Saturday, June 28, 2014

Sonnet #44: Drop anchor, and then rest

This fragile earth, our precious island home,
this haven for all life, both yours and mine,
the blue unending sea, these clouds which comb
the sky with streaks of light, those hints divine

of life beyond these shores, of depths below
the surface, yet unplumbed, where Self lies waiting
for us to stop and listen, learn, and know
what fuels our thoughts, our hopes, our loves, our hating --

all this provides both guide and inspiration:
a place to live and move and have our being;
to glide or rest - both critical for creation --
or simply to absorb what we are seeing.

So lift your sails, and fly before the breeze,
drop anchor, and then rest, and simply breathe.

Sunday, June 15, 2014

On Father's Day

I didn't call my dad on Father's Day.
We'd grown so far apart,
I couldn't think what to say
that wouldn't come out sounding like accusation.

I remember picking up the phone,
starting to dial, sitting beside my window,
looking at the view he'd never seen
-- and now will never see --
and wondering if he'd even answer the phone.
"Oh, what would be the point," I thought,
remembering the year before,
when I'd flown to Texas at Christmas time,
desperate to mend the rift between us,
and he'd called me at my hotel,
two blocks away,
to say he couldn't see me;

that he wouldn't risk his new wife's

And so, that Father's Day
I hung up in mid-dial.

We never spoke again:
his lawyer called --
less than a month later --
to tell me he was gone,
dead of a disease I didn't even know he had.

Each year on Father's Day,
I find myself
staring out that window and remembering
the year I didn't call my dad
on Father's Day.

Sunday, June 8, 2014

Sonnet #43: I hold creation

I hold creation cradled in my arms,
its heartbeat slightly faster than my own,
and the love that flows between us gently warms
earth, sky and seas; each beast, each plant and stone.

Vibrations resonate within my chest:
awakening, completion gently follow.
These moments, here with you, have been the best:
the loss that's soon to come will leave me hollow.

Let not the inevitable loss prohibit trust:
however much it hurts, don't be afraid
to love again; don't let some thickened crust
build up around your heart, don't barricade

against some future love for fear of loss:
the gift of love always outweighs the cost.