Dilating Time

For Cristina

Like the pupil of an eye,

elongated, dilating

just in the second of the solstice.

And in that perfect

clearing, all the locks unlatch,

doors open, gates melt.

We approach what had seemed

an impossible sliver, an idea, really,

an almond or a teardrop,

enlarging peripherally

to an opening

any old fool could slip through


leaf on the wind,

feather on a breeze,

carried like the lightest sailing craft

streaming through the liquid 

love light.  


the only task now:

relax into the support

of the universe.  

All of the old entanglements tease up,

one by one.  Watch

unravelling, all the knots

disentangling in the perfect

allowance of what is.


Resistance feeds friction

and disease and I’ve loved

the polished white-

wash of narrative.  Literature

constructs word-boats floating

on the stream being revealed,

festive, bedecked in lights

to shine

back through the black waters.

Poem-breadcrumbs cast

on a forest trail:

follow quickly before

they are consumed by hungry

searchers far too desperate

to look

up. It will appear

like an almond,

a teardrop, something small

and irrelevant, 

hidden power 

only accessible on the darkest night

with the clearest intent

to serve.

Give up the struggle.


This is clear sailing.

This is allowing.

The universe supports you

completely.  You don’t have to believe.

You might take a few moments

to close your eyes,

listen with heart-ears,

mind your gut.

But mostly, relax.

Relax into the support.

It’s here for you,

for us,

as we blossom into our glory.

Inspired by:  Compose, White, Literature, Festive, Bedeck

Getting The Present Of The Past

Peeling back the layers 

nestled into each other

like onion skin at first,

tearing easily until the solid

sweet flesh is exposed

and the tears begin.

Trauma is like this,

lurking in the present

under the veils of making do,

getting past, 



It persists.

Round and around I go,

each tiny step 

a healing movement

when I declare it so,

like a child running

scared, heart thumping

to finally jump, turn around

and declare, “safey safe,”

clutching a blanket on base,

mommy’s bed where no

monsters reach, at least,

in theory.  Gathering up these

twice-bitten, no-use-crying

children, the stellar creators

of body signals

to slow down,

change course.

I drag the weight of them

until the symptoms crash 

and I fall, devastated,

into hell.  I only see

finally in this calm place,

space to pry open 

the clam and release the pearl.

My greatest irritants

like an explicit wish

from all these tiny

tortured selves: get better, darling,

in the new cycle ahead.

Inspired by: PersistCycle, Wish,  Explicit

Tricks of the Trade

My grandson touches my face

to trace the scratches

time has etched there.

The power of a word

wipes away grim wrinkles

and replaces with hope.

He is still immersed

in life, no intersection

between play and learning,

not on my watch.

And I grieve to think

he will experience the brouhaha

of release as school doors

open and the clever

persistent pressure

pops with dazed children

wriggling and chattering

until the next Hush!

and crammed seats claim them.

The societal commitment

churns up workers 

and prisoners to keep 

the cogs turning

for plutocracy, sucking

creativity and inspiration,

leaving tired husks

crawling from the third job,

the music of

phones ringing from tricksy

collectors offering brief

relief.  And all the while,

the slick smiles of satisfied

customers urge

one more purchase

guaranteed to fill the empty

hole.  We sit together,

and I teach him heart-sight,

purposefully sending love

vibrations to a fallen cardinal

who slammed against a window.

Be careful what you create,

I tell him, an it harm none.

Inspired by: Commitment, Brouhaha, Intersection, and Play.


Your budget should be a blueprint that shapes your future spending decisions, a birds-eye view. A ledger, meanwhile, is up-close-and-personal.  ~ Paula Pant  

I open this clean ledger,

fumble a bottle of kombucha

spluttering out

in this fizzing confusion.

Staining the page with

I’m sad.  Grief lodging in my lungs

like a tight vise, and it’s

difficult to breathe.  And I’m so scared

my throat has closed.

Mad because it doesn’t matter

how hard I try, once again

I’ve offered my heart

and it’s dropping

in a messy splatter.

