Tag: poetry

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Autumn Growth

The days are getting shorter,
my body moves with the sun:
early to bed, late to rise.
The leaves have fallen,
blanketing the earth
so the root children can sleep and
grow in secret, deep
in their mother’s womb.
My womb is filled with
a joy only I can feel, secret
movements and splashes.
Only a fullness in my
breasts and belly betray
the hidden life growing within me.
But the life is strong
drawing nourishment from my blood,
encouraging me to eat well
and gently care for my body.
The sweet soul within me
wants more than food;
Baby craves Reiki, loving touch,
and peaceful thoughts.
I tap into a power greater than me,
the Universal Mother, and
Baby and I both are nourished.

I feel more and more connected with my baby everyday. I am officially at the beginning of my third trimester. There are a lot of grand movements in my belly. My baby loves Reiki. It is really amazing. All will be quiet in my womb, but when I place hands on my belly and start sending Reiki the baby responds instantly with movement. Baby will draw a lot of Reiki for a long time and then things will quiet down again. The last time I was on someone else’s Reiki table the larger part of the session was focused on Baby. The practitioner felt that Baby was healing on a soul level. When I give myself Reiki the flow has a peaceful excitement; I do not sense that the Reiki is working primarily on the physical level– although I know it is supporting my baby’s tremendous growth– but the connection is more if a spiritual one. I am communicating with my baby’s spirit.

Last night when my daughter was giving Baby Reiki Baby responded sweetly to her touch with a lot of movement. They had a very special connection for a long time. Baby knows her big sister! We are very excited to receive the new person in our home on the physical plane. But even though we don’t know Baby’s gender or what their face will look like we are already communing soul to soul.

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Maypole Dance

Maypole Dance

over under
over under
my mismatched
ribbon under your
mismatched ribbon
around and around
feet on soft sand
drums and waves
fill the air
over under
over under
faster and faster
feet flying
arms rising and falling
my arm is up so
you can duck under
reach and duck
reach and duck
around and around
smiling laughing
smiling laughing
twenty people
simplified into
an undulating circle
with two alternating
opposite rhythms
of over and under
everyone smiling
concentrating
every thought either
over or under
no room
for confusion
the circle dances on
carrying us all away
in a singular
celebratory task
feet on sand
laughter and waves
beautiful spring air
our ribbons start out long
our circle is bigger and
slower and slowly
we go faster and faster
our ribbons get
shorter and shorter
we are the over under
we are the circle
the spinning earth
the blossoming spring
our individual
mismatched ribbons
disappearing into the whole
and not until my ribbon
has disappeared
do I have the chance
or the mind
to look up and
behold the perfectly
woven maypole
rising from the
center of our circle
tall glorious
all our efforts joined
together in magnificence

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Life

My friend Jean has inspired me with her fabulous blog full of excepts from her life. In her honor I am creating a new category for all random things that are neither Reiki or Doula or Birth Art, but can only be described in Jean’s words: “Other”. To get in the groove I have been going through the sketchbook I have been using since the fall. This is the book that I take to all my meetings. It holds all my to do lists, sketches, outlines, rough drafts, and poetry. Many things are born in this book and never grow beyond its pages, but instead are buried when six months later I need to buy a new sketchbook. My task today has been to edit my sketchbook poems. Here they are, every poem I have written since September in chronological order!

Winter Artist Date

A cloud of little dark birds
like swirling leaves in the distance,
rush hour traffic going by,
and me nestled between trees
and the library, sitting on cold cement.
My pants are too tight.
Circles of leaves and garbage
are blowing in brisk air.
Someone in the parking garage
is speaking with a policeman.
A woman walking is a small dog
so it can poop, and she can pick it up
with a plastic grocery bag.
What am I doing here,
when will I be too cold to stay out,
and where will I go then?
More little dogs doing their business,
the traffic died down some,
maybe I will go, but where?

The Questions We Don’t Ask

The questions we don’t ask,
the ones we don’t have words for;
vague loneliness and disconnection,
silence, white noise, broken
pathways from heart to brain;
tears so deep, buried
beneath layer upon layer
of fear and lies,
fundamental lies,
consumed in baby bottles
filled with foreign milk;
lies fed to mothers,
passed down mother to mother
through omission of magic;
power, strength represented
only in shadow, silhouette,
rather than invoked through intention.

Memories

Two lovers linger outside my open window
as you sing from my stereo speakers.
My dog barks at the lovers as the sweetness
of your adoration blossoms in my memory.
My bread dough rises. I punch it down,
and shape it into two separate loaves.

To my true love

I long to have your attention undivided,
your complete adoration
words, hands, body, mind;
no worries or sadness
drawing your thoughts away
like distracted children.

A Tree Grows

A tree grows day in and day out,
dry and wet years, wanting no more
than to reach the sky.

A tree gives day in and day out,
to the air, to the soil,
to the birds and little creatures.

A tree says “yes” day in and day out,
“yes” to the woodpeckers, the sun and the rain,
“yes” to the winds, both the gentle and the harsh.

All this growing, giving, striving
is done in perfect time ;
a tree doesn’t hurry the blossoms or the fruit,
the birds or the sky.

Neighbors

Two birds are calling, in unison,
voices on opposite ends of the field;
talking with one another, sentences
punctuated by a woodpecker,
brought to me on a spring breeze.

Untested Boundaries

My little dog does not know
that if she nudges the
unlatched door it will open, or
how easy it is to push past
the torn screen door;
even though she loves
being outside more than anything.

Today I am Perfect

Today I am perfect.
I have all I need,
all I want.
My heart is warm and full,
the sun bathes me in light;
the earth holds me close with her love.
I have given up all
deadlines and agendas,
there is nothing I need to do
except daydream and drink in sunshine,
living out my thank yous.