Poetry

The Lost Children

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The children of the broken home – the motherless or fatherless home, the loveless home. The children born and raised without the containment of home, of family, of culture.

The uprooted children. The children of no-where, of no-land. The wandering in the desert, cradle in a basket up the river children.

The children never initiated, never trained into maturity. The grown-up children. The “adulting is hard” children. The “parenting our parents” children. The “where do we belong?” children. The “is it safe to open up and grow here?” children. The children who will do anything for love. The children with no healthy relationship to authority.

The hurting, wanting, needing children, who can twist, and take, and take. The forever hungry children. The backed into a corner children.

The children who do not know how to conduct themselves in a circle, in a culture, in a family, in love.

The children who do not know their connection, their place, their belonging with all that is.

The children digging in, reaching out to reconnect with age old chains that were broken.

The children gathering loose ends and weaving them together.

Twisting bark, warm beer and conversations in the park.

The Value of Inner-Child Work

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As I have been a mother to my children,

I’ve been mothering myself.

As they grow and change and change again,

I’m changing shape as well.

 

There have been times that I’ve resisted,

That I’ve fought against the flow.

There were times that I could not hang on,

Times that I could not let go…

 

Through all of this exploring,

And the challenges and growth,

I’ve felt I was missing something

To help with keeping me afloat.

 

As I have found my inner child

And all the fears she keeps

I’ve done my best to tend to her

Healing whatever I could reach.

 

But even making space for her,

And trying to bridge that gap

Left me feeling a little stuck,

Like I was still holding something back.

 

And I guess that the time must have been right,

Maybe I could not have done it before,

But something has clicked into place

And now I see what I’ve been yearning for.

 

It is well and good to help that child

Living deep inside of me,

But to my surprise I’ve found, instead,

It is she who is saving me!

 

For as I became an adult,

And as I had my own kids too,

I left behind something important,

That’s kept me from living my truth.

 

All the striving to comfort and soothe myself,

And to be the best parent I can,

I had forgotten how to play! Have fun!

To be wild, full of wonder, joy in hand!

 

Now I see the secret ingredient here

To the mix that I’ve struggled to brew

I need to remember to do what I love

And to love what I have to do, too.

 

All the roles that I play these days,

All the different aspects I can be,

They all jumble together in a beautiful mess

When I remember to be wild, and playful and me.

The Rooster

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It was the rooster, then

Calling me awake

Staying up too late

Planting the seeds of our best dreams

In the clouds

And we would wonder why they fell.

I didn’t speak that tongue well,

But I learned all of the music,

I figured I could probably use it,

Worked the rhythm with my hands

And everyone was moved.

I knew that I was soothing

And I could carry all that brooding

For a time.

I could make rhymes out of our story,

Make it sound like wonder, glory,

Build us up so strong and tall.

And when you fall,

When the wind is just a bit too rough,

When the drugs have messed your balance up,

When you crash into a wall

Then you will know just how I folded,

How I sank down to my knees

And found support

Only at the stone cold bottom of an empty well

Where I fed myself on wishes

And reviewed all of my lists

Of all the signs that I had missed

And there was nothing left to do

But take apart the world I’d woven,

Criticize the words I’d carefully chosen

And warm up the parts of me I’d frozen

And I looked myself right in the eye.

And I know, now,

That the desperation that I felt,

My dedication to giving help,

Was my desire to be desired

By the parts of him

That reminded me of myself.

I know now,

That the rooster taught me in his way

Many things that shaped who I am today

And I can now look back and say

I wouldn’t change a thing.

But I know, now

Not to go wishing

On shooting stars

With broken wings.

No matter what they sing.

Grace

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Studying the magic of compassion,

I grant myself grace

And I keep all of my worries

In a secret hiding place

But sometimes, they build up a bit too much

And I must sort through

And weigh each mix of feelings

And sift out illusion from the truth.

I’ve been parenting myself so much,

My kids can benefit, too.

I’ve mastered cleaning up after myself,

But still there’s more to do.

I’m trying to stay aware of what’s most pressing,

Make the most of time,

And trust that my best is enough

To sail through snags and come out fine.

And I have found some new success

With things I once did struggle with,

But still a fear clings deep inside

That if I stumble or I slip,

Or if I rest a bit too long

Or cut myself too much slack,

That all I’ve built will tumble down

And knock me off my fresh laid track.

And it’s easy to feel lonely, now,

Or like I haven’t time for much,

But I feel a growing urge deep down

To soothe myself and keep in touch.

So much pressure I’ve applied,

Such a fire I’ve lit under me,

I’m not sure what will be left

If I’m not pushing myself forcefully.

