unmaking of a sweet tooth

do not be soft with me
reproach my virtue
uncover shadowed corners
as light carves the darkness
from its absence
tender words and gentle hands
render me weak and dreamy

reacquaint me with wilderness,
my mentor and unmaker
hew my body from the oldest of oaks
thrice struck by electric laughter

the strongest woman is the most alone
she'll strive for perfect love and purity
but find no match
she craves a match

do not coddle me with kisses
that i should want your mouth
for my own
dispossess me of all sweetness
unteach me of this hunger

March Meander

I. We stoop low
to the waking earth
and stand up smiling
at her unabashed holiness

II. Long gait and gaze
swinging open
into trails thawed and worn
rough, then smooth
by a working man's hands,
his stories driven deeper
than the roots of an age-old sycamore
pounded down by the
caustic fist of industry
But the land stammers,
shakes loose unassuming beauties
overlooked by all, save
two cerulean eyes
hewn from the very same sky
bending near to river water,
unmasking unworldly trinkets
in the warm rubble,
hallowing space
forgotten and trampled,
whose hands build cairns
of rocks and relics
shrines of time and questions
unanswered by the cadence
of suns and seasons

III. Like the string of a bow
in slow motion
water unfurls itself
upon the land
stretching, pushing, sculpting
undulations of energy
sinuous-vascular
ever-moving
architecture of earth
free to create and destroy
without intervention
as an unbound woman
full of power and grace

3/24/11

golden child writing
poems to burn down
into dark face paint

3/23/11

Yes, they will come
with their tanks of brine
and thoughtless culverts
They will siphon away
the dignity of your homeland
They will ship it, burn it, and
wipe the dregs from their gaping mouth
But you will not have it
They will not taste your land
Your warrior face says so
No, they will not step foot
at the sight of your furious love

3/24/11
New World Order

Calling all drones
Calling all modular thoughts and thinkers
We have here a plan
Written up right by a fine business man
Mark my words, we're all winners
If you fall right in line
and march to the beat of transglobal time
Just imagine a world united and free
With one single language
and one currency
Diplomacy died
We've no need now for war
No borders, one nation
No sick, weak, or poor
Can you picture this future
so bright and so grand?
All we need is your conscience,
your dreams and your land.

3/24/11  Four hands, One Meal
bustling at the stove
the spring air clings to our shoulders
you heat the pan, slice the onions,
and ask me in earnest,
"ziti or colored rotini?"
i chop zucchini, set plates
out with the feta, in with the kale
the ramps grow flushed
i grow disconsolate at the
thought of parting
but we are here to celebrate
even if you are late for class,
we made one fine meal
with little left to show for it
i'll get to the dishes, you get to the door

..................
we are here in the same space
with the same breath
holding up the heavens
from crashing all around us at once
with slow arms of silence
.................

fresh, inflamed
held together by word stitches
tight embraces
a young love marred
by sharp incisions
vulnerable wound
kept clean with care and discomfort
left to mend out in the bright air
to be well again and
stronger than before

.................
cold hands on a steering wheel
mind teeth chew
on kismet and consciousness
fanfaronade of summersville billboards
chortle and cough in the dark morning
a halcyon countenance
scent of overturned earth
where the hair meets the neck
furnish the hours with longing
resplendent shards of images
the heart buckles, then bursts

Falcon Heart,

yours are the eyes that know and see 

around and through the february moon

yours, the memory of sinuous landscape

of sky temple precipice and low hidden nook

yours are the wings with which you wield

strength of magnificent grace

yours, the heart that burns 

with a thousand untold stories

we watch for your shadowdance

we wait for your calling cry

Winter Walking

cold radiates from the neck and thigh

against the warm room

mingling basic sensations

like the faint smell of bitter

amidst a banquet of sweetness

into waking

but which is dreaming?

moving through a mountain

in bright moonlight of winter

she becomes a shadow

like the tree veins 

in the snow

Maple Syrup Snow Cones.

Please put away your hand-towels embroidered with holly.  Let us melt the leftover chocolates and candy canes on hot stones as pleas for forgiveness. Isn't your stomach also aching with remorse?  Make room for silence.   

We remain untamed so long as wild silence dwells within.  As another year approaches, recall the sharp taste of alpine air.  Behold the stark bright space before you.  Now is the time to discard, to recognize, and choose the most excellent.  Without identifying the ingredients of our composition, we cannot fully choose, cannot truly decide to navigate towards something greater.  

This year, I choose joy.  acceptance.  endurance.  quality.

Walking around without any skin on.

"Jesus, will you be my dentist?  You see, I have this cavity…"  Imagining gospel-driven rockabilly pity lyrics keeps me laughing at myself.  

Oscillating between depravity and redemption, lunacy and keen revelation, serenity glows like a distant dawn caught between the dualities of the spirit.  

Learning how to process a heartbreak that will probably destroy everything I've known about myself up until now, will also create a space for a refined self-knowledge that can only come from ego-shattering stories.  "Self-knowledge is seldom good news," I heard on a podcast the other day.  But news is just news, right?  Nothing personal, really.  

Anger and grief are unreal to me.  I am a stranger to myself.  The self-berating questions pound around my brain without permission.  Covering my ears and squeezing my eyes shut, I try and block them out, chanting "I don't exist.  Everything will pass.  Just let it go." Over and over again.  To feel everything and understand nothing is insanity.  

Love yourself, dear ones keep telling me.  Pursue yourself, nurture yourself… Frankly, I can't stand myself right now.  I'm not right.  Can I accept this?  Can I accept all of this?  Can I love and be trusted? It will come. First, I need to seek out compassion, acceptance, and mindfulness. Gently.  

Prayer, silence.

Selah!

Driving back to Canaan from Oakland, Maryland, Lynn and I passed a Mennonite girl riding a four-wheeler.  Her head covering sailed behind her full-face grin.  And the wind blew through our clothes and windows like a vivid story.  Summer's does not leave us wanting.  Take us with you for a while, and write us when you're gone.

The boxes and bushels of Brandywine and Beefsteak tomatoes accompany their farmer-midwives.  This is the first big week for the Butternut and Acorn squash.  But I''m not ready for them yet.

So long, Summer.