Redwoods Mantra

In the heart of the redwoods

the living silence stands.

All else flutters, drapes, and dims.

If I lower my eyes

in no way obtrusive

I too am a veil

on the breath within.

...

Errol & Maggie's Porch

If I lived in a city, I would have a garden on my roof and so would all my neighbors.

 I'd cover mine with terra cotta pots and fill them all with dirt and flowers 

and scented herbs. In one of them, I would plant a lemon tree. My clothesline 

would be the spinning kind with umbrella spokes

 and my clothespins would be wooden. And if it rained on a summer's day 

the rainbow would be double.

...

Noumena

We bend the light 

from a sunlit sea 

and strum its colored strands.

We capture the burst 

of a fallen star 

bounce it betweeen

our upheld palms

and pop open seeds 

to speak like flowers.

We glide through rock

with aeonic seduction

whispering, “multiply”  

and it does
 into tiny grains of sand.

“Don’t tell.” we murmer,

and travel on...

We are so beloved 

the rock willingly 

disassembles
to its
molten core 

and does not tell.

First Reverence

we were before time was drawn into a line

became shadow across the ground 

became something to use as a measure of worth 

became something the good do not waste or squander

we were before image became cloaked in symbol

carved across the face of stone

became something more profound than imagination

became something to adhere to with adulation, without respect

we were before the word

the word, one small sound

the word written, an even tinier transient imprint

found amongst numerous other tracks

upon the banks of the river called life

we are forgotten

for most of our being has been shaped

by those who seek memory, spirit, voice
in the word

as they have written it

those who in the end do not know 

who they are

The Eve of Idiocy

on the eve of idiocy
she saw children pressed between headlines
like dead flowers
loved ones go and never come back
from three wars

on the eve of idiocy
she looked back
upon the road to madness
she'd so much enjoyed
in her youth

on the eve of idiocy
the moon
eclipsed

.......

Ever A Child In This Garden

I was born in this garden

within its secret ways

amongst those who grow here rootless

and blooms that go unseen.

This garden's lapped by waters.

Its gateway is the sky.

And this garden always travels

by way of the sun

encircled by the moon.

I can play in this garden,

 grow gardens of my own.

I have only to remember

I am one of countless born here,

I am not an only child.

This garden is around me

everywhere I am and 

even when I fly I travel

in this garden, Earth's garden

by way of the sun

encircled by the moon.

.......

Feathers Flying

I cannot sleep, I cannot keep from chasing thoughts that lead to troubles, 

real or imagined. 

I go outside, I try to hide in the solace of the night, 

but my thoughts come with me.

A sound sweeps by through this night's sky, then another. It's the rush

of wind through feathers, flying, on the wing.

I leave behind my fretful mind and begin to dream that I have wings, 

that I am flying.

The sound soon fades, again the shades of doubt surround me. 

It was just the wind, or my imagination.

Then something twirls, it spirals, whirls into my hand, one small feather

fallen, fallen from the wing.

I close my hand around it and go back to bed. I close my eyes 

and soon I'm sleeping.

Again I hear a sound come near - the rush of wind, of feathers flying.

I must be dreaming.

A great wing lifts, it circles, drifts. It is searching for the fallen,

the one small feather held within my hand. 

The great wing fans, the sky it spans. The wing sweeps back,

scoops up the feather and takes me with it.

Now comes to me with mystery, in whispers like secrets, tales of now,

tales of old, and stories of tomorrow.

I listen to what dreamers do where they have flown upon the wing 

in the time between now and everafter.

And when I land in morning's hand within my own rests a feather, 

my keepsake of the wing. 

Oh, feathers fly, so can I, for it is the dream that is the wing

that takes us flying.

Yet I wonder...

as my dream flies through distant skies, should another feather fall, 

could it be my dream that circles back to catch it?

We Ran Together Then

Lying quietly in summer's open field, eyes half closed against the sun, the hot yellow grass molds the majestic shadow of buzzards wing. How low will they drift, how near will they circle before they discover we are pretending at death and at last moment glide away?

If we had seen an eagle circling, or even ravens, we wouldn't have been so bold. We were small enough, we thought, to be carried to a high sky world and raised as eaglets or fed to eaglets. We couldn't agree on the intent of ravens. We were different, even then.

Beside the field, a thin river resounds on the rocks in its bed. A low wind shimmies down the willows along its bank, slides beneath the dead dry leaves at their feet and begins to spin. It spins skyward, it churns earthward, a dusty whorl of leaves and wind.

We jump up chasing, laughing, mocking. It spirals back and pulls us inward, keeps us running takes us reeling, dizzy in its wayward spin. Grabbing hands we leap together, headfirst blindly towards the river yelling, "Save us! Save us! Save us from this crazy wind!"

The leaves scatter freed across the water, stick, and become little islands for bugs. We drop between them into the one pool where the river is over our heads. We know the river. We know it loves us. It keeps our imprint at its side, the running tracks of an earthbound wind.

I remember the summer we were watchful of eagles. I remember each of our sun streaked faces. And I remember, we were barefoot when we ran. But I cannot remember...were we spirit or were we creature when we went running on the whirling wind?

(A childhood keepsake for Kathy - for all of us - and our summers together on the riverbar at Redwood Creek) Note: I made the large muslin doll. The Teddy Bear, Charlie, was a gift for my first birthday. The little doll was made years ago by a member of the Blackfeet Tribe.