Water

Water is Dark

Water is Joyous

Water is Graceful

Water is Light

Water is Circles

Water is Artistry of Exquisite Beauty

I Never

I never was enthralled by

Business suited men in positions of power,

Glamourous women in high heels and slit skirts.

I never wanted to be that. Never understood its

Allure.

I saw scholars, poets and mystics,

Heroes all to me.

I saw them working within their own imperatives,

With no visible reward or remuneration,

I saw them striving to perfect their expression of self as a divine

Energy in the world,

Expressing infinite beauty as well as they possibly could,

Exploring the perfection of the Creation of which they are part and

Doing their absolute best to understand the complexities of it all.

My God!

These are the ones that I emulate now and

Always have.

Yes!

I’ve never understood why anyone would chase after anything but

Truth,

Wisdom,

Love expressed,

Authenticity,

Impeccability,

Sacred being in the world.

 

Grace in the World

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Know Your Truth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joy Dance

The honest truth

Is that we are all

Dancing to our own perfect

Beat.

You better move that groove,

Love-Child.

Dancing is the heart’s delight. 

 

Safe

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Clean

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Mouth

I walk slowly through the wet and greening

World

With my mouth half open, the

Better to drink in all of it, all of it.

Sound of rushing water and

Smell of wet forest floor.

 

Sky Painting

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Amid the Ruins

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Haiku

Amid the ruins

A new world emerges from

The death of the old.

 

Tired

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Rain Purple Sky

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Young Beech Trees

April’s tattered sky, storm-purple

Rain-blue

Yellowed scudding grey in hue,

Folds itself sullen-faced

Over the mountain’s muddy stream beds,

Illumines grudgingly a

Scatter-tatter of young beech trees.

 

The leaves are see-through thin now, still

Holding Autumn’s remembered ease,

Still vaguely coppery, recalling

Riches long dissipated.

A wealth of well-being long since spent.

 

I keen and mourn in the kitchen’s cold light

In the morning, out of sight of

Any who could possibly guess,

What I dare not confess aloud:

I wish it had not been he who died that day.

I wish it had been some other,

Someone else.

I, who preach acceptance as the highest wisdom of our Age,

Have not accepted,

In all these years, his passing.

 

I still fiercely wish for the death of another, if he could then be here.

 

And I, sullen, stormy, grey

Cling like those spent beech leaves,

Thin as old regrets, pale as tired wanting.

 

Is it possible that I, like them,

Can green and grow and love again?

 

 

 

Spring Evening

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Rest Easy Now

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Seeking

 

Dirty snow yields birch tree seeds

When I bend down low and

Seek.

 

And this is my joy, you see,

The seeking.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Quiet Corner

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Warm Light in Winter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



From the Heart of Me

So, I’m sitting there waiting

And the fear comes up: What

If?

And it feels hot and shaky and

I send it that slow spread of Love

From the heart of me.

 

Or listening to a friend talk about her

Life, how she’s trying to be better, to

Mold herself,

And it feels like need, like a pressure in my chest and

I send it that slow breath of Love

From the heart of me.

 

Or there’s news of more bombings, another disaster

In the east and it feels like despair, like the absence of hope

And I feel it in my face, frozen into not showing anything and

I send it that golden light of Love

From the heart of me.

 

 

Cold Wintry Winds in Brightest Skies

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Awakening

I heard the first

Eruption of sound

That is

The redwing

Blackbird's call.



At sunrise

I heard it,

And it told me

Spring is here.

 

Beginning Again

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Forest After Snow
















After Snow

The air is moist and grey

Light colours the tree trunks black,

The hemlocks darkest green.

 

The only sound is the regular beep, beep, beep

Of the dump truck snow plow reversing below in the valley, an electronic tune

In the dark dawn.

 

Then black ravens call call call

Across the hillside

While school bus labours up the hill roaring.

 

I walk carefully on the slippery snow, the

Sleeves of my jacket pushed up, the throat open,

Mittens wet with cloud condensation.

