a song of escape

shoveling snow at home in Iowa
 a song of escape
  
 hat-covered heads and booted feet
 parka-wrapped people shoveling snow
 the neighborhood working in unison
 the panting of their breath visible song
 a song of escape
 a song with a tropical beat
 a song featuring heads under straw sombreros
 feet melting in soft sand
 the sun bathing half-naked bodies in light
 in warmth, wonderful heat,
 a song that becomes the sound of the sea
 gazes face the salty rocks
 out to where the whales while away the day
 to the straight line of the horizon
 miles away 

Another poem from what I’ve decided to call my Gathering at the Sea collection, written while on holiday in San Agustinillo, Mexico in January 2021. You can find other poems from my little collection previously posted here:

Exhilaration

The Ocean

little shell

The Moon Speaking

 The Moon Speaking
  
 I remember that night, when I was full-on 
 in my shiny best, I got a glimpse of you moving 
 along the sandy shore. You caught my attention 
 as you skipped from spot to spot on the wet sand 
 where the gentle waves caress the earth. You were chasing 
 sand crabs. Whether teeny-tiny or the bigger ones, those 
 armored beings always beat your lumbering foot, like a giant \
 overtaking them, back into their little bitty holes. You
 giggled at their speed and spoke to them in laughter. When you 
 tired of your rollicking pursuit, you paused on the sand and 
 gazed out over the water to the horizon. Your spine 
 straightened like a tree in the summer sun and your chest 
 curved ever so slightly toward the sky, like a baby opening
 her mouth, hungry to be nourished, completely trusting 
 her mother. As if just noticing it’s the light on in the room 
 that is keeping things from being dark, you look my way. 
 As you lean back with your arms wide in a heart-centered kiss 
 of communion, I sense your imagination unfolding like a flower.
 In the mirror of my being, you see your power, your beauty 
 and strength. You claim the truth: how you simply need to be,
 emanating your light, in phases, not always glowing in your
 full glory because sometimes you need to rest. 

Click HERE for an audio recording of the poem.

This poem is part of an online collection I call All the Shapes of Joy.

moving

red geraniums backyard 2

Moving

I strip away the film
that has built up over the years.
I feel as if I’m moving backward
as the layers fall away.
I question the false self
that I have created with my beliefs.
My certainties drift into air
like sand disappearing in the wind.
I stand open and empty
like a young child without expectations.
As my real self is exposed,
I see I have been moving forward all along.

I wrote this poem over 7 years ago. I forgot that I even wrote it. Somehow it never made it into the file where I stash away my scribblings. I happened upon it when reviewing some old journal entries and letters to a friend. I was surprised how it spoke to me again, all these years later. Circumstances are different, yet again there is opportunity for rebirth.

How my coach at the time interpreted the writing was inspiring: She saw a woman shedding old layers to transform into the beautiful butterfly she was meant to be, a woman who discovers that she has always been a beautiful butterfly, she just needed to let go of what was weighing her down so that she could soar.

 

* I took this photo of a geranium blossom in my backyard. I picked this photo because the water on the petals speaks to me of tenderness, and that seems relevant given the open and exposed feelings expressed.