns to touch your beard... your breasts, I hear music my little mind will never hear. So... I can stay in the rattle of the tiny jar owned by my little mind or I can spread the arms of my soul and swing around Orion’s toe and into the symphony of distant nebulas pulsing and playing the notes of this gigantic love that inhabits the wind storm that blows through the hollow of the seed and the sun.
I Love Your Beard... Your Breasts I know, God you don   t have a beard, you don   t have breasts, you don   t play music a...
Oh God, I hear your music and since my little mind will never attend this prom... Let’s dance. © April, 2014
Oh God, I hear your music and since my little mind will never attend this prom... Let   s dance.     April, 2014
Just Jump Can you hear the tears? Why? Why is everyone secretly... overtly... Weeping? Actually, I know the answer to that question. You ready? Here it is: We need to hear God singing. Never, never will our heart know joy till we hear God singing. We were born with an ache in our hearts to hear the songs of God. So... what do we do if we can’t hear the song? We can pretend we hear it... that we’re happy. That’s popular. We can pretend it doesn’t matter. We can be religious but that doesn’t work either in spite of the numbers who keep trying it. What? Oh, you’re quite happy in your religion. So you say. But unless you follow my little formula, you’ll hear no song.
Just Jump  Can you hear the tears  Why  Why is everyone secretly... overtly... Weeping  Actually, I know the answer to tha...
You can fast you can pray five times a day you can go to church confess take communion read the bible daven meditate do yoga but none of that will bring the song. Here’s what you do. It’s quite easy, a simple formula: You stand at the edge of the cliff. You say: I want you God. I want your voice, singing, I want to hear your song in every room of my thirsty soul, I want that more than money more than respect more than family or fame or power or comfort or even... my own life. Then... You Jump! and somewhere as you fall at some instant before you crash into the rocks and restless surf, at some wonderful opening in the wall of time, you’ll hear God singing,
You can fast you can pray five times a day you can go to church confess take communion read the bible daven meditate do yo...
and... your wings will sprout. © 2014
and... your wings will sprout.    2014
Lite Me Up Oh God! Oh God! Protect me! Protect me when your hand, as broad as the sky, comes crashing down upon my head flashing with revelation. It’s not about being crushed. I know that’s not your way. It’s about being scared. Being lit up like a cosmic store. That’s the shot I try to dodge. Every minute, lit up... every minute. Such a tempest terrifies some part of me. I want it but I like the way a glass of wine rubs the evening to a song and
Lite Me Up Oh God  Oh God  Protect me  Protect me when your hand, as broad as the sky, comes crashing down upon my head fl...
the million other ribbons of distractions I weave into the basket of my life. OK God! How ‘bout this as a solution: Just focus on the curves of my sexy soul. Take my avoidance as a lover’s game. © 2013
the million other ribbons of distractions I weave into the basket of my life. OK God  How    bout this as a solution  Just...
Monsoon The summer winds of what him and her and all our neighbors dance with all their lives will never light the path to paradise. We need storm, We need the fury of fright and rain that blows off the Bay of Bengal to cast the light to read these dusty and wrinkled maps. Let us supplicate the gods of love to consecrate us with storms of light. We must know. We must find our path... All the rest of life is less than rice hulls blowing loose upon the floor The dead found out if the left or right they turned led them to the sunshine or to the dark. But the dead still are not talking. Come storm,
Monsoon The summer winds of what him and her and all our neighbors dance with all their lives will never light the path to...
blow, destroy all the knowledge we have sucked through straws dipped in the visions of the blind, all the music we have licked from the table of the deaf and dumb Blow the light into our minds so we may understand the wrinkled hieroglyphs unseen by the wealthy and the proud Oh God, who inhabits the storm, the crash and the light, blow down the walls that surround my heart so I may read the latitudes, find the longitudes of paradise. © January, 2014
blow, destroy all the knowledge we have sucked through straws dipped in the visions of the blind, all the music we have li...
