Waiting for Tea [Tanka]

It is my routine to walk my little white dog every morning possible. With the hurricanes threatening the coast, we decided to brave the fog and threat of rain in this morning's early hour, thinking it might be our only window of opportunity for walkies today. An umbrella is too cumbersome with the flashlight, leash, etc. and it was too warm for a slicker so we set out fully embracing the possibility that we might get soaked.

But we didn't... funny thing too. We took the short route around the elementary school -- very close to home and more than halfway lined with trees. It was a stroll through damp misty fog until we got to the first set of trees. Then a cloud burst. We kept walking but the trees shielded us from the rain until we got to end of the tree line... and it stopped raining. We walked in the damp misty fog again and came to the next set of trees... and another cloud burst. It stopped raining again as we came to the end of that tree line. In the end, we could have really gotten wet but we came home relatively dry and I had to laugh.

Was is luck? Coincidence? God? My own acceptance that I could get wet but didn't really want to so my will created the optimal conditions? It doesn't matter... I think we as humans tend to get too caught up in the causes of things. It just IS and I am grateful for the experience regardless of the reason. I don't think luck or coincidence has the ability to care and I believe God understands my line of thinking.  So... thank you to what and whomever. ;)


Waiting for Tea

Early morning rain
and a rabbit's silhouette.
Watching each other,
neither move in the dampness--
fully immersed and steeping.


Choose to be happy. Experience peace. Know that you are loved. ~Lettie

Mourning Meds

Back at the end of June I made the decision to get up every morning at 4 - 4:30 and commit to a (flexible) morning routine. I needed a good kick in the pants to get out of the funk I was in and realized that my greatest flaw was my lack of commitment to self. I was going good guns until August hit and the flying monkeys in my head began screeching again. The morning routine became fraught with interruptions, doubts, and depression. I didn't stop altogether but the flow was... impeded.

This past Thursday morning, I settled myself down for a 5 minute guided meditation and had a small breakthrough... I have been pushing, dealing with ordeal after ordeal, fear after fear for so long that I've built up a substantial energy blockage - a powder-keg of emotion that won't blow (I won't allow for that, control freak that I am) but one that really needs a little relief. Five minutes of actual internal silence works better than you might think for emotional release... and poetic inspiration. ;)

Mourning Meds
Sitting still,
I allowed myself to be guided
into silence.

When she told me to "breathe mindfully,"
I heard "grieve" instead of "breathe"
and so I did.


Choose to be happy. Experience peace. Know that you are loved. ~Lettie

Preemptive Silence

Nearly forty-nine and childless--
yet I see them,
I hear them
and my heart hangs heavy as if they were my own.

How have I failed these young men and women
that I would hold up to praise,
to support,
to encourage--
that I would hold close to protect
from hatred,
persecution,
bigotry,
evil...
even as some of them would spit in my face
calling me white
and therefore ignorant of their plight?

They speak their truth
THE truth
and I can say nothing in reply
that I believe they could hear
as anything more than hollow hyperbole.

The legacy of pain
turns on an angry wheel
crushing the seedlings of unity
under the shouts of righteous outrage.

Hearing Echos

My father sat with me
in the damp sand--
neither of us knowing
he had less than six months to live.

He told me not to wear his shoes,
not to be too careful,
not to settle on simply surviving.

He knew what I could not
in my youth and inexperience...
that I am
so much like my father.

Early Morning with Jack

A gentle coating of March snow glistens golden
in the light of a yellow street lamp
as curbside trash magically transforms
into winter topiary.

Over Lunch

               ~for V.C.

Years dissolve in a cocoon 

of comfortable conversation 

weaving past into present

in a tapestry of light and shadow.

Memories, 

new and old,

eagerly shared and celebrated 

as figurative fingers wrap around the friendship knot

decades old and holding strong.

Eyes bright as jewels 

blink back the leaking gratitude

as anticipation mounts

for the next chance to open the treasure chest.

Morning Exorcising

words choked in jammed fingers
demand the cracking of white knuckles

initial pain ebbs as letters flow
from fingertips to keys to the public domain
causing little demons to cower
from the light of the computer screen