Lola

Left tied to the Post Office pole
outside early on a Friday morning
in May,
you were rescued
and found your way to
us.
A puppy, Border Collie, small,
friendly, yet
scared and oh so sweet,
all ready to join the family.
Oh Lola,
we fell madly in love with you when you found us.
Oh what a Mother’s Day present of 2011
when you leaped into our hearts.

Loud Silence

There’s this thing
in this moment
when the silence
is loud
and my breath
awakens me
to what is real.
Now I know
you are an illusion.

Heart in a Box

I place my heart
in a box.
I open the drawer.
I put the box in there.
Not allowed out
until
the love I have
for myself
is complete
and
constant.

Winter Coat Boycott

Winter Coat Boycott

You are cordially invited to the winter coat boycott.

Winter coats will no longer be worn.
None.
At all.
Throw all winter coats, winter hats,
wool and knit scarves, mittens, gloves,
long underwear, insulated, carharts, thermo socks, and wooly,
wintry, thick, sweaters into the boycott winter coat
box and store deep down in darkest corner of the
basement.
Not to be looked at, thought about,
smelled, washed or mended
until the first snowflake is spotted next December
if luck has anything to do with it.

Now, at long last,
listen to the giddy with happiness birds,
in the early morning songfest,
breathe in the fresh thawed out,
ooozzzy wormy, damp and musty grass and mud,
cleanse thy pores with the warm, sweet like sugarwater rainfall,
let the soulful, sexy spring wind indeed blow
your to-do list out of your hand,
and relax
and enjoy the coasting ride into
sultry hot and humid, yippy skippy,
skinny dippy out on the lake, hiking till sunset,
summerlove.

Sunday, Sunday

Lazy day Sunday,

ahhh but ahhh

warm in my face

sunshine

so little stress.

Making it a great day,

making every day feel like Sunday,

and the blood pressure goes way down,

and the hot Fair trade coffee tastes

ultra

outstanding,

and my heart sings

this sweet life

in the most beautiful little town in

the world along the Mississippi

is the best.

 

 

Ancestoral Jolt

It is the

blustery grey,

cold wind

with drizzle late March

keep the wool sweater on,

am I in Ireland,

kind of day.

Off on the hill,

the old majestic mansion of a

beaten down farmhouse

overlooking a massive expanse of rolling hills,

we feel like we flew to the homeland.

I look in your eyes as we

scan each room with memories flooding,

ripped down wallpaper,

falling antique plaster,

breath taking windows,

amazing high ceilings,

grand sliding doors coming out

of the walls,

Italian marble fire place,

absolutely gorgeous.

We can hear the laughter

of a happy time of homesteading,

the smell of a  hot beef barley soup and

warm bread in the oven.

Ten years of work to do

on weekends

to return this beauty to her

original state,

centuries have already passed.

Time moves faster,

so do the geese in V formation,

soaring above,

and the wind keeps blowing,

our roots are planted deep to the core

as we stand on the fir porch

breathing in love,

breathing out fear.

I know

we have been here before.

Let Go, Cling On

One day

is all it took

to realize

that clinging to

as in

being a Cling ON

as in Spock

and the Vulcan Grip

will get one nowhere

and

letting go

of all resistance

and attachment to

as in

watching all the

beauteous

puffy white clouds

pass over the light baby blue sky

one by one

is the ticket to

whatever one

desires.

Well,

maybe

it took

a day to grasp

and

a lifetime

to master.

Sweet Space

It is a rare moment,

unplanned,

that the sweet space

deep inside

seemingly untouchable,

where most cannot

get to

or even dare to discover.

Underneath,

in between,

unknowingly

open.

Turning the angle,

reframed,

a brightened

view

in the dark,

sighing

in

silent

tender

enchantment.

And He Prayed

For Lynn, the man who prays for anyone who pops into his head at anytime…many a prayer he has said for me and for this I am truly appreciative.  The power of prayer, no doubt, is a potent tool.

Thoughts come in

about anyone

at any given time

and the

prayers

overflow

out of the bubbling fountain.

Each  jewel,

each

crystal,

pristine,

perfect

bubble

is

a

prayer

for

you

and

you

and

you

and

when the bubble bursts,

the blessing

is

now.

Paying Homage

Winding around Hwy 61,

sunshiney,

refreshing 32 degree winter morning,

scoping for eagles  in trees,

illegally texting my son a question

about why he is sad,

instanteously running out of gas,

unable to get cell phone reception.

Hitch hiking along this scenic highway,

the first car drives by,

the second stops.

She says I look like a million bucks

and

can’t understand why the first car

didn’t stop.

I was returning from

paying a seatbelt ticket

$110 dollars

didn’t fight it,

we exchange ticket stories for the duration

of the drive back to town.

Paying the fine late,

texting illegally,

running out of gas,

not really leverging the power of the

Universe.

Good samaritan,

classy grey haired energetic baby boomer woman shining in gold like the sun,

you pick me up,

tell me twice

I look like a million bucks.

That is an inside job.

My insides feel like I radiate

a million bucks just from

sheer,

pure,

innocent joy

like the beautiful snow covered oaks,

ash, maples, and pines,

cathedral-like and magestic

in their virginity

along the side of the road.

Well,

it is time to pay homage

to the gifts all around me,

and I know the answer

before I even ask the question.