Journey of the Heart

I have come to a place of celebrating the feminine divine and the dear circle of women in my life…   Through the many shifts in my life, they are there to dance with me, shed tears with me and laugh with me. We hold each other in the sacred circle, I honor them in all the times we gather, and hold them all, so precious to my heart. I Honor You I honor you, dear woman- inspiration that, touches my soul. I bow to you, with clasped hands- holding your heart, close to mine. we gather in sunsets, by full moons, in the seasons turning, and we drum, to the beating feet- of our dancing. my offering, I now bring- I honor you, your beauty, your soul, your heart, your tears, that spill- upon my face. our laughter, that sings- when we hold, our circling- around the day, of our coming. in the time of, my awakening- you held me, in the sacred space- in the time of my breaking, you wrapped me- in your arms. I...

I’m missing her: my cousin. She's been gone since 1987, and still I miss her... As I walked tonight in my neighborhood, on a summer day, like those I remember playing with my cousin, catching lightning bugs, I felt a wave of loneliness.   In the later evening, I held the vase and felt the spirit of her living on through a creation by her. It might as well be an urn. But it's comforting to have even after all these years.  The Vase I hold the vase you made, cream colored with daisies and butterflies, indentions you carved into wet clay. I cup it gingerly, possibly the last thing you created, before giving it away. Killed in 1987,  my best friend, cousin, only one year younger than me, I walk through life missing you, searching for my best female friend, yet always feeling left alone. We wore one another’s shoes, switching one for the other, wearing mismatch, feeling completed by the exchange, knowing no matter wher...

This recent poem came to me from a reflection of “what is poetry”? The question felt so wide open, as poetry has many facets. It also feels like a process, a creation or an unfolding of a deep knowing. It seems to have its own intelligence and principles of organizing, similar to the laws of nature. And if I allow it, surrendering to its flow, it manifests in the same way as all of life unfolds...from the most subtle to wholeness, completion. Within the science of Ayurveda, there is a theory of the five elements, that everything in creation is composed of these elements. Starting with space and the expansion that comes with this. Followed by air, which like wind creates movement and direction. Fire then creates light and heat, allowing transformation to take place. Water brings liquidity, fluidity and cohesion...integrity. Then finally, earth brings form and structure, completion...it has been manifested. Such is poetry and the creation of all forms, the microcosm of the mac...

It wasn’t until I recently experienced a true awakening that I started to follow and sense the phases of the moon... It has been for the past 3 years that I have noticed her calling to me. It is not that I never noticed the full moon before. I have now come to a place where the rapturous beauty of the moon beckons me to look up with wonder, with intention, with respect for her radiant illumination. This poem is dedicated to the Super Full Moon of summer. Dim Night Upon The Super Moon the dim night, stops its breath at your gleaming- slipping through black, bold and golden- as if I could reach and touch, your glowing face. super moon, rising in the summer eve- all of you that embraces, the night- reflecting light upon, this earth, we, who often lost sight- holding only to the familiar, staying in our close rooms, our shut doors and windows, our houses, not noticing the bloom of you- resting in the sky. will we with haste, let your...

This is a tribute poem to Maya Angelou… When I think of her life’s journey, her laughter carried her to her rising. Her poems carried the world with love and truth. I honor her and celebrate her life. She took her convictions seriously, but always smiling, always looking and seeing with the eyes of her heart.   Her Words  ~Dedicated to Maya Angelou 1928-2014~ her words, brushed against- our souls, like angel wings- soft and strong, gentle song- of her heart. her words, laughed with- the voice, of empowerment- whimsical and sure, breathtaking and pure- filled with conviction, brought you to- resurrection, like seeds- they were sprinkled, across the ground- of your heart. they touched, the universe- and back, colors of her rainbow- like star dust, against our sky- so dark and black. her words, did not hesitate, to bring her- charging will, her words now- hold time still, forever- in our minds. ...

This little one surfaced tonight after a night of play with make-up, by myself… I stood out of the way and let it flow. It confirms my need, love, and the gifts found, in my own being, and loving, my own company.  Alone Time Alone time is sacred time. I feel the rhythm of my breath, the pause residing between thoughts, where everything slows down and vibrant colors return. I no longer live in hues of black, gray, and white. I remember myself, the self I’ve always known, even as a child, while in the peace of my own company. Sometimes she hides behind the hustle, the bustle, the busy, the grasping, and it’s sacred alone time that brings her back out, as if she hides behind a sycamore, in nature, with my true nature, holding the limbs  of the tree as hands of friends for comfort. I beckon her out, with silence, aloneness,  that is her, my, music. When she dances, it serves her, me, us with opport...