I need love,

to give and receive,

and I need a budget,

to pay myself first.

I’ll give myself coupons

and redeem them right away,

good for one heart-to-heart.

Except it’s in relational space

where we have to pay, 

as we reveal the cost of our outlays.

I frame my days

sit in quiet space

like a blueprint for the future,

then carry this spaciousness

back into the world

of hardhitting, venom-spitting

beings in exquisite agony

asking me for more.

And I consult my indubitable

records, determine how much

I can give

and how I can empower

myself, modeling exactly

what I want most for all

of you:  even in the electric

fury of these storms,

dancing on that inner balance.

Inspired by:  Indubitable, Electric, Fumble


“The Vanuatu people believe that secrecy is what gives power to the illness. When the error is confessed, it no longer has power over the person.” ~ Claire F. Parsons

I use my camera

lens to magnify

the chasms in my relationships,

focus on how his head

tilts toward her shoulder

while this one leans away, forced

smile, dead eyes.  I only want

to find stimulating sanctuary

in a carefully constructed coterie,

leaving kin to their hearty

holiday bluster, having said a firm no

to the party propaganda, and refusing

any longer to defend the truth

or facts.  Yet this time is most

auspicious to heal rifts,

declare amnesty, forgive debts,

reconcile and make peace

treaties with joy and unbounded love.

I must own

my part of the struggle,

no longer dumping all the blame

— so obviously insupportable,

what a jerk! — instead

to pluck it like a four-leaf clover.

Lucky me, starting anew!

In ancient times, tradition summoned

the shaman at grave illness.

From all corners of the island,

every relative gathered to sit

and confess, exposing

ill thoughts, hostile feelings,

inimical deeds, every adverse

vibration.  They knew the power

of truth and reconciliation,

and they stayed until the sickness

rose like smoke, replaced by

dedicated and directed love.

Inspired by: Your Liberated Heart, Rob Brezsny’s expanded horoscope, Stimulating, Tradition, Camera, and  Coterie.

Connect The Dots

Word of the day: “Eremocene” – “the Age of Loneliness”; the “miserable future” into which we are accelerating as a species, characterised by the existential & material isolation that comes from having calamitously extinguished other forms of life on Earth (coined by E.O. Wilson). ~ Robert McFarlane

This package of one hundred

trillion cells walking around

nonchalant.  Whirring mind

circling patterns of thoughts

glorious belief


ignoring this intricate composition

or totally clueless.  The ruler of all you see,

these limbs and organs your dumb

subjects in thrall to your dominion.

And the sapient being

orchestrating the flow of your present

while the thing you call

me is out on a limb

venturesome, sawing industriously

after poisoning all the creatures

infesting the dead branch

because the rich gift

of decomposition is beyond you.

I’ve tried yelling, along with the children

up the massive tree:

we’re all one,

watching your fearsome arc

toward annihilation of us all,

and you can’t hear

as if we inhabit another

dimension that you deny

even as you try to torch

the portal.  Complexity is too

confusing, you opt

for simple black

and white and choose your

target, armed and dangerous

sprinting for the

last page, the way of all

fairy tales, forgetting

happily ever after

is the end.

Inspired by:  Venturesome, Sapient, Target, and Connect.

Insect Apocalypse

“The insect apocalypse is here.” ~ Nytimes.com

“The U.S. Supreme Court rebuffed a challenge by environmental groups. The justices this week upheld a District Court ruling to allow the Trump administration to bypass 28 federal laws, including the Endangered Species Act, the Safe Drinking Water Act and the Clean Air Act, to be waived for southern border wall construction.” ~ cbsnews.com

The bulldozers vibrate, awake

after the legal nap, ready now

to destroy the monarch sanctuary.

Children are shouting in tweets

to protect this barren world

already depleted of a past

rich with crawly, wriggling, tiny

beings stitching the world together

in a sacred mosaic.