But I’ve been studying compassion,

And I grant myself grace.

And I’ve completed much already,

And this was never meant to be a race.

Filled

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From where does this new tenderness creep,

As the air outside grows colder?

As I count the treasures I intend to keep,

And cast a glance over my shoulder…

What has cut me open so wide and deep;

What hopes to step inside?

What whispers to me as I sleep

That by daylight still does hide?

As I recount now what I’ve seen,

What I’ve gathered and have earned,

I wonder just what I can make,

And how far my wheel has turned.

I see now what I’ve left behind,

And know what I hope will stay.

Now, I wonder what will fill the space

Of what I dug out and burned away…

As the nights grow long and cold

I hope we’ll have warmth to share.

And when the days are short and lonely,

I hope we’ll find new ways to care.

As I look forward to the slowing down,

Time of stillness and retreat –

As I sense the stirring deep inside

Of the parts of myself I’ve yet to meet –

I’m grateful for all that has passed

And for what is coming still,

And I start to taste what I’ve been brewing

And look forward to being filled.

 

Alone

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She sat, cross legged

At the edge of the field

Staring past the treeline

Into the deep, dark of the forest.

She waited,

A picture of calm,

But her pulse quickened

And the beating of her heart

Throbbed with the rhythm

Of a reckless dance around a fire,

Where spirits run heavy

And feet run light.

She waited,

Knowing that something in that darkness

Was looking back

But no face emerged,

No voice rose from the stillness,

From the haze of the twilight.

Not even her own.

She stood slowly

And turned abruptly

And walked back home, alone.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

Spring Fevered Dreams

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You catch a glimpse of her bare heel as she darts behind the tree

And you are close, but not close enough

And you are quite sure that you can hear

Her heavy breathed laughter

Drifting through the woods

Amongst the ecstatic chirping

Of spring-fevered aviaries

Feathers dropping all around you

Like angels fallen

Into Earthly pleasure.

Your blood runs hot

And your legs pump with abandon

Naked feet falling into each step

Without needing to be told

Where to go.

You were made for this,

I told you so.

Once you were tired and timid

And holding back

But you felt the calling even then

And it drove you to madness.

Drawing curtains over the sadness

Pacing circles into the floorboards

Wearing them down

Until you fell right into the ground.

Well, here you are now.

You’ve done the hard work

Of pushing through the constraints

Of your old shell

And bursting open,

Now, give ’em Hell.

Give them fire and desire

Spread your petals open

And receive the Sun.

Dance with devas and dragons

And run.

Pounding steps along the forest floor

Chasing the reflection of your own desire

And finally catching up

And finding more.

Show us what you came here for.

Go out and play

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The ancient woman, the dusty crone
Gathered up your broken bones
And sang a song around them ’til
They took new shape, spaces filled
And so you rose and took new breath
Refreshed from your cold, winter rest
With the seeds deep in the Earth
You celebrate your own rebirth
The ice melts with each passing day
You are still a child, go out and play.

Antlers Curled

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Hooved prints deep in the snow
The antlers twist and curl and spread
The creature looks you in the eye
With heavy crown upon it’s head.
His gaze is piercing, cutting deep
It opens you from mind to heart.
You feel the world, and so you weep
Your tears cast sparkles in the dark.
Your exiled home within the deep
Your frozen refuge, forest home
Has kept you well, but now you creep
Out into a great unknown.
You have his solemn, sturdy grace
You stand so tall and turn around
Your stride leaves footprints much like his
Treasure glowing in the ground.
Your throat wells up with songs to sing
Your voice is carried on ahead
You follow your own echoes ’til
You lead yourself back home again.
From seen above, your prints and his
Swirl and reach around the world
And if you were to trace the path
It would look like antlers curled.

 

For Air

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Upon breaking the surface
of the dark, choppy water
she found herself gasping for air
and felt everything so clearly
after the time spent muffled
in the dark

She was a bit frightened
of this new sense of exposure
to be linked directly
to everything around her
after that comforting prison
in the dark

Trying to remember
where she was going before,
she could not quite capture
the same feeling
that old direction

Something was different
inside of her
from being locked
in an intimate embrace
with her own shadow
and nothing else
for so very long

Disorientated, yet enlivened
the vast expanse
of potential
which she had gained
began to dawn on her
and she laughed

Breathing deeply now
the wind blew cold
on her skin
and she did not tremble
or pull away from it

After years of watching
birds pass by
from the ground
feeling stuck and resentful,
she unfurled her wings
and she flew.