Root of Poetry

The poetry
of this moment: a leaf
radiant and beaming
in golden autumn sun evening.

The poetry of this moment is
the way air looks
next to rose’s white petal.

It is the potential within stillness
before the breeze’s song
uncovers its sound.

It is space
between rocks in a canyon
before river makes its bed.

Its an empty cup before tea or
perhaps it is the earth
before the tea plant
wraps itself around scent.

The poetry of this moment:
a steady pulse beneath sound
ever present to be discovered and wrapped
within the curved thoughts
of language.

The poetry of this moment
is my open palm;
the space open for bird’s call
and the gentle sweeping sound
of activity.

City Hush

For a moment,
crickets
are louder
than the masses.

A tree buries
her heaviness in dusk’s chest.
One star blooms and a bell chants
to the hour’s change.

Suddenly a marching band…
Cars, cries, whispers, horns
birds too, & crickets.

Walking home, some drainage problem
on the street.
But the sound is a river,
Steals the mind
and it smells like summer
in the chaos.

Warrior

Peace is the tender stone
Exposed in river’s path
Letting ceaseless waters
Break it down
Until it is smooth,
soft, then sand, then One

Stay in the heart
Sink in like a heavy stone
Let the water break you
open & stay no
matter how it flows

Offering

Weeping the tears of centuries
the river carves Earth. Or,
does Earth offer it’s palm lines
for water to swim in?

Which way do
your eyes see?
What do you
offer with those
earthen palms? Do you
allow water to flow
in life lines?

Sitting down heavily
digesting the universe,
offering what there is
to offer.

Pressing into inspiration,
graced in stillness with
nothing to say..
Poetic words come from a pen
wrapped in my fingers.
I read them carefully.
Offering space for
the universe to offer verses.