How Life Keeps Giving: Pomegranate

10 Apr

Pungent pockets of tart jubilant juiciness –
they are hidden everywhere,
under a hard discolored exterior,
scattered in the very fiber of the essence of all that is.

Plunging my hand through dense dailiness in hope,
nails slicing through the pulp, tired and torn,
my fingers find the smooth skin of possibility.

Do I gentle my grasp, surround this precious joy with all that I am,
keeping it whole and warm and secret?

How do I know when instead to squeeze? Exploding the divine liquor,
allowing it to seep and sweep around my fingers,
flooding my palms, my arms, my soul with nourishing promise of this and something more?

At every age, juiciness is ours to find,
the heart is knowing when to let it out.

Resisting the Urge to Leave

8 Apr

He’s pulling,
He’s tugging,
He’s chugging,
…just not budging.

She’s frozen,
She’s still,
She’s stuck,
…like she’s been struck.

It’s hopeless and helpless,
It’s turning blue and dieing,
It’s not for lack of trying
that there is no flow.

Uncoupling comes in fits and starts,
no one begins and no one ends,
No one stays and no one goes.

Like O’Henry’s last leaf,
when the paint is dry,
there is life,
and really there is no life.

Day 1 write a poem about resistance.

Each Monday, She Waits

8 Apr

Unkindly, the gentleness of the former days tarry,

We had forgotten the cruel demands which dawn has not.

Stay, here, in the gray of Sunday’s leisure,” he calls.

She hears and cringes, side-long and doubled over in sorrow,

knowing all too soon the bings, dings and mewling cries

will entrap her in another whirl of a week.

My love, far off, I see the space where we will draw together,”

she whispers and rises,“until Friday midnight , then, I wait.”

Day 6 write a poem about Monday in the form of an aubade.


15 Dec

holy star

there were babies born today. people married. puppies adopted from the shelter.

small green shoots pushing through the dark soil against the odds of approaching winter.  every day there are miracles.

everyday the birds sing of joy.

i find that song and whisper to my own heart of the love that is always present so it may be amplified, in-filling the hollow spaces that were unrecognized until i felt the parts of me stop breathing this day…as we all felt that transformation in the unified field..nothing is lost, simply changed forever.

Angels are always among us.

love outlasts anything that is brought against it.

babies are being born.

Say it: Me before thee?

5 Aug


The child in you tumbles down

and is tossed around.

Why do you care for those who are afar and always with you better

than you care for you?

Why do they need, when you do not? They have other sources than you on this earthly plain,

while you rely on the unseen to provide miracles.

(who can you forgive to dissolve more of the wall between that flood and you?)

Give to you and in your self-ish-ness, you give to they,

they who may thank you for you hugging you and knowing you know now what they 

have always known….star stuff is all of us.


Your well is empty?  What have you to give they, them, him, her, me?

If you are so parched, draw on your air mask first, before the helping of others.

You say you give nothing and we receive.  Find your balance…you must receive somewhere,

even mystics pay the bills, how so?

Out into the fields, and trees, on your knees, upside down, laying on the ground, turning and twisting  into the mystery, the connection, the junction of all that is, know you are visiting home.

For while that is home, this time, the earth, this America is your adventure .  Even adventures have rules. Money is a rule on this adventure. Money equals all the things that aren’t needed in our home. Maybe you are here to help change the rules. Maybe you will create a new game.

First, can you love you as much as you love they? will you prove you are their equal? 


Constant Birth

30 Jun

even though i visit the chiropractor on a regular basis, i don’t notice my physical body much, except the discomforts. if my body is my temple, the caretaker has been on vacation for sometime.  i don’t think i am dissimilar to many folks in this regard.  i have had sporadic periods of exercise and well-eating, mostly propelled by visits to the doctor.  and, true, i did visit the family physician in May and i am now taking prescription strength niacin and have been counseled to look towards the Mediterranean diet as a goal, and get those 20 minutes of exercise daily.  life happens, and exercise doesn’t. 

then last friday happened. i woke up early, really early, and went to the decorative box where those well-intentioned DVD purchases live.  I pulled out the ‘kundalini yoga, for grace and strength’ DVD that i never had seen in it’s entirity in the decade i have owned it, popped it in, and for 70 minutes was up and down on feet, on hands and knees, supine looking like nothing on the screen.  when had i become so inflexible? how does that ‘breath of fire’ go? and why was carol pointing out so many spiritual lessons my head had learned and my body had not?

i was sore. and intrigued. and committed to do it again. and somewhere in that weekend my inner voice told be to wear all white to my next NSA entrainment (chiropractic), i usually wear stretchy black, and white took more bravery than i imagined…and an appointment and a half that Tuesday, to say nothing of the shopping trip in the middle of, you know, all that life happening … me being pulled into other people’s lives, to serve, to learn, to teach.  the joy that inner being/voice expressed for supporting myself in that way was priceless. 

i have followed along the DVD a few more times, and will continue, and maybe i’ll even become more flexible. well, i know i will.  i looked up Carol Carlson to see if she had more DVDs.  she doesn’t. she has CDs under her Sikh name Snatam Kaur.  Oprah’s friends had Snatam sing for Oprah on her birthday. My birthday was Monday.

my mom sent me birthday money this week.  Happy me, gets new music to listen, move, and dream to.  thanks mom!  One of the CDs is named Mother’s Blessing, the others Anand and Shanti. 

May peace be born every moment, into and through each of us.




29 Apr

photo by jmehre on

When I rose to resume the mowing,

I had had enough of yanking the wee(d) small plants from where they were rooted,

their small imminent deaths crying into my spirit,

i saw the black-capped chickadees, all afuzz and tumbly in the yard,

how could I chase them from their work and play?


So the mower is stored for another day, yard half tall, and half short,

and the sidewalk is littered with the injured who so unknowingly

grew where they were wind-sown, seed- thrown,

in my ‘wrong place’,

while their lucky neighbors grow into hardier warriors for another day.


Perhaps at sundown, when they are dried and crispy, spirits slipped away,

I can venture out with my broom and pan and give them communal rest

away from human interest.