Sabbath, For Catherine I woke this morning paused only a minute, ate a tiny slice of peace, sipped a thimble of light, jumped up and strapped on my harness, walked to the field, head down, up to the plow, snapped on the line, flexed my thighs and prepared to pull. Then stopped, staring at the clods and broken sod. What, oh Creator do you have planned for me today? Pulling this plow is my idea. I looked up, unsnapped the line and suddenly the air was full
Sabbath, For Catherine I woke this morning paused only a minute, ate a tiny slice of peace, sipped a thimble of light, jum...
of butterflys, cobalt blue wings and eyes as gold as daffodils. I broke up the plow and made a drum. We danced, stepping and leaping on the hard ground, broke it into velvet loam. Ready to receive the seed. © 2006
of butterflys, cobalt blue wings and eyes as gold as daffodils. I broke up the plow and made a drum. We danced, stepping a...
Salmon How do I know, death will not come and steal the candy I have stored to sweeten every day? and, What does the Salmon know? In the factories of the night, among the rockers and the chains, the clank and cavern of sleeplessness, how can I not believe I am anything but the wretched spawn of chance? And the Salmon.... flashing silver in the morning sun
Salmon How do I know, death will not come and steal the candy I have stored to sweeten every day  and, What does the Salmo...
drinks a thousand miles of rocks and roaring waters, blows a tune of joy in the silver whistle of his last race up the waters of his youth. The Salmon’s song, the pattern of the Monarch as she rides the train of windy sky, dances in the sunlight and the rain. The certain compass of the pigeon, always pointed toward the joy of home... All these do live
drinks a thousand miles of rocks and roaring waters, blows a tune of joy in the silver whistle of his last race up the wat...
in the canyons of my heart. If I but relax, walk out of the bank, leave my lathe, dismount my ambition, and finally, finally, trust the compass of my own call then I pierce the blueness of the sky, I hurdle the flumes and dams. Arrive at the source, the whistle of my longing birthed in the waters of my native sun
in the canyons of my heart. If I but relax, walk out of the bank, leave my lathe, dismount my ambition, and finally, final...
and in the silver and the running rain I dance upon the clank and the chains of the sleepless night. ©2006
and in the silver and the running rain I dance upon the clank and the chains of the sleepless night.    2006
Socrates Speaks to the Children Never! Trust your Teacher, your Preacher, the Politician, the Rabi the TV, or the Cop. Trust the hot cinder of your own being. Beware! the Musician, the Colonel, your Doctor, the Imam and the Judge. They will drive you down the lane of their own predicaments. Blow on the spark God placed in your soul.
Socrates Speaks to the Children Never  Trust your Teacher, your Preacher, the Politician, the Rabi the TV, or the Cop. Tru...
Your Parents, your Friends, Spouses, Lovers, old women and merchants need you cold to sprinkle your ash to dry the ink of their own failure and ambition. Fan your yearning to fire. The stars the sea the tree your sex and your tears connect your heart to your destiny. Fan it to flame. All those who rattle their keys and try to jail your soul
Your Parents, your Friends, Spouses, Lovers, old women and merchants need you cold to sprinkle your ash to dry the ink of ...
in the prison of their own loss only understand the sentence life handed to them. That’s all they know. Remember, when they walk you to their temple and they whisper, “This way child. This way brings happiness.” Run! They enshrine their mistakes as wisdom and law. This is deeper. To the deepest ring of your soul. Stir it to fire Escape!
in the prison of their own loss only understand the sentence life handed to them. That   s all they know. Remember, when t...
Fan the ember of Spirit to flame Shine your way out the doom the Blacksmiths of custom hammer day & night to weld your life to the tongue of their failed toil. Walk away! Embrace the unknown that churns in your soul, yearns to burst forth and be free. © 2006
Fan the ember of Spirit to flame Shine your way out the doom the Blacksmiths of custom hammer day   night to weld your lif...
Unconscious Sword Life as it stepped, unimagined, from the trees plunged a sword into my heart. It hurts, but does not frighten me like the sword I hold in my hand. © 2012
Unconscious Sword Life as it stepped, unimagined, from the trees plunged a sword into my heart.  It hurts, but does not fr...
