Sadie’s Speechless Thanksgiving

Last year they had been

Separate

(Unable to join at one table)

So this year

As Sadie shopped for the feast

She spent soft moments

Choked in warm tears of gratitude

She knew this year was blessed

Her family was happy, healthy,

And together again

The children giggled and played

As Sadie stayed silent

And spent her day

Chopping, pouring and stirring

With the gentle, nervous, soundless joy

Of a mother caring for her newborn.

The Evening Before Thanksgiving

Sadie was at the grocery

And as she checked out

Over scans of cracker boxes

And weighing grapefruit

They began to talk

About how busy his day had been

When he said to her in passing,

“You will have love

Like you never knew”

Sadie heard it as a whisper

Of something she had

Never heard before

And as she walked out

Into the dark and busy parking lot

Sadie wondered if it could be true.

Sunrise Hike

In that moment

Of dark before dawn

Ready yourself

Wipe the slate clean

For everything you know

Is not enough

Then,

Look for the love

Look for the love

Look for the love

Your mountain

Shines gold

And as you climb

You are painted too–

Become golden statues

As you rise

(Forget the past,

Be this shining day,

Open your eyes.)

sunrise

A Way Out of the Jungle

I don’t agree with much you say

But if we close our eyes

When we open them again

You write my words

 

In the jungle

It is black and white

Left or right

One thousand calling, crowing birds

Until we close our eyes together

 

I do not fear

My brothers and sisters

Or any level of orthodoxy

I just know that in the jungle

There will never be peace

Until we find the silence

Together

 

From the one Great Soul

We will  finally write the words

That will heal our world

Together.

16 Reasons Why Calling Myself a Poet is One of the Best things I have Ever Done For Myself

16 Reasons Why Calling Myself a Poet is One of the Best Things I Have Ever Done For Myself

 

  1.  On a cloudy, cool day I can call it a writing day and curl up on the couch with a blanket and spend hours there writing and sipping tea.
  2. I can go hiking at the beach/in the mountains/in the woods anytime I feel like it because I need to look for metaphor.
  3. I can spend hours reading other people’s poetry and call it research.
  4. I never have to worry about being misunderstood because who understands all poetry anyway.  I can write whatever I want, whenever I want to write it.
  5. I can sit at Starbucks with a laptop.
  6. I can load up my purse with books, notebooks and pens.
  7. I don’t have to feel guilty because I care.  I care a lot about big things and little things and everybody now knows it.
  8. I can have a fun time with rhyming words.
  9. I can cry all day when I need to.  Even the best poets have a gloomy day or two.
  10. If I don’t have anything at all in my head to write about, I am not “brain dead” I have a well-accepted excuse “writer’s block.”
  11. Writing love poetry is an aphrodisiac.
  12. I can dress any way I want to.  And I imagine other people would expect me to dress in lots of pretty colors because I am a poet.
  13. I don’t feel like I need to explain my tattoos anymore.
  14. Other people tend to write me poetry.
  15. Other people tend to share their hearts with me.
  16. I get to be myself!

Gratitude

In the morning

I run to catch

The smell of love

As eucalyptus

Moves on the mist

In the wind

Every time,

Her scent

Brings a smile–

Oh, just to be alive!

Compassion 2

I want to tell the story

And I wish I could tell it well

Of how my life

Was saved

By the site of tears

In your brown eyes

Over the years

I had penned a novel

Never told

Except in quiet moments

When I was left alone

The day

I took a seat

Across from you

Was the day

That I was saved–

While reading

Page by page

I would look up

To see your tears

And somehow

By the look in your eyes

I was set free.

compassion

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