On faith

To me, there are moments 

When faith is like this boardwalk:

 A clear path that was built for us 

Through what feels chaotic and confusing; 

An implied focal point that allows us 

To keep moving and growing in times of stress. 

Even when there’s no discernible end in sight, 

Faith invites and allows us to trust 

In positive, hopeful outcomes.

A rooster question

Alerted by our cats, 

Who were crouched at the window, hissing, 

We discovered a rooster in our yard yesterday. 

Both our neighbors raise chickens, 

So we assumed he was an escapee, 

 But no; both neighbors said,

 “We don’t keep roosters anymore.

 Perhaps,” they suggested, 

“Someone just dropped him off? 

People leave stuff at the road end all the time.” 

When I looked again after those phone calls, 

He was nowhere to be seen, 

But it did leave me wondering: 

What kind of world is it, 

That we don’t need roosters anymore?

Balancing drama

Drama is a bit like spice:

It creates a certain focal point,

But it doesn’t take a lot to liven things up.

Unfortunately for some, it’s all too easy

To become addicted,

To the point where, if we can’t find it,

We create it — like sneaking sweets,

When what we really need

Is some more productive activity 

To appease that restless, hungry spirit

While still maintaining a healthy balance

In our lives.

There may still be a way

When you think you’ve finally reached 

The end of the road, 

 Don’t get distracted by reflections 

 On the journey that you’ve taken, 

But keep looking: 

There may still be a way to get through; 

A path that will reveal itself to the discerning eye 

And gently guide the way to a new direction.

Below the tangles

I remember a time when I feared 

That if I were to meditate, 

To truly sink into that space 

Deep inside myself, 

This is all I would find: a hairy, tangled mess, 

Filled with sharp edges and black holes 

To get torn by and get lost in. 

With time and practice I learned to find 

The deeper ground beneath, 

That point vierge where we’re all linked 

To spirit, and to each other, in love.

What we’re missing

It’s all too easy to lose sight of the mystery 

That’s a part of everything: 

We interact with the roads we travel every day — 

Like the people we see every day — 

Without really noticing them. 

Lost in the dailiness, 

 Intent on where we’re heading, 

We rush by, taking for granted 

All the gifts they have to offer; 

No longer observing 

 The special moments when they shine, 

And in forgetting their uniqueness, 

We lose sight of our own as well. 

At some point in your day, 

Make time to stop, or at least slow down, 

And try to be fully present 

 To the magic in the moment: 

You might be surprised to see 

What you’ve been missing.

Reflections

So much of what we see 

Is colored by what we long to see; 

Its clarity marred by reflections of what’s past. 

It’s no wonder that two witnesses 

Will never quite agree on what’s true. 

That said — the way you see the world 

Is truly unique; a vision that, when shared, 

Might help complete another’s picture.

How and when to help

What can we do 

With what the world expects from us?

 So much is broken: how can we know 

Where to direct what healing energy we have? 

How do we discern what — 

 Like falling leaves or the setting sun — 

Is part of a natural cycle of life and death, 

And what might need our intervention; 

Where we can effect productive change, 

And what must be left 

 For time or other forces to resolve?

More and enough

In a country obsessed with celebrity, 

With so many folks posting daily on TikTok, 

Making their videos 

And trolling through Instagram;

Young people honing their gifts and their skills, 

Hoping for college admission, or stardom —

 TV, or a movie, or a statue someday; 

Always striving for More; to be seen; to be heard. 

We lose sight of how it might feel to be average 

And what it must take 

To support those celebrities—

 The ticket takers and camera men, 

The cleanup crews and concession staff, 

Traffic cops and bus drivers, 

All doing their best to help meet society’s needs

 For order, for transport, for shelter, for food, 

For education, and for entertainment. 

Remember to honor the millions of workers 

Who find joy in the small things,

 In friends and in families,

In watching and walking,

 For whom the willingness to serve 

Is simply enough.

Step outside

What if you were to set your phone aside; 

To disconnect from all that clutter of information 

 And step outside; to find a place 

 Where you might breathe 

The scents of growth and decay; 

Of stability that lasts more than a lifetime; 

Of fragility that nourishes, 

Even as it dies; 

Of rigidity that learns to bend to survive; 

And therein rediscover 

Your own ability to endure: 

 To learn, to grow, and utilize 

Each challenge that you face 

As an opportunity to drink anew 

From the infinite well of resources within you.

