Our Truth

 

Even if our life were a dream,

it would need to be embraced,

but no golden palace, no silver hill,

no white elephant need be chased.

Our life, like our love,

simply is, alive and glowing,

Olympian in its stature,

medal-worthy knowing. 

Some of Me

 

I write seventeens,

unless I am pressed for time.

Then I write long poems.

I have tried faster,

looser, tighter and harder.

Now I try softer.

Hope, faith and courage.

My friends in times of struggle.

Thanks for being there.

I’ve long preferred the

company of women: wise,

determined, and brave.

Today I’m gentle,

with you, others and myself.

I feel nurtured.

Loving myself just

the way I am, gratitude

fulfilling my life.

I like daydreaming,

with my eyes widely open,

open to what comes.

Peace is where I live.

There’s a key under the mat,

lest I forget that.

Often, when I feel 

really old, oh so tired,

I just take a nap.

Faithfully

 

We prepare not to die,

but rather more to live,

life and death in the same place lie,

what our mirror to us does give.

We let thoughts of death slip away.

We lovingly and faithfully praise,

creatively and honestly bless.

Pure goodness shines through all haze.

as we smile completely. No more, no less.

Our lives abound with joy, each delightful day.

Our Truth

 

Even if our life were a dream,

it would need to be embraced,

but no golden palace, no silver hill,

no white elephant need be chased.

Our life, like our love,

simply is, alive and glowing,

Olympian in its stature,

medal-worthy knowing. 

Grand Theft

 

Nothing lucky about it,

not odd at all,

even though she,

at the start,

took my name,

it wasn’t until after

she stole my heart.

Presence

 

Living within the grace 

of one day,

this day,

today.

Love overflowing,

Joy in this place,

Spirit is showing,

No longer searching

for what I already have,

allowing my heart to

feel gratitude,

less stressed, 

more blessed.

I am here.

I see you.

Someday Soon

 

The elms of my youth

might be gone,

but those firs we planted are living,

or so I’m told by old friends.

The pines an uncle helped me plant,

even the one that was struck by lightning

on its very first day planted in the earth,

bam, like a spank on a newborn’s bottom.

That one is the tallest, no sign of early scars.

There’s a lesson there, I’m sure,

and maybe I’ll get it one day.