 

We’re under the weather here, the top

Of the hill white-grey shrouded

 

When the school bus descends,

I meet it coming ‘round and give the driver a V for victory,

“You made it!”

For the hill is steep and the snow slippery,

and because I feel that

 

We are here. Now.

We are here.

 

Embrace the ALL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Still Reaching

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Balance

On one foot, and then begin

A slow rise

To full height,

Then a

Slow stretch to full expansive

Reach

 

Always with balance as

Your way forward, tentative, perhaps

Thoughtful,

Careful perhaps,

Aware

 

That will bring you

Peace

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Zebra Effect

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Roadside Stand

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Angry!

I can fight it

Or I can breathe into it

But I can’t pretend that it’s not there.

The effort of trying to get away

Is hopeless.

Hopelessness is the downslide.

Fear results.

 

You try it for

Yourself and see.

Fear results.

 

So, I breathe into it and say, “Okay.”

Then I move on to other things.

 

Dance of the Water Spirits

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Illumined

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



The Coming of the Light

Drive in the brilliant sunshine,

Feeling its heat through the car windows.


Then walk in the snow, in the crunching, child-like snow,

And feel light caress your face

While the blue jay cries.

 

Sculptured

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Blue Snow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Haiku

Blue snow and chainsaw

Grind become my step into

Perfect peace within

 

A Winter's Day

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Snow Scape

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Collage

I snip roughly round edges of brightly coloured paper

Choosing in the instant

This shape, that hue.

The magazines have many colours in them

And the choices are deliciously arbitrary.

There are words as well, like beacons on a dream landscape:

New

Earth

Energy

 

I will later cut a bit more artfully and

Paste.

Remind myself of what

Joy looks like

Feels like.







 

 

Woodland in Winter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Snowstorm Detail

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Everything

That I have ever wanted to have in my life,

I have in my life.

And all that I have wanted to see in the world,

I see now in the world

Emergent

And these are things like self-responsibility

Peace

Outbreaks of wisdom

Breakthroughs of hope

Love bombs of understanding

Everything

 

Scene From a Dream

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Perfect

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Driving

The swing of the car round the corner into Sutton Junction

Woman walking with dog on slush

Was suddenly unbelievably perfect

Telephone pole, perfect

Railroad crossing sign, also perfect.

 

Deeply moved, I swung my

Gaze upward to that line of winter-black arrowhead spruce trees north of the railroad line

Also radiating waves of perfection,

Like Angel song, like

Divine intervention.

 

I gasped.

 

Alone there in the car, driving still, shifting into fifth,

I had to breathe slowly, deeply to calm myself, to

Stop the tears of deepest held joy

Everything was perfect. Everything. I looked at

The bumper of the car ahead of me… That too

Radiated the divine perfection of the heavens in all of their grandeur.

 

These words are not enough to convey

But they, like the road and the sky and the woman with her dog,

Although limited

Are perfect.

 

And this is coming from the heart. This is not

Mind speaking to you.

This was all in the heart and is still.

It becomes all that I am -the

 

Perception of perfection in all that is. 

 

 

 

The Perfection of Now

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Sweet Soul Yearning

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Eastern Townships Evening

White and silver and black

Shadows and clear, cold silence:

Just me and the moon

And the wind

For company.

 

Light the Grey, Such is the Nature of Hope

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

When I Look for Beauty, I Find It

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



I Wear My Mother's Pants

Cast-off

She doesn’t want their shape anymore,

Their size anymore.

I find to my surprise that they

Suit me just fine.

My mother’s pants

 

She is this old, bent woman

With legs like thick tree trunks, immovable, dead weight

I am young still, moving, vibrant

She is crooked and weak.

Yet I look into the mirror at my mother’s pants

How they fit me just fine,

How the bumps and curves and all the

                        places where I learn about pain

How they fit me just fine.

 

There is this word that I am becoming now:

There was freedom, before. I was

Becoming that.

Now there is this other word:

Acceptance.