The magic and the majesty

The grace of finding time 

To commune — however briefly — 

With the natural world 

Lies in these moments of absolute stillness, 

When we know ourselves to be in tune 

With everything that is: the clouds, the trees, 

The mountains, the creatures, and the seas— 

All participants together In the magic and the majesty 

 Of this life and this earth in which we share.

Mystery in the dark

In the dark and fog, familiar shapes 

Take on a certain mystery: 

Distracting details disappear 

 And light becomes alluring…

Making choices

Why take a tree and carve it into art?

 Whether you’re an artist or an athlete, 

A politician or a parent, a coder or a carpenter, 

A sculptor, a surgeon or a salesman — 

 Whatever role you’re playing, 

You’ll need to be making choices, 

So what’s the value driving them? 

Why this instead of that? 

Could it be growth? Or generosity? 

The greater good, or simply greed? 

Too many possibilities to name, 

But it’s good to be aware; 

To be conscious of both the impact 

And the driving force behind your decisions.

Honoring Beauty and Effort

How many things do we walk by in a day — 

Man made or natural — 

Without giving a thought to what it took 

To create them; 

For a tree to grow each tiny little branch; 

For an architect to design 

This circle of glass, this curving wall, 

 And for the brickmaker and the builder 

To create these gentle curves. 

In truth, there’s beauty and effort 

Everywhere we look, 

If only we’d make time to pay attention.

Patterns and connections

You ask me what I see.

 I see patterns, and connections: 

Not just the spread wings of the cormorant,

 But the echo of his posture and his beak; 

Not just the round dots of the bolts,

 But their echoes, the ways that they repeat; 

Not just the verticals of the wood, 

But the stripes lent by the weather, 

By the guano, and by their aging from the salt. 

To me, these things become a symbol 

Of the ways we’re all connected;

 How our worries and delights echo 

Across the span of time and race, 

Gender, nationality, and party affiliation: 

A reminder that we’re each unique, 

Yet alike in many more ways 

Than we’ll ever understand.

Taking turns

I sat and watched the Steller’s Jays 

As they scrabbled for their peanuts. 

And I noticed they take turns: 

One keeps watch while the other performs 

The tricky task of excavating 

 The peanut from the wire, 

And then, as soon as the first bird 

Has the peanut in its mouth, 

The other positions itself, ready to dive in. 

If only humans could always be as gracious…

Into the light

Keep walking toward the light. 

You may not know where the road will take you, 

Or who awaits you along the path; 

Just keep walking, toward and into the light, 

Knowing that you’re where you’re meant to be.

Lift thine eyes

Occasionally, through the branches —

 The distracting exigencies of life — 

We catch a glimpse of the benevolent spirit 

 That watches over us, inspires, guides, 

And keeps us safe — 

But only if we stop to breathe 

And lift our eyes above our current 

Occupations and obsessions…

No clear way out

And then there are the days 

When the forest of choices seems impenetrable, 

And the only one that stands out 

Is clearly a dead end. 

With no clear way forward, 

And no desire to return, 

It may be time to stop and breathe;

 To breathe and breathe again until 

The drive that presses forward subsides, 

And you can relax and look around you; 

Consider all the options that await you, 

 If only you are willing 

To contemplate a shift in direction.

Opening before you

Can you see it?

 There, before you, opening up, 

A broad way forward, lit from above? 

You’ve finally found your way! 

After having struggled 

 On this dark and narrow path for so long,

 A new year; a new era lies before you,

 Full of opportunity and promise; 

A new direction, to be sure,

 But no longer just a short cut: 

A clear, well traveled invitation 

To take your rightful place in the world.

 Let optimism abound: 

 You’ll finally be where you were meant to be.

Fog, like love

Fog, like love, has a way 

Of making all things beautiful — 

Magical, mystical, inviting … 

Reducing the distractions, 

Softening the boundaries, 

Opening and deepening, 

We focus on the essence of what’s there, 

And are suffused with delight.

How we spend our time

At first glance, seeing this, 

I thought it might depict two modes: 

Doing, and being. 

But the more I looked, 

 The more I began to chuckle, 

Because, like many people (Myself included),

 I was confusing the gathering of tools, 

The planning, the intention, 

With the actual work of doing. 

It’s really not enough to make a list, 

Or to add another task to an existing list: 

We need to actually do the work: 

To vacuum, dust, or wash the floors; 

To write that letter to your congressman; 

To add another chapter to your book; 

To weed the garden, shovel snow; 

To pay that debt you owe or call your mom — 

Whatever the task, it will not be accomplished 

By accumulating lists, or plans, how-to books, 

 The right clothes, or the best tools, 

Or imagining what rewards you might receive: 

None of that is either being or doing, 

And yet much of that is how we spend our time…

Why seek to improve?

Watching the waves 

Through the windshield of my car, 

Trying to avoid the icy wind,

 I shoot, and shoot, and shoot again,

 Trying to catch the biggest wave — 

But why? That question we must always ask: 

Are we doing this — whatever it might be—

 To impress, to win, to gain recognition?

 Or are we simply trying 

 To get better at our craft; to more fully express 

The spirit that flows through us;

 Doing our best to grow and to inspire?

Becoming a tree

Trees still seem to be on my mind today: 

As I looked up from my reading — 

 Which spoke of a tree’s inner commitment 

 To unfold a certain pattern, 

And thus to serve as a manifestation 

 Of the vital energy of life — 

I noticed this reflection in my window; 

Of a tree appearing to emerge 

From a complexity of influences, 

As we all do, pulling together all we learn 

Into a unique and hopefully coherent whole. 

There are days, of course, when we still live 

In that entangled, scattered place…

If you were a tree

Asked to draw myself as a tree, 

I asked my husband while on our walk 

Which tree he thought I’d be. 

His first response was “alive, not dead,” 

And his second was, “Evergreen; 

You never seem to lose your leaves.” 

And finally, “I think you’d stand alone, 

Not in a forest.” 

 And as our walk ended 

 And we came to our driveway 

I saw this tree that might be me: 

A dry beginning, a few setbacks, 

An about face or two but now leafed out 

And standing on my own. 

 It’s all good, and I am home at last.

Ripples on the horizon

As the winter moon ignites 

The ocean at her feet, we dream, 

And wake to find pink clouds and gray ones: 

Ribbons on a cerulean sky. 

Ever changing, ever stable, 

Like our center, that stays constant, 

While emotions, pain and pleasure, 

Wash across our internal horizon, 

Darkening, igniting, coloring 

All our thoughts throughout the day, 

Then fading into sleep.

On art and time

Though I’m in no position 

To criticize contemporary art, 

 I can’t help noticing the difference 

 Between what currently passes for public art 

And the elaborate sculptures of the past, 

Just as I can’t help but observe 

How the sound bite of a TikTok video 

Compares to a Shakespeare play. 

I get that each takes expertise: 

The difference seems to lie 

 In the time expended. 

And so I examine how I spend my own time 

And am saddened to see how much is wasted

Staring at a screen…

A gift to share

There’s something so heartening 

 About the unexpected gift of flowers in winter: 

The thought that someone, somewhere, 

Took the time to grow, cut, and arrange them 

In so pleasing a bouquet, 

And another someone saw them 

And decided I’d enjoy this random blessing. 

I thought I’d share this loveliness with you: 

A pleasant antidote to the cold and dark.

Hope for our future

My daughter spent much of Christmas 

 Adding stitching — magenta threads — 

To this incredible quilt. 

When I was roughly the age that she is now,

 I was teaching quilting in New Hampshire, 

But nothing I created or taught in those days 

Began to equal the creativity, playfulness, 

Technique, or design she’s showing here — 

Which is one of the reasons I still have hope 

For the future of humanity: that each generation 

Can improve upon the previous: 

Become more open and more thoughtful; 

Can devise more creative solutions; 

Can build upon the knowledge of the past 

To build a more expansive and inclusive vision 

 To enlighten generations that follow. 

Yes, I get, that, like these magenta strips, 

Our path’s neither straight nor perfect, 

But overall we are still growing, 

And for that, I’m grateful!

Look up and out

How much of life do we spend looking down: 

So intent on finding 

Our own way through the world 

That we miss the magnificence around us 

And ignore the potential opportunities 

 For learning and friendship we pass by? 

Yes, it’s good to look inward, 

And to be mindful of where we place our feet, 

But it’s good to look up and out as well…

And now it begins

And now it begins: another sunrise, 

Another day, another year, another opportunity 

 To become who we were meant to become, 

To do what we were born to do, 

To breathe, and grow, and hope, and love, 

And fill the world with goodness, and light, 

And walk the dogs and wash the dishes 

And vacuum up the glitter and confetti 

And sit and breathe and make lists 

Of all the tasks that lie before us. 

And all shall be well, and all shall be well, 

And all manner of things shall be well.