all the pebbles drop

 

 

all the pebbles drop

 

there are stones in my body with

space around them and through them

there is a feeling of solid when paying attention

it vibrates and disperses

 

seeds begin elsewhere

dropped from the bowels of birds

their heads with clouds squeezing out the water

the atmosphere and soil retain

 

little clear roots dig into being;

lick between the drops, the tongue

splits content; solid until it’s eaten

blood is hope flavored

 

the birds stop singing and

the pebbles steam; i’m in love with

the smell of concrete after rain

this foot wet, this foot dry

 

 

 

Great Teacher Mandela

Dearest Mr. Nelson Mandela!

Ride the Wind you Great Heart! Thank you for your Most honorable and worthy efforts. Thank you for your Compassion and example! Thank you for the reflection that Humanity can choose to live in Peace together; and that even one persons voice can make a difference in the world.

Rest in Peace Great Teacher!

rest in peace, great human.

with wonder and gratitude, May the stars welcome you home!

The vision of the cold box and the golden bubble

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The vision of the cold box and the golden bubble

Deep down, inside the center of my heart, there
is a low, square frozen metal box
dripping condensation.
I pull the ring and open the frigid door,
hiss, cold
smoke escapes.
My Motherfathersisterbrother are bound
angry, struggling on fire.

Using my tools, I take the door off the hinges, so
it will never be closed or locked again.
I seal my family in a bubble of light,
the Golden Light of Love, Forgiveness, and Surrender.
I try to send it away but it hovers and spins.
The arm of my Brother remains outside,
in case I wish
to grasp his hand and come home.

I crawl into the center and sit; meditating,
relaxing into the chill along my legs.
The smoke curls around me;
it issues from Emptiness,
similar to looking into the eyes
of an Abbess I once knew.
Letting go, we share breath;
the golden bubble floats away.

BUBBLE CHAMBER

 

 

Dandelion (for Tsültrim Mewo)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dandelion (for Tsültrim Mewo Michael Opperman )

sitting in the grass
watching the growth
the morning’s dark green
all seemed brief until the surprise

of the yellow dandelion flowers
that sleep like people to
open at the sun’s wonder;
inside burns deep the Great Vow seed

night after night continuous discipline
until the flowers fire their silky wishes
leaving the pate on a purple stem
sitting in the grass

 

on taking Refuge Vows

this beautiful photo by an unknown author- if you find the author -please contact me.

drag the Lotus seed

ladders

i wish i had a poem to offer

i wish i had a poem to offer

something that expresses the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy
about the kindness of my neighbors 
and the bewildered stranded tourists, or the girl who
served me hot coffee 10 blocks up to get internet
she's from Iceland and worked 52 hours in 4 days
and said so with a smile and a twinkle in the eye
or
to tell of the relief at seeing my brother-in law; late late
who biked a great distance
to see if i was home or if i was lost
and my family, sangha, friends
all who inquire and help
or
words to speak of
the kindness of those who volunteer in the neighborhoods,
donating time, money, water and food; offering suggestions on social media
and the nighttime traffic whistle blower that keeps drivers safe and
to friends that saw the stars in the city night, that vision inspiration
to the people that work in the dark delis and the fellow making music for anything
and to the fellow at the corner hardware that fixed my flashlight
i'll be shopping there forever

To all of them and
more and more and more
i wish i had a poem to offer.

mom cake

______________________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________________________________

making happiness

Insideidea Lepidoptera

Insideidea Lepidoptera

the moth clings to the inside of the heart

it is dying to love

the one to which the heart belongs

it cannot fly free because it is afraid

of the idea crawling around inside the mind

of the one to which the mind belongs

the idea has no body;

yet, it crawls and climbs and claws

trying to shred the moth

Yayoi Kusama at the Whitney Museum July 12, 2012  (how very auspicious..)