To women

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous -
Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.
Your playing small doesn't serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.

It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone,
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously
Give other people permission to do the same."

-unknown

Amersterdam

we walked along the small brick streets of Amsterdam
first in the sun then the rain
hand in hand we strolled
taking in the old tall narrow buildings
a mix of residential and business
cafes at every corner and more
passing over the glistening waters of the canals
the bells of bikes still ring in my ear
signaling their passing
Van gogh and