Tuesday, January 24, 2012

in 1492

if i had met columbus

on the boat

i would have hogited the


... and sailed somewhere wam

tied up my boat

shared everthing i had

and danced till i couldn't dance

any more

Thursday, January 19, 2012

it seems to me
that what's at stake here
is the very way
we see the storm
you see
it's a much different view
when you're in the eye
when you become the eye
than when you allow your
soul to enter the dance of chaos
that surrounds
swirling in temptation
like a wildly drunken dervish

it seems to me
that the eye
the calm
the perfect balance
is where masculine and feminine
the divine
dances its own steps
where we emanate from
where we're called to

it seems to me
this eye
this eye
is calling

Friday, January 13, 2012

and what if we cast ourselves
as wizards 
of this great stew
what if we unfold 
that which
has never been 

Monday, January 9, 2012

the new moon

wakes and pulls us along
cloaked in
whatever sustains
this emerging

Monday, January 2, 2012

these are good tears
and this is a good day
sweeping out every corner
mind body soul
into our

Sunday, January 1, 2012

this poem is for dee dee

I am the wolf

you wrap your tiny finger around
a lock of my hair
your legs grip my waist
like a vice
your beautiful brown eyes sink
into my own
and your soul says
'i trust you'
i hold you close and tell you


'i am the wolf'

your new mama gives you
pretty things
the glasses perched atop your button nose
your old mama couldn't buy
you giggle and serve me tea
but only in the kitchen
not on the carpet

but her name is dee dee
dee dee, i cry
'we're using her christian name now'
says the new mama
dee dee giggles
no glasses
or pretty dresses
can hide the shadows
of her heart
'where is junior', she asks
'where is my brother?'

i hold her close as i say goodbye
she asks when i'll come again
rain crashes down my cheek
soon, dee dee, soon

as i open my book to record a note
i am the wolf

i see dee dee's mama
alone on the street corner
shivering, shaking
awaiting the next wave of ecstasy
to carry her away
i sit with her and she cries
she cries the stories of a hundred years
she tell what happened at
the mush hole
and the tears
become a puddle at her feet
she cries for all her children
gone to her, forever
she cries for her sisters and aunties
and for the moon
she doesn't know

the puddle swells into a river
holding each other, the rapids carry us
she cries for her father she never knew and for
the trees and sky and earth
who used to know her name
her tears flow like waterfalls
drenching the earth
in a great flood
she cries for her babies not yet born
and the medicines
she does not have

i hold her tight and we are washed away into the
wildness of her aching soul
and still
i am the wolf