Monthly Archives: January 2011

EVENING CAME AND MORNING FOLLOWED

One night’s delight– an evening sequined dance Then morning sprang and sang a tune of wet and splendid cloud expanse, Ensued a drowsy, pleasing afternoon. . . Whose morrow sprouted rich with brightly moving sun

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THE VOICE THAT MAKES NO SOUND

Sometimes a choice speaks in the only voice that manages a stint. . . maybe not so eloquent. . . and sometimes, to my detriment I choose. . . but, because it’s me who has the say and that’s the … Continue reading

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THE WHISPER-SINGING GRIP

How can I hold the one who needs to be held but wants to be free, but cannot trust so well to be held by anyone but me? She needs to know I will not let her fall, but that … Continue reading

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GAME FOR LIFE

What makes sport is that no one knows in advance how it will turn out. What makes life is that it has its own flow, and cannot possibly be set in stone at the outset. Both require presence, and a … Continue reading

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THE SENSE OF SONG

Could I tell you that singing in the morning in a choir with sunlight in my eyes bright streaming, infuses joy and grief and many other feelings large, intertwined, and running underneath? And that, as I wipe away an almost-surfaced … Continue reading

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WISHING INTO THE WIND

This woman’s wishing she could say a momentous enough thing. . . to make it all better. For me. For you. For the world, in fact. . . Not that you and the world and I are likely to see … Continue reading

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STILL SUN AFTER THE WIND

Good things are happening that are needing to happen, though not in the way or the pace that I might ordain. . . But, in good time, that may come, too, and I will be here to take it all … Continue reading

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THINGS DO CHANGE OVERNIGHT

I stride +++++amid this winter evening peace. . . The white, full moon, +++++glowing over star-pricked, ink blue space presides. . . but this, +++++by darkest morning hour, +++++when I am safe with roof and walls +++++my shelter, gives way … Continue reading

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There IS a There, There

On floor, cross-legged, sitting like a little kid in a moment still and quiet, seeking secrets that reside between the world of the light and the one behind my closed eyelids.

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EBB AND FLOW

Going with the flow, going with the ebb. The tide has its own time, the rhythm, its own reason.

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