Repent
you start where you stand
review the past year and find
frayed places to repair
Repent
you start where you stand
review the past year and find
frayed places to repair
Give in and Aploogize
You gotta give some
relax the do and don’t
Forget about waiting on
someone else to strut
one foot and the other—
swallow being stubborn—
if you wait until one foot
standing on the other side
time may just keep moving—
no one hears when you shout
from that distance
say what you need to say now
Create
i render a landscape in pen and ink
add mountains with raw umber
and burnt sienna watercolors—
step back and dip a brush into
indian red and rose
add a hint of sun
spray water across the paper
take care not to blur colors
dip a wide brush into cerulean
blue—a faint color waiting for
ultramarine to bellow across
white rough watercolor paper—
add trees—mountain paper birch,
quaking aspen, and one unseen tree—
as an afterthought i ink in
a line of spruce pines
and a lone jack pine
i create an echo
a facsimile
I Intend
“We are not sent into the world
to do anything into which
we cannot put our hearts.”
—-John Ruskin
my list
grows, a vine climbing
without pruning
until it swallows time
with seductive possibilities
i will interrogate each item
I Begin to Imagine Miriam’s Well
I take small steps,
follow a path
filled with turnoffs,
stop
identify local topography
and pick two blooms
say their names
then move on
to another meadow
I look for blossoms,
dig down to roots
and study each fiber,
anchor, support
water supply
well
To End is Only To Begin Again
endings dwell in beginnings,
time continues, but
infinite hours remain beyond
my province—
there is yet time
to repair the places where
seams loosened and junctures
separated, where frayed spots
grew thin—
time to walk toward another
extend a hand
and begin to patch
to mend
to repair
to repent
Love
“Tell me, you who my soul loves... 1:7
“...and my insides stirred.” 5:4
Song of Songs
In the midst of scripture—a love poem
A paean to sensual delights
An invitation to love generously
I, too, feel my body shift and stir
as I whisper the lines
“I am my beloved’s,
and my beloved is mine...”
Dare
I remember when
the best swimmer at the “Y”
dared me to swim
two pool lengths underwater
I tried over and over
until a game of Marco Polo
changed the subject
Now I read and read
translation after translation
looking for a lens to
understand each psalm
I dare myself to reimagine
the words as mine
I am David
I am each person
who wraps herself in words,
crossing out
adding
until the psalm is mine
Understand
After watching
the Republican National Convention
I can’t understand
the accolades, the praise
the parade of toadies
the lies, the painting
of the other as dangerous
How do they excuse lies
How do they defend
twisted words, a rewrite of reality
Don’t they hear the sound of steel boots
Don’t they know history
Don’t they hear screaming rhetoric,
repetition of words, of framing
the other with symbols of fear
I hear the footfalls
What don’t they see
What don’t they hear
What don’t they understand
about where we are heading
Their vision ignores the signposts
Pray
I listen to G-D’s voice
when wind brushes against grass,
when waves gather momentum
before spending their foam
on a shore dotted with Sandpipers
I see G-D’s hand in orange and red
hoodoos reaching upward—
becoming a cathedral of spires
I stretch my hand until my fingers
touch layers
of sandstone, shale, and limestone—
a story two billion years old
I inhale the aroma of rain washed herbs
I pray to this G-d of creation
Learn
Listen to silence
and hear the past
View abandoned junctures
buried under slabs of time
that haunt the present
and wait for light,
for a chance to shake
off layers of neglect
Change
Summer creeps toward autumn
muting her colors, bringing a descent
of light, a rush toward dusk
Yet, a few days stay behind
unwilling to keep step
They capture summer’s warmth,
a reprieve, a chance to linger
Remember
Before—
always before
Looking backwards
to recall a time before the now
A palmist reads shapes and lines,
hand shapes, fingernails, texture of skin
to create a text of what story remains
Scripture retells a narrative,
a history of a people, a key to remember
our ancestors
Forgive
To forgive
does not mean to forget
or blot out from memory
Some words remain
Some actions stay embedded
To forgive
does not mean to issue a free pass
or to engage in magic thinking
To me it means that I will
not carry around a lodestone
weighing me down
I will forgive words and actions
but it doesn’t mean I will respect
or condone or not call out
I will not wait for you to ask
for forgiveness
It will be a free gift
A gift I will accept as well