Saturday, December 04, 2010

Pond in April

You crunched last-year’s leaves
underfoot, down to the pond’s edge,
sat in the clear spot at twilight
and the hush was a bowl
of soft light placed gently
over the water, bugs
skittering the surface, the gentle
high shish of the stream entering
and leaving by the beaver dam,
hemlocks bowing, and the high
dead snags holding up the sky,
one heron watching you with legs
astraddle. Slowly you painted
yourself into the picture, breath
dropping lower. There was
nothing more you desired,
nothing needed, nothing omitted
and not a thing happened
all that evening.
Published in a volume of meditation poetry, Moments of the Soul, now out on Amazon, also in my book, The Spaces Between

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Sometimes the breeze

from the north touches
the skin of your forearm
and suddenly thoughts are gone
and it is only this moment
smoothing your mind
like a gentle wave
stroking sand, repeating
now, now.

from my book, The Spaces Between

Saturday, March 13, 2010

on being apart

silence draws me
like a silk cable
like a deep well
and as I flail and fall
I feel the gravity of my need

during weeks of activity
and engagement you’d think
I’d feel connected
with all these people
these important projects

but it’s in the quiet
of separation
that I surrender
sometimes, in bits,
into unity.

Thursday, February 18, 2010


the definite edges of maple
buds itching with sap
the clouds’ luminosity
out of nowhere they form
and race, dissolve
and grow again
what a day when
such as these
can form before our eyes
move with majesty
and boil into nothing

Every morning after I meditate, I write a poem. They are humble little containers like clay cereal bowls, but sometimes I like them enough to share. This came to me today.