when we meet

fury? courage? no, a fierceness 
of being. simmering power. 

awake in a way 
that we are taught not.

shimmering imagination
and exquisite empathy.

direct connection to the deep
oceans, underground and secret,

that support this simple verse
floating on the surface.

We arrive to ourselves
just as the shock 

ripples true love

through the mistaken skies
of beliefs that have kept us 

not lonely.

It’s open mic night–er, open link night over at dversepoets. Mish offered “Nothing Gold Can Stay” by Robert Frost, piercing me to the core. Happy October, luscious full moon.

Be Here Now

I am as expansive as the sky
my crystalline intentions clear 
be here
tune in
project to planets my 
intense energy
passionate power.  
Fluid flowing time
meeting past
and future circling
through now
as I wake up 
and find 
enjoying Tao.

A quadrille written for the dversepoets prompt: Sky. Check it out!

You Can Call It Another Lonely Day

Tell me why, everything’s turned around.  Open up, everything’s waiting for you.  You can go your own way.~Lindsay Buckingham

The bluejay is telling us something
I’m oblivious with this warm bagel
and buttery ghee drips from lips
fingers I’ve switched the pen and it’s slow

like chittering cicadas waking to sun.
We regroup, come clean into center
as each illusion dies.
I’m not judging your looking outward

for guidance, following directives
you’ve been taught since childhood
by the ringing bells and hard-bottomed
chairs someone always knows better.

Speak up and wear a dunce cap
in the corner. What’s the opposite
of self-righteous? Maybe humble.
You’ve abandoned common sense,

where I live, but I’m no martyr.
Your path stretches out like the corridor
of cows led to the slaughter, signs
to keep you comfortable and competent

to walk in step with what’s expected.
Coloring inside the lines
never questioning
who thought up the picture

you’re drawn into.
Daring to ask
for a new shade of blue.
What you create is all on you.

Inspired by: Martyr.  Written in response to the dversepoets prompt to write a stream of consciousness poem.  

Featured image: a tiny exquisite wild snapdragon that pushed through a very thick layer of mulch.

Really Different

The minute you begin to do what you really want to do, it’s really a different kind of life.~R. Buckminster Fuller

Everything is alive and watching and
waiting and dancing and wake-sleeping we
vibrate vibrant and an ant, brawny and
fierce warrior approaches, sweeping me

and I jump and he jumps and startled we
frenzy to new perspectives reckoning.
Each hyper-aware of this now where we
touch the web stretching between us zinging.

Intention calls me into inquiry
such wondrous gratitude. My joy allows
this sacred present synchronicity
choosing love in each breath. Imagine now

your greatest role and take the stage. Applause.
In a blink the tale twists into a realm
unknown. You stay and play in flow because
you write the script. Embrace loving the whelm

integrate, ascend in pure joy ringing
and shattering the old myths once believed.
Tuned with this new fierce being all that and
far beyond what has ever been perceived.

Written for today’s dversepoets prompt, Just Sayin’.


In the blue afternoon pool I wave angels
from watery places, each movement
pure grace-sparkle as the sun and I create
where love beams new dimensions. Shadows
emerge long submerged in illusory cages
rippling through now, embraced, songs
spread, undulating through my being.


Written for the dversepoets prompt to write a quadrille for “Blue.”

Doors of Perception

“There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.” ― Aldous Huxley

This morning in the portal by the lake
my heart exults. New visitors appear:
a cinnamon singer–I came ill-prepped,
dashing back to the human realm for books
and binoculars. Oh, brown thrasher, sing
our true connection. From this moment on
inform my now with highest intent: love
bypasses the television-controlled
lethargic worried minds fatigued by non
sequiturs, an incessant house sparrow’s chipping.  I sit with birds, we electric
beings on the brink of discovery,
awakening again and again to
new creation always buzzing, humming
sacred unknowable unmoving light.


Featured image of a brown thrasher found here.

To The Sacred Grove

I look backward at the convoluted path which spiraled me to this place
and I pledge to
patiently, precise,
clean the confusing energies
the hate, the grief, the pain, the suffering poured out unclaimed
which may be fueling another’s dance.

I am holding icebergs of ancestral, societal and galactic trauma
I bring as gifts
in the deep presence of now
letting my attentive love release the frozen energies
allowing miracles
of inspiration,

light dripping and flowing
always the presence of light…

Today as I bring my new birthing self
I acknowledge you live in me
your touch may be as light as moonbeams through a window
or a fiery furnace
this light of our intentional coherence
we breathe into being
right now

I bring my intention and commitment
as we begin the long and arduous journey.
I bring my tools and wisdom, my love of song and rhyme
as we conduct new symphonies out of time.

I claim my sacred being includes you and yours includes me.

I claim each moment in this unfolding now
the opening door
the fertile ground

I claim myself the sovereign seed
I root in the immensity
I reach for the stars
and I flourish in the air

Recognizing the poisons and the systems and the Nefarious Other
are birthed in me.
Reclaiming all of the parts that have been hated and despised
bringing them into the sacred grove.

I proclaim that in the space of we, the light flows unimpeded,
celebrated, energizing and inspiring, the source that joyfully runs us

undepleted sacred divine we
unique essential expressions of one love
the stream that nourishes
the web that connects
the jewels of Indra’s Net,
revealing the illusions of separation
dissolve in our intentional life as a grove.


Grandma’s Advice

East of the sun, west of the moon

close your eyes:

Who do you love?

A pot of gold?

The ring of truth?

The way we work

where the wild things are

I hope you dance!


Plant intelligence and the imaginal realm

the lost words

potentiate your DNA.

Grandma's Advice

Written for ‘s dversepoets prompt to write a book spine poem with these simple rules: 

  1. Go through your collection on books, and note the titles.
  2. Sort them so the titles form a poem.
  3. Take a photo of the books.
  4. Write down the poem.



Narrative Shift

“Relation is how spirit becomes manifest.  (Cowbirds and robins and geese are here for this)”~My notes during yesterday’s Evolutionary Relationships Zoom meeting with 20K people.)

We who dig into the roots now rise
—first, of course, self-regulate,

surprise each moment as our biosphere
becomes clear and we create

sing-praise the body electric
from microscopic molecule to planetary

thrumming and beyond, zing
past what we conceived as separate

and scary, drop objective reality
in connection commune

the symphony the masterpiece
each voice in tune

in ways we never could perceive
until we breathe

in this precious now
the beat emerges sweet and how.

Inspired by Wrangle, Safety, Surprise, Perspicacity, Curve and the dversepoets prompt, where Björn asks us to write how things will appear on the other side of the current “pandemic.” Featured image of last night’s pink moon filling my night sky.

And deep appreciation for Walt Whitman’s love poem, I Sing The Body Electric.

All I’m Asking

Shake me. Impossible 

to integrate sediment

by stirring. Despair dregs 

cloud clarity.

Uncover facinerous soil

where my wild

three-year-old negotiating

a nap with patent

slyness is tricked even so

caged wheezing

sleep. Intelligent

contumacy rising now:

noctivagous lollop

ungainly unhindered 

by kindness.

A quadrille (44 words) written as the dversepoets prompt “stirs” sleepless musings during a stertorous night with Foyle’s Philavery at hand.

If you’re not lucky enough to have a Foley’s…(I love this book so much!)
contumacy: stubborn resistance to authority
facinerous: extremely wicked
lollop: to move heavily or be tossed about
noctivagous: wandering in the night