There will be watchers

There will always be watchers, 

Ready to assess the wisdom of your choices.

 It’s good to listen for other possibilities, 

But in the end the wisdom 

 Of the informed heart must prevail.

Peace in the forest

Our souls are fed by the leafy greenness 

Of the forest: such a blessing! 

Let your eyes and hearts feast on the scent 

Of cedars, ferns and moss, 

And may the susurrance of the water 

Bring you peace.

Proximity

As the calla lilies bloom 

Beneath the holly tree, 

Inevitably a gift appears; proximity 

With others, different than ourselves, 

Can often work that way. 

It helps, this being open 

To what the other offers: 

Together we might arrive 

At something new; something totally delightful.

Beach roses

And now they come, the beach roses, 

Bright harbingers of the summer to come, 

Gathering in thick, messy hedges everywhere 

To share their bold pink promises

 Of the warmth to come: like us, 

Each one unique, yet viewed in multiplicity 

 They’re really all the same:

 Rooted in the same earth, 

Craving the same water and light,

 Evolving slowly toward the next phase 

Of their existence; 

 The fruit that will inevitably emerge.

Mutual support

Take a walk in the forest 

And notice, just beneath or beside your feet, 

How the dying stump offers nurture 

And protection to the tiny flowers 

Just beginning to bloom, 

And they in turn draw attention 

To the mossy beauty of her fur.

 When will we learn to see our own lives 

As offerings, in support of one another?

Together we rock

Today I just want to say 

I’m grateful for all the partnerships 

I’ve experienced over the years; 

The friends who’ve nurtured and supported me 

And helped me to a fuller understanding 

Of both my gifts and responsibilities: 

Together we’ve accomplished more 

Than I might ever have dreamed of 

Or been able to bring to fruition on my own. 

Together we rock!

Idealized notions

It might be time to set aside 

Your idealized notions of home and family;

 To appreciate what you do have 

While working toward a brighter future 

Instead of always wishing for more 

And bemoaning present limitations.

Open hearts and days

In each path there rests 

 An invitation to explore 

Which you may choose to accept or reject, 

Depending on your mood 

And how much time you can invest. 

Does not that mean that keeping 

Our hearts and our days open, 

We might find more opportunities 

 To learn, discover, and grow?

The long view

Yes, it’s good to take the long view, 

As a way of reducing worries 

About temporary setbacks, 

But if we’re too busy looking ahead to the future 

Or back at the past with regrets or in mourning, 

We might find ourselves 

 Tripping unexpectedly over the present. 

Breathe, stay grounded, and enjoy 

The inimitable scent of Now.

New buds emerging from the dark

Some days, it feels 

Like you’re the only one awake 

While others, sleeping, fail to sense 

The way the world is changing; 

That the darkness is expanding in ways 

That no one else can see, 

And you are powerless to stop 

The ominous and grasping 

 Metamorphosis that looms…

Luckily, there are other days

When we lean in and detect

The new buds just emerging into life.

Blessing of the gardeners

Blessings on all those 

 Who work to create 

 Oases of peace and beauty 

For the rest of us: 

 We are eternally grateful.

Stop pushing

Sometimes, in our efforts to generate 

Energy and enthusiasm to fuel our work, 

Those efforts actually block the light 

That’s meant to be flowing through.

 Step away for a bit; stand back, breathe, 

Allow a little time to pass 

 Unburdened by your striving 

And allow the light to pour through once more.

Blessing in the falling

We celebrate the blooming, 

But can we not appreciate 

The falling of the blooms as well, 

The way the delicate petals bless 

All those they touch with color, 

And then enrich the earth, 

Even as the branches left behind 

Grow heavier with fruit 

 That cannot begin to ripen 

Til the blossoms fall away?

 In truth, each phase — 

 The blooming and the fall, 

The ripening and the pluck, 

The emptiness and the waiting; 

The chill of absence and the itch of budding — 

Each contributes, and has value 

In the ever turning cycle of creativity.

Wobbly beginnings

It’s so easy to forget 

That when we’re just beginners 

Our legs will always be a little shaky. 

But that initial sense of incompetence 

 Should never stop us 

 From trying something new. 

When will we learn to view 

 Our own first wobbly steps 

With the same gentle affection 

 This fawn awakens?

Artist’s block

This morning, 

 Humbled by a friend’s work of art,

 I am swimming in a sea of uncertainty; 

Paddling desperately, getting nowhere, 

And questioning — despite a stream of successes 

And the admiring words of another — 

Whether I will ever paint with such assurance; 

Such confidence, depth and power. 

It’s amazing what three bad weeks in my studio 

Does to my confidence levels. 

 I’m trying to remind myself 

It’s always dark before new dawnings…

Empathic response

I’ve so enjoyed watching the new fawns 

Dance across our lawn, and yet — 

The hard part is watching the yearling, 

Who’s spent the last year with the mama 

Who now chases her angrily away 

Whenever she comes close.

 I know it’s just projection, 

But still I feel the echoes of rejection— 

Both my own and those my children faced; 

An inevitable part of growing up, 

And yet so painful. 

