Redwood Tears

IMG_4293Grandmother Tree:

Come into my hollow
my sacred redwood nook
Cradle in my dears
let’s have a little look

Rest your heart against my skin
I’ll hold you while you weep
Tell me about your sacred wounds
your stories I will keep

Let’s cry some redwood tears together
here, have some in your lap
lets hold each other for a moment
join our tears with sap

I’ve had some big ideas
I’ve been burned as well
Do you think I got this tall
by dwelling within my shell?

They tried to slap me down
they tried to petrify
I just kept rooting downwards
and reaching towards the sky

consult your forest council
consult your inner light
rise rooted like the earth
grow to your true height

so my beastie sisters
put on your fiercest horns
paint on your charred war paint
and cry your wild roar

Graveyard Meditations

img_2376flurry of fall thoughts
like leaves of apricot trees
scattered over graves

I’ve spent some time everyday for the last week or so walking and sitting in a nearby cemetery.

During Sunday’s big storm, the first big rainfall of the season, I sat in the graveyard apricot orchard just enjoying the new blessing of water.

When I told someone about it, they said, “Well, that’s just sad.”

Yet it has been grounding and nourishing. It really puts things into perspective and helps me to appreciate everything that I have and everyone in my life. It reminds me that no one gets out alive, so rather than grimness, it evokes gratitude.

Far Wiser Than I

tree-big-rootsI’m listening
to these oak roots
searching for water
in soil where gorgeous worms
make their home

to these leaves
soaking sunlight
secreting sugars
feeding expansion

these delicious aromas
traveling the world
on invisible currents

the seeds splitting open
at just the right time
when the perfect warmth arrives

all these
are far wiser than I

I’m listening

Step Away From the Noise

Each week I harvest a few of the micropoems and thoughts I wrote that week, often inspired by nature or writing prompts (such as @Microprompt and @WrittenRiver on Twitter). Sometimes I try to weave each component into a larger tapestry., sometimes not.


img_2306a brisk autumn breeze
carries sounds of cars across
shimmering water


Step away from the noise
Keep falling
until you reach
the mariana trench
of your true self


like st. john
leave ‘home’ and enter
la noche oscura del alma
dark as ink:
pulled towards either
purification or destruction


home is where I wake up
where I sit
where I walk
mobile, yet moored
with a compass,  but broken oars


yesterday: “I’m liberated!”
today: “Damn, I’m hooked still”
disappointment and compassion
continue their eternal wrestling match


like an epiphyte, I’m groundless looking for ground that is
groundlessness where freedom grows


002

Heart impression at West Cliff, Santa Cruz

On bouldering as metaphor: sometimes your path is blocked. you only have to move over a bit for a clear path through.


Remember: Even the ocean and seashore write love letters to each other. That’s what creates both the smooth beach and jagged, beautiful cliffs.

That Single Blade of Grass

cliff2living at the growing edge
is often like a

stretch that breaks
tendons too tender

for more movement

like dancing foolishly
on a crumbling cliff
peering into an abyss
seeing only night

and hearing only echoes
of shining shadows

singing silently

hand reaches back
to grasp
that single blade of grass
you think will save you

but discover it a mirage

rooted in the wind

so you fall forward
and hope
that one of those shadows
is cast by the light of your deeper self
blocked by the bulk
of your fear-mind

Fall Away

live-oak-1000My skin cells
slough off
to make room for the new
like the leaves
of this mossy live oak tree

fall away

due west, summer’s end

fall away

due east, autumn begins

hover here for a moment

feel the balance
between darkness and light
between drawing within
and explosive expression

harvest your juicy
sun-soaked fruits
perhaps too easily procured

honor
the growing shadow

it’s okay to grieve
the dry and dying
the no longer needed

relish the transition
let the last leaves
flitter to the floor

limbs to feel
all the more lighter