Monday, August 23, 2010

goddess #52

no sunbathers here today
only rain and surf
washing the ancient rocks that line the shore.
fifty-two weeks ago
on a bright sunny day
the first goddess found her place 
way down the other end of the beach.
today her sister sits in the rain.
same beach, only different
same ocean, only different
same goddess, only different
same me, only different.
the goddesses, the weeks, the places
dissolve into one another
like this goddess
dissolving into the wet greyness
of rocks and sea and sky.

Monday, August 16, 2010

goddess #51

rain threatens today
not the devastating floods drowning pakistan,
nor the downpours succeeding drought and fire in russia,
nor any of the other numberless disasters across the globe.
just a polite new england rain
washing clean the puddingstone,
falling on the plastic bags, food wrappers, and assorted debris 
scattered by the weather front known as homo sapiens.
in a thousand years
will we still be here?
casting about our stuff?
seeing only ourselves?
or will have learned to breathe with the body of the earth?
to see with the eyes of all beings?
in a thousand years will we finally understand with the mind of all that is?

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

goddess #50

business is booming here at the dunkin' 
in the state of "live free or die".
but i'm drawn past the edge where the mowing ends 
and the weeds grow high,
thinking that "live free and die" is perhaps more apt,
since the "dying" part is really not optional,
and the "living free" part is easier said than done.
and i think of janice singing 'bout how 
"freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."
and i think perhaps she's right -
how slowly divesting,
letting go of things -
of ideas
of what's right and wrong
safe or dangerous -
makes it just a little easier 
to walk past the edge
and sit among wild blackberries
listen to cicadas
and enjoy the goldenrod brilliant against the summer sky.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

goddess #49

some urban artist assembled sheet metal
carving out ciphers on this hillside,
then erected sentinels to watch over the weeds as they grew,
softening the edges of the steel-framed beds.
i imagine squashes growing here,
their golden blossoms bright among eggplants, tomatoes, cukes and kale,
nourishing this neighborhood on the other side of the tracks.
i see pumpkins ripening in the sun, 
peas and beans adorning the chain link fence,
and a woman, young and vibrant, who perished nearby - 
wiped out as she pedaled home some years ago.
she would have smiled to see a garden growing.

Monday, July 26, 2010

goddess #48

sisters - separated by endless loops of razor wire that sparkle in the sun
me - free to come and go, to make the countless small decisions that determine my life
you - confined by endless rules and the barked commands of crackley loud speakers,
indecipherable to me, but understood by you, the result of long practice and necessity.
and yet, we are the same.
it could have been me on your side of the wire if causes and conditions had been different.
it could have been you on this side.
and so we breathe slowly, in and out
sense our bodies sitting here, alive in this very moment
and learn to be free and to know that we are one.

Monday, July 19, 2010

goddess #47

a beaver dam dressed in green - 
strawberries, blueberries, moss, and ferns.
the lake three feet above where i stand with an eerie sense
of the built and the unbuilt.
earlier mineral hard land gave way to delicate new ferns, then rich forest humus . . 
then opened to this vista of water, lilies, and trees.
i am touched by tiny winged beings 
and remember how many of them there are compared to us -
some incredible number of times our biomass-
and i can only stop
and breathe it all in
as an inchworm makes her way across my page.

Monday, July 12, 2010

goddess #46

a pause
in this day that cycles between downpour and brilliance
the kind of day where there might be a rainbow
but isn't
only the wet lushness of green moss
mist rising from the earth
and a thousand other shades of green
gladdened by the arrival of sudden storms.