Up and Down the Lilac Ladder There is a ladder woven of violets and lilacs from our garden that runs from heaven down to my chest and from my chest to the doors of heaven and Angels mad for the smell of Spring, frolic up and down the ladder naked and happy and bold and I feel like I might be split wide open so I pull my quilt up to my chin but the music of the frolic and the Spring pull it down. I mean after all... Angels! So... I am compelled to throw open all the dusty doors of my heart, leap upon the ladder to go dancing with the Angels naked and wet
Up and Down the Lilac Ladder There is a ladder woven of violets and lilacs from our garden that runs from heaven down to m...
up and down the lilacs and the daffodils running like little children who have gleefully stripped off their clothes in and out of the doors of heaven. © 2014
up and down the lilacs and the daffodils running like little children who have gleefully stripped off their clothes in and...
Which came first... We feel the glory and feel it and feel it and then struggle to find a name to pull it closer and to praise it. We try to find a name, a handle to attach to it we hope will not extinguish the fire, the brilliance: God Yaweh Buddha Rama Jesus Nature Allah The Universe and sometimes they work... they remind us of the sunlight the music the peace that dances and sings our body our mind our soul... Oh sweet, sweet Glory. © 2014
Which came    rst... We feel the glory and feel it and feel it and then struggle to    nd a name to pull it closer and to ...
Yearning (Autobiography) Now, as sure as Hades cannot hear the sound of joy, new snow has begun to fall on all the footprints I pressed when I walked at the bidding of the Dark and Pirate Kings... The history of my stumbles and my slips disappears in the falling snow because I burned the scripture written on my youth: ‘Love the money not the kiss’. Watch. You’ll see. I now must wander the pathless sky because my longing for the breath of God has welded shut my purse in which I carry my old compass, my pride, my wish for the praise of women. And, my mother says, worst of all, I do not care.
Yearning  Autobiography   Now, as sure as Hades cannot hear the sound of joy, new snow has begun to fall on all the footpr...
I toss it all for just a taste, just a tiny shiver from the sweet breath that lights the dawn! I would do differently if I could. I’d conform. I’d talk about sports. I’d watch TV. I’d hate the enemy. I’d hunt after money. I’d be the poster child of mental health if I could but I can hear death sniff the wasted minutes of my past looking for a way to slash my life and drag into the dark. And.... in the forest of the hammer blows of time and age and sick and death, a bright certainty rises like a new planet over the ocean of my soul: no one moment
I toss it all for just a taste, just a tiny shiver from the sweet breath that lights the dawn   I would do differently if ...
is wide enough to acquire the light that breaks the grasp of night unless God grabs my minutes like an egg cracks me open to plunge herself into the very center of my soul like a wall of colored sound that whispers all the secrets of all the universe from Antares to the beaches where lounge the Shepherds of the Sun. Plunges and plunges and plunges until my minutes become as wide as the reach from Orion’s shoulder to his toe. Come, Divine Lady who turns the stars and bakes the light that tingles in the belly of my soul, break the shell in which I hide, burn the darkness out of every moment of my dusty life.
is wide enough to acquire the light that breaks the grasp of night unless God grabs my minutes like an egg cracks me open ...
You the Queen who sprinkles nectar on the tongues of butterflies have knocked me to my knees, cut the tendons of my will and tied me to your bed. I’d sell everything I own, give up all my money just to live in the peace of your constant kiss. Wouldn’t you? © 2010
You the Queen who sprinkles nectar on the tongues of butter   ies have knocked me to my knees, cut the tendons of my will ...
A Bird is not a Dump Truck We were made to fly. Why do you think it is so difficult here on the ground? You know: the war, the death, all the hurt and all the loss. We were made to fly, to love. Down here is is so messy... it smells, we bump into each other, tear the wings from one another’s bodies. We weren’t designed for such cruelty . We were made to fly... to love. When we love, we rise on our wings, and Look! see how different it all is. See the far mountains, feel the wind, See! we are closer to the light. And up here: our hands touch, our hearts sing. © 2013
A Bird is not a Dump Truck  We were made to    y. Why do you think it is so dif   cult here on the ground  You know  the w...