New Year’s Eve

What happened in the old year?
Did the pieces fall apart?
Did we stretch until we lost control?
Did we crush our broken hearts?

Did we wrong a loved one? Break a vow?
Did we rage with all our might?

Did we miss our callings?
Did we watch them falling?
Excuse ourselves from the fight?

I wish for us this New Year
not happiness, not fun.
No prosperity, or success.
Just do what must be done.

My wish for us is mending,
I hope that we will toil.
Dig deep into our darkness,
pick rocks out from the soil.

Find seeds we thought were dying.
Our gifts still left to give.

I wish just this on New Year’s Eve:
the strength it takes to live.

Root medicine 2: Brothers

Cousin brothers
Forever children in my eyes,
these grown men
walk with me
into my self.

We talk
of love and fear
of mushrooms and Messiahs
We drink fresh fruit cocktails.
and wander the wounds
of each one’s hearts.

We build
a canopy to cover
the wearying
worrying press
into the jungles
of time, and mind,
and mothering, and
lovering,and grief.

My brothers stand guard
at the fountain gates.
While I weave nets of
flowering vines
to catch their falls.

We stay connected
in spite of all
that divides us.

Love and fear
Love and fear
Love and fear
brothers of my heart.

Between the Bridges

I live between Walt Whitman and Ben Franklin.

Bridges between old world, and new.

between keystone and garden,

between river sharks and eagles,

between blight, and revitalization. 

 

They came after the ferries, but before the regional rail. 

These bridges that sing summer songs to city souls.

These bridges that bring berries and workers.

These bridges of commerce, and adventure, and lights.

These bridges that breathe life into and out of my home.

 

One writes the leaves of grass. 

The other reaches for lightening. 

And I live in between. 

 

Between the times. 

Between the states. 

Solid running over liquid.

 

We live between the bridges.

Walt Whitman,

Ben Franklin,

and me. 

My Song

This is not  a song for you.

I sing for you all the time.

Praises. Silly phrases.

Anything in rhyme.

 

But this verse has no purpose,

no reason to be.

This is not a lullaby.

I just wrote it for me.

 

This is not a chant for justice.

This is not a call for peace.

No demands, or reprimands.

Tonight nothing has to cease.

 

Tonight I am the only one,

who needs to hear the song.

This is not a chant for justice.

You don’t have to sing a along.

 

This is not a love song.

You know I love you so.

Heart’s desire, lit my fire

so many years ago.

 

Maybe I’l let you hear the tune.

But the words belong to me.

This is not a love song.

And this is not a chant for justice.

Oh and this is not a lullaby.

I just wrote it for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How will we save the planet? (aka We Didn’t Start the Fire 2.0)

Hydroponic, symbiotic, solar-powered farmings fun.

How can someone save the planet when she lacks a green thumb?

Loca-voring, and divesting, raising chickens cage free.

Walking, sailing, cargo biking, canning fruit straight from the tree.

 

How will we save the planet?

When it’s all so crazy

and I feel so lazy.

How will we save the planet?

There’s so much to learn

meanwhile the planet’s burnin’

 

Wind turbines, electric cars, siphon power from the stars

How will I survive if I can’t get my daily candy bars?

Building bunkers, keeping bees, local living economies

Crop rotating, fertilizing, don’t forget the heirloom seeds.

 

How will we save the planet?

When it’s all so crazy

and I feel so lazy.

How will we save the planet?

There’s so much to learn

meanwhile the planet’s burnin’

 

How will we save the planet?

I’m sure she’ll keep turning,

But we’ll all be burning.

How will we save the planet?

I can’t tell who’s winning

and the world keeps spinning.

 

My favorite me

I was six.

Two long braids.

Beaded head band,

arcing over black hair.

Sun darkened skin,

kissed with light.

And the prettiest dress.

Not too big to be carried.

Small enough to avoid responsibility.

But just big enough to feel free.

My favorite me.

Queen’s Daughter

Your mother once saved me

from a fearsome beast.

We traveled to new lands,

and laughed in the face of danger.

We marched into battle

on fields of green grass.

She bested champions

with the pounding of her mighty hands.

And when it was time

to celebrate season’s end,

she wore a flowing gown of sky blue

Remember this always

you are the queen’s daughter

Walk tall, ride free, be Queen.

soft, and light, and filled with dreams.

A bitter light

A bitter light

sings  in the darkness.

It thinks itself a dying ember,

taking its last breaths.

Its sighs and susurrations

pulsate unevenly.

 

Who will remind

this fallen flame

the dark dwellers

rely on this beacon

to tell stories

of the dawning day?

 

 

Haiku on aging

Body sags to earth.

Mind reaches up to heaven.

Soul chooses them both.

 

 

Fusion Season’s Greetings

Orange orbs

with wicked smiles.

Fleshless bodies

telling lies.

 

 

Wrappers hiding

treats or tricks

darkness rises

demons licks.

 

 

Call for Rama

lord of all!

Light the lamps!

Let demons fall!

 

 

Fire crackers

sparks and flares

witches flee,

ghouls beware!

 

 

Remove your masks,

defang the night,

Halloween, make way,

for Diwali’s light!

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