The threads are pulling apart,

the seams no longer

invisible as the machines hum,

aimed for the last special places.

They’ve disappeared with barely a ripple,

just this sense among the elders

who were once enraptured by

the fragrant present

that something essential’s missing

from the seasoning of the world stew.

Inspired by: this storySacred, Special, Enrapture, and Ripple

Spoiled Rotten

I am prompted this morning

to consider things putrescent.

Vultures are soaring to scan

the shore so I look with them.

A bloated white body of a grass-

fed carp rises from the depths

of the bay like a slow-mo eruption

to float

through the threshold

of sky and water.  Just out of reach,

so the huge birds land along the point.

And I’m floored by the fatuous

comments of the humans who are disgusted

by the “filthy birds” gathering in a precise

pecking order, watching the creep

of the current bring the body

to their care.  How can we not

praise these two species especially

dedicated to decontaminating

the planet, speeding along

decomposition?  How is this sacred

act scorned and abhorred?

I tune in to the willingness

to plunge in to the blood and gore.

Awaiting what makes us shudder in dread

with wide wingspread warnings

to stay in line, brother.

Integration is a precious gift.

Close to the shore, a fin breaks

the surface, a carp tugging weeds

from the lake bottom.

Above, replete,

the vortex of vultures play

catching updrafts, ascending only

to dive alarmingly in downspins,

and if I relax into

deep listening,

the strains of the symphony

orchestrating this dance

appear:  not sight or sound,

the vibrations of what moves us

in that space where we are one.


Inspired by:  Floor, Fatuous, Putrescent, Eruption and  Bay

If Only You Believe

I know love is the answer (Yes, it is)
Keeps holding this world together, yeah
Ain’t nothing better ~ Jefferson Starship

In this theater
of possibility, I uncover
barriers erected long ago,
snow forts defended by stalwart
three-year-olds, frozen
protectively over an infant.
We deliquesce onto the new
stage of miracles, ta-dah!

I hereby declare
my superpowers:

I give to you
because I can,
the queen sitting on a hill
of treasure, gladly handing out
necklaces of pearls and
intricately carved jade,
shining golden coins etched
with the profiles
of me in different ages.

I can feel through trees,
see with heart-eyes,
presence vibes.  I manifest
easily, dramatic energetic
transmutations every full moon.

I offer slices of reality
and laugh
because they are just wordplay.
I can stop mid-sentence
to abandon a belief.

I can enter deep pain
as a miner
with an archeologist’s heart.

Here is my friendship
and compassion. Come
just as you are, the only strings
dazzling constellations
inspiring us.

I share dark secrets:
right now I am afraid
to receive.
Even so,
life is more intelligent
than I can credit.

We dance
wide-eyed, quick
embraces and sweet

and the gift
all glorious holograms
lighting up the dark places
just as I offer
my heart to you.

Inspired by: Barrier, FriendshipTheater, Miracle, Inspiring

Call Up, Darling

“Emotions come, I don’t know why…Call me, call me any, anytime.
Call me.” ~ Blondie

I used to pummel the heavens

wailing, wanting.  Today I wish

to awaken to what lurks

at the edges of my trance,

potential rippling, pulsing

in the magnetic now,

awaiting the touch of my focus.

My grandson demands his mother

call me, and when our faces

appear onscreen,

his devastated wails

almost muffle his mommy,

Nobody knows what’s wrong.

My awareness resting

on the connection in our nervous

systems, I open the container

to allow what is.

This overwhelming emotion

simply needs to be presenced,

the huge wave

sweeping away

everything in its path.

I hear these compassionate ahhhs,

hmmmms coming from my heart

and tears glisten my eyelashes. 

We need

the leisure to feel

without narrative.

A raspy sigh

and he hits the red

button that lets our focus

gently slide out of ceremony.

He’s ready to face his life.

Outside the rain is slipping

into the shimmering lake

which celebrates every drop

in a dizzying dance.

Inspired by: Leisure,  Pummel, Rain, Feeling, and Ceremony.