A poem of prayer

So much of work 
Has been heads down
Focus
On all the minutia
Built up 
To mechanize
A routined output

I see this
Even as I know
It will all crumble
Into the dust 
Of obscurity
As all things do.

Maybe the real
Work of my life
Has been to 
Slow into stillness.
To befriend death
Sit with her
On the bench
Beside the river.

Her laugh
Light dancing on small waves.

Her joy
Gulls swooping in a crystal sky

Her patience
Seasons pulled on solar tides.

Her delight
Fingers plunged deeply
Into the rich loam
Beneath the pine tree
Nourishing from
The decayed work
Of all this living

This has to be
What prayer is

Not knowing. 

Coming to the end
With the sweet taste 
Of love dripping down 
My chin
Eyes full of stars
And wonder
While my body 
Slowly releases
All its earthly striving

Meeting my cherished
Friend
Disrobe myself
Of all the certainties
That didn’t really fit 
Anyway
Free to open
Each hidden doorway
Within her cryptic smile. 

dear friend
you have waited so long
for me to hear the call
of home.

a sweet singular note
steady low beneath
high-pitched tremolos of worth
beyond all those songs
not in my key
named “you don't belong”. 

yes, finally, as dusk
lays like fine dust
along the long lane
i arrive at your doorstep
weary and worn
through all my threadbare excuses
out of tune and step
 

i come, unsure of my welcome
gone so long
craving different
as though it were better
than the tenderness
of your patient embrace

the door opens
we meld into each other
a resonant wholeness that lights
all the empty windows
inside

a song that sings: I belong to myself.

I chase and am chased
A circle with no end
Running ceaselessly toward
Away from each
Shape-shifting iteration

I have been the hare
Nimbly alert
To the initiated venery
Of this earth body home

and

I have been the hound
Stalking, running, lapping
The blood marrow hungers
of love

and

I have been the salmon
Leaping forward in waters of time
Evolving ancestral wisdom
In onward sacrifice

and

I have been the otter
Sleek smile cutting
Turbulent waters with
Sharp teeth of intuition

and

I have been the wren
Deftly downplaying
Darting unseen
Into an air of underestimation

and

I have been the hawk
Pursuing each achievement
Building wings of caught feathers
Defying limitations

and

I have been the grain
Waiting to be consumed
Trembling with the blueprint
Of my creation

and

I have been the hen
Gobbling glutinous seeds
To fee the ravenous fires
Of every becoming
 

Round and round
and round again
And, and, and, and
Until the circle 
Simply sings
I am. 

It is the time of water
Ice cracking
The thunderous rush
Of held emotions
Breaking down
Static stoicism
Rushing past
Careful cultivations
White-foamed galloping
Toward a merging
With the sea

I take a deep breath
Plunge into the tears
Bursting through
This dam
Of proper expression
Gulp for air
As I tumble through
The bruising pain
Of smashed expectations
While words churn
Just out of reach

It is the time of water
I turn inwards
Trusting
That this outpouring
Is a necessary release
Of frozen holdings
Finally flooding free

Trusting
That I will make it
To the ocean
Join the tidal flow
And finally, know the peace
Of being held
Floating upon
My sacred deep

Solstice breathes
The slow heartbeat
Of earth sleeping
Beneath drifts
Of time and space

Darkness calls
Opening secret rooms
In the rooted shadows
Between surface
And the deep

I enter
Tenderly curled
In the chthonic embrace
Of whispered dreams
Beyond. 

 I saw a dragon 

On an ordinary winter morning 
While walking the dog 
Snow crunching beneath my moccasins 

I saw a dragon 

Sleep still blurring my vision 
Breath curling into 
Serpents of November mist 

A glorious red dragon 
Streaking across the sky 
Long tail of light 
Streaming behind 
A banner of destiny 

A dragon! 
I stood, transfixed 
Conversing with probability 
Until I released to wonder 
Too awe-struck to wish upon 
Or rationalize away 

This momentous magic 
Meteor portent 
Blazing before me 
For an instant elevating 
Me beyond my gnome Christmas pyjamas 
And all the mundane holdings 
Of an ordinary life 

The world reconfigured 
Within the dark, chilled starlight 
To the bright roar 
Of a dragon’s call.

Nemetona

She says:
Hold on to yourself.
You are not done unraveling,
pulling thread
upon thread from the ply.
Trust, have faith.
Soon all the stories
that were not yours
will be spun out
pulled from the liminal edge
of your sacred space;
cast to the wind
to spiral pirouetting
into their own destinies.
Not yours though,
untwined and rubbed raw

you will come before me
to ask the question
that is yours alone to ask;
A circle opening and closing,
creating the sanctuary
Of your being

Can you feel it?
The healing sway
of the willow tilting
your grounding to beyond

Can you hear it?
The red-winged call of blackbird
parting the veil
to wilding mystery

Come.
I am here
I have always been here
The sacred weave
Of your numinous holding.

Have you walked on the liminal edge 
Of early morning light? 

Seen 
Mist cloaking 
The sleepy face of the river 
Before the day pulls 
Aside her white veils? 

Heard 
Haunting calls 
Of the geese lingering 
Beyond the cattail quietudes 
Of willow-bound solace 

Felt 
Delighted wonder 
From last night’s rain 
Dripping into the harmonies 
Of the forest floor 

Have you come 
Into the solitude that was always to be your gift 
Dissolving muddy night questions 
Into the liquid alchemy 
Of presence? 

These moments are beyond telling. 

Will you come, asks the river 
Will you meet me 
On the edge of all things 
To become, just for a moment 
Everything and nothing?

I didn’t know I needed to grieve 
Until the blackberry grove 
Opened itself within me 
Thorny dome entangled 
As it was with all the sharp 
Rage that had held me together 
And kept me apart. 

Enter it said, 
Move within the protected hollow 
See the white petaled stars 
Softness behind the pain 
Lay within the hallowed womb 
Until you become as water 
Flowing around and through 
While the night cascades around you.

Midsummer day
The leaves shimmy
Beneath a changeable sky
This moment, these moments
Cycling year to year
Threaded through the 
Eye of the solstice
Despite my tired countenance
I connect. Into the legacy of
Our sun rhythms
The tilted dance
Of millennia of seasons

Remembrance flares
Of many circling hands
Held and spinning
The shimmer of sacred space
For a moment my singularity
Is blinding in its ache
I lean in, breathe. 
The poplar fluffs float by
A gentle nudge
   to the now
   to my belonging to this place
   to this time
   to today's solstice gifts.