The Only Poem
This is the only poem
I can read
I am the only one
can write it
Poetry Category
Holy Insomnia
There are those who sleep; and there are those who are called to dwell in the divine in-between. They go by many names: Monks, Poets, Artists, Writers, Singers, Nuns, Parents, the Sick; all those who sit upon the edges, the sacred company of holy insomniacs; ghosts…
Messenger
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand…
On the Road, two…
Talking this morning, a lot, your gift to me, a shared discovery / in the midst of Not Knowing, All in its own Way, beautifully / reflected moments arising out of openness, showing up, / a small taste, love given, yourself, Being, in-seeing…
On the Road, one…
Fell down a rabbit hole
again, a couple days ago,
mind like a mad hatter, filled
with clashing illusions…
None of the stories real,
however much I believe
they are, which maybe,
at the moment, I don’t…
Woman
In the old ways
we were always
dying for her love,
living alone for his.
Something may have
been born into eternity
out of such a union,
But that way is past,
and now a new way
must be found…
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