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

What Do You Hear When You Listen to Lichen Grow?

img_2885In a mountain cave
under the spell
of a turbulent creek
I listen to lichen grow

Under the smell
of a winter rain
I listen to a landscape’s
green resurrection

Enchanted
I become soft like moss on stone
and suddenly remember that I am
a songbird
a spiderweb
a sprouting buckeye
wild and slimy like the worms
in the hill beside me
escaping the flood

The Language of Silence: Micropoems from February Week 4

Each week I harvest a few small poems and haikus I wrote inspired by writing prompts (such as @microprompt on Twitter). This month’s are mostly haikus, because it’s National Haiku Writing Month! #NaHaiWriMo

silencea muffled morning
melancholy mist moves through
only crows are up


you are the same moon
that stopped by last month, yet still
see you with fresh eyes


if only you would
speak the language of silence
I’d understand you


a walk in the woods
creeks and tree and dirt oh my!
therapy for free


a neighborhood stroll
a little girl waves to me
jasmine in the air


Competing urges:
Untangle or entangle
or find some third way


Wake with heart smiles
Our 40-day dream is just
Tip of the iceberg


as she unfurls
touching all the other ferns
my frond freezes up


Wild Sunday sex
gives me oxytocin buzz
and crooked glasses


I awake to find
my fingers still smell like you
early morning treat