To know the shape of hate

To know the shape
of hate and fear,
the smell
of love and joy,
the taste of hope
and bitterness,
makes human
all we feel.

This rosness

I wondered who I was and then,
the Me began to speak, reminding
who I thought Me was, that
we were both in league
as Self and Source and all that is,
as woman, wife and friend,
as daughter, mother, writer, lover;
this 'rosness' now and then.

I hold my children to my heart

I hold my children to my heart,
the image held by glass,
and know the ties of love reach out,
beyond the metalled frame.

Life flings me to the ground

Life flings me to the ground
and then, stretches out a hand,
to raise me up another time,
to walk, to live again.

Path of life

In rutted, raw revealing
the path of life drifts on,
through twists and turns
of meaning, through birth
and death and strife.
But always in the distance,
the light that leads us through
the best and worst that
comes to us; a shining
truth renewed.

we walk as wraiths

We walk as wraiths,
the halls of night,
in templed, pillared mind,
to find our way
from daily Self,
to all our Soul divines.

Drip of rain

Drip of rain
in shining fall
upon expectant leaf,
a gentle gift
from sky's full skirt
which spreads
in dark relief.

I've never known a yesterday

I've never known a yesterday,
it's something in my mind,
just as tomorrow never comes;
today is all I find.

cosmic dance

This cosmic dance of fear and love
is what brings us to be,
as slowly stepping through our lives,
we face our destiny.

serpent self

The scales hug close my wounded self,
and yet the fire burns bright,
within the bloodied reptile heart
which beats in line with hope.
This serpent self is sourced in time,
and ancient, endless brain,
which marks the passage from that place,
where instinct ruled my mind.
Beyond the fork of twisted thoughts,
the tongue of reason reached,
and drew me from my my basest Self;
on shining swords of light.

Love which conquers all

I sank into the arms of pain,
surrendered to its call
and found in dark
and deep embrace,
the love which conquers all.

Shrill imaginings

In wondered, shrill imaginings
I saw my life in ruins,
as scattered, sharp destructing,
which mocked at long-held plans.

Such beauty

So often life feels crumpled,
dropped, and yet
within that crushed feeling,
such beauty.

Our body

Our body is our greatest friend
and yet one which we leave,
in shadowed, deep forgetting
until its needs are seen.

Soft forgetting

In wrinkled, soft forgetting
we fall into life's arms,
our destiny surrendering
to years which drift and pass.

Friends

A touch, a smile, a word, a look
through laughter, tears and sighs,
our friends form the foundation;
the rock on which we rise.

Our souls so little seen

How much do we become
what we know ourselves to be,
or what it is, that others want -
our souls so little seen?

Tripping

In tripping times of stumbled fall
when nothing stays secure,
life is leavened day and night
with unexpected calls.
Then do I stop and look around,
and read the signs which stand
along the path I thought I trod,
and yet which led nowhere.
In symbol, song and whispered
word, the message can be heard,
that guidance comes in many forms;
and all steps take me home.

Shadowed Shapes

Shadowed shapes are cut by pain,
Trimmed and formed by time,
Hung upon day’s huddled walls,
To haunt my thoughts again.

Within the liquid song of life

Within the liquid song of life
lies long surrendered dance:
forgotten child remembering,
still waits to be released. 
Those steps will stir in memory,
through dusty halls and mind,
of times when joy was partnered,
in minuets of sighs.

My design

In small and steady movements
I make my way through time,
and often overlook their power;
intent on my design.

I swept

I swept the litterings of life
into a pile and then,
I saw that I had dropped
and lost some precious
things as well.

Cavalcade of feeling

This cavalcade of feeling
has taken both my hands
and danced me through
my mystery - left logic,
far behind.

The breath of life

I drew the breath of life within
and heard it sing through cells;
in constant new awakening,
of I, of Me, of Self.

Age

In corrugated cradling

my skin reveals the years

displays in daily dress

all that I have been.

You were

You were the source of heart and life,
the ground of all my being
and then I found that you were just
yourself and needed me.

Song of soul

In lilting, listless laughter
I heard my song of soul
and knew that I had lost myself
in sorrow's breathless hold.

A cup which once was grace

Words in curdled dribblings
slide sourly down the sides
of chilling hard humanity;
a cup which once was grace.

The self is shown

The Self is shown
in silent times,
in shadowed, lonely days
when words
are mere remembering
and touch,
a dream delayed.

Dance of life

Within the dreaming dance of life,
full starry worlds unite
and in the turn of death and birth
we come to know ourselves.
It is within the watchf8ul place
of mind and time and now
that Soul will speak and guide
our mind: that all will be revealed.

Deep down

Deep down
in the sullen socks of Self
I see my truth rubbed raw,
in holes of irritation,
in stretched unfeeling threads
which pull upon
my trodden dreams
in ancient, aching dread.

The ego

The ego stands in mirrored face
observes, defines, demands
and dictates to the song of life
it's own mishapen plans.

Caress

Caress of breeze in sensuous touch
as daylight draws her gown
and drifts in deliquescent dance
upon night's trailing hem.

Your truth

In shuddered slow surrendering
I gave myself to you
and found the journey
through my soul,
led gently to your truth.

We are but actors

We are but actor's on the stage,
director, writer too
and everything which comes to us,
is our created truth.

Do we choose

Do we choose this life before we come,
decide who we will be and place our trust
in parents known, and friends and family?
If paths are drawn and times are writ,
by our own mind and hand, then blame
can only ever be, a part of the great plan.
As actors on the stage we move in sure
and certain ways, to live the days allotted;
to learn, to grow, to play.
We draw the curtains open wide and step
into the light, embracing both the days
and nights as backdrop to our tale.
And when the play is finished, the curtains
neatly drawn, we gather in the dressing room
to write a life once more.
It's just another story, more time within
this world, this stage of our becoming;
placed on Akashic shelves.

First day of a New Year

Within the ticking moments
which time has flung through life,
I see the image wrought and drawn,
sure carved through endless mind,
in ways which birth beyond the now
to die before the dawn,
in riddled moments born in night
and suckled at the breast,
of dawning year, and drizzled hopes
to draw me ever on,
toward the source of all that is -
to what I must become.