We can’t help but delight in all the new, 

But still we ache for all that’s left behind…

Between or around?

We tend to forget 

That when we are between 

A rock and a hard place, 

It’s not just about the limitations. 

It may simply mean the path between 

Is more narrowly defined, enforcing focus — 

Or, in certain circumstances, it might mean 

You’ll need to circumvent the problem 

By stepping outside the boundaries 

Precisely because they’re fixed 

And you — if you only realized — are not…

Mothering Day

Today’s a day to celebrate 

All the men and women 

 Who’ve nurtured us through the years: 

Our teachers and our mentors; 

Those who’ve pushed us, those who’ve held us 

And those who’ve healed us; 

Those who’ve guided, 

 And those who’ve followed behind us,

 Cleaning up our messes.

 Perhaps we should rename it Mothering Day!

Ghosting

When the ducks see me coming 

 Down the path beside their stream, 

They turn their backs 

 And paddle into the shadows — 

Which is what we all tend to do 

When approached by someone 

 We no longer feel we can trust: 

We tend, not to confront, but to hide: 

A ghosting that’s been triggered, 

Not by boredom, but betrayal…

Questions/Assumptions

There’s a kind of new wine/old skins

 (Or is it old wine/new skins?) 

Thing happening here: what does it mean 

To put a new handle on an old door? 

Is it a mark of respect and appreciation 

 For these appealing layers of old paint, 

Or simply laziness?

 A determination to protect what’s inside 

By masking it with an aging exterior — 

But doesn’t the handle give it away?

 The world is full of questions,

 But until we know the answers,

 Our assumptions will always say more about us 

Than they say about what’s true.

Slow down

When in a rush, we miss so much!

 Slow down, and drink 

 The beauty that surrounds us.

A firmer foundation

There may be moments when you learn 

That what you thought was safe and solid 

In fact has no foundation; just illusion. 

And then the choice is this: 

To leave things as they are, or rip them out, 

Risking a temporary instability, 

And replace what was just appearances 

With something stable, concrete, and true. 

Trust me: the transition is unnerving, 

But the end result will surely be worth 

The temporary chaos…

Daily reparations

Though we may at root be one, 

Wherever two or more are gathered, 

There will inevitably be divisions: 

To remain in relationship will always necessitate

 The building and the maintenance of bridges; 

A conscious and shared determination 

To fix whatever’s broken 

 Before the rot can spread 

To the point where all connection 

From one side to another is lost. 

Rebuilding is ever so much harder 

Than the effort required to effect 

Those daily repairs.

Bending with the wind

The winds of change blow constantly, 

And so we bend, but dig in deep: 

Staying rooted in what’s strong and true, 

We’ll forever hold our ground.

Stop your squawking!

We humans are such geese sometimes — 

Squawking at each other over nothing, 

Claiming territorial rights 

When really we don’t have a leg to stand on… 

Why can’t we all just get along?

Surmounting challenges with grace

This ancient tree is such a lovely testament 

To growth and determination: 

May we all prove as graceful 

In our efforts to surmount 

Barriers and challenges 

In pursuit of progress and survival.

The weight of the world

There may be days when your arms ache 

From your efforts to carry the weight of the world. 

Try to remember: you can’t save —

 Or even please — everyone, 

And it’s okay — even wise — 

To take a break and share the load.

Welcoming the new

The sun is always setting, 

Night after night after night, 

And still, each morning, without fail,

 It rises again to enlighten the world. 

Why then, are we so disturbed 

When things come to an end? 

Has not all nature taught us to trust 

That something new is always being born? 

Feel free to grieve and mourn, 

 But be prepared to welcome 

 The wonder that’s preparing to emerge.

For all who don’t blend in

To see a tree like this — 

So many branches 

 Reaching out, like nerves, at every level —

 In a forest where the fashion 

 Is containment, only branching at the sky, 

Makes me ache for all that effort, unrewarded: 

All the failure and dead ends; 

The inability to fit in; 

The obvious otherness, that stands out sharply 

 In the midst of all that sylvan conformity… 

And so I lift a prayer 

 On behalf of all those prickly souls 

Whose uniqueness doesn’t blend 

 With their surroundings.

Just resting

We humans are so easily discouraged: 

One bad painting — or two, or three — 

And I question: perhaps I’m not really an artist? 

Time to go outside — and in the yard I find 

The tree I’d thought was dead 

Is covering itself in blossoms 

After a two year hiatus. 

Breathe deep, and trust: 

 What’s meant to be may take its time, 

But it’s still there; just resting, gaining strength.

Don’t flagellate; congratulate

While most would claim 

Edison’s greatest gift to us 

Was the light bulb, 

I’d like to suggest that of equal or greater value 

Was his recorded attitude toward failure: 

That each failed filament offered 

 Yet another useful bit of knowledge. 

So let’s not flagellate ourselves 

When something doesn’t work 

But congratulate ourselves for eliminating 

 Yet another option, and narrowing yet again 

The definition of the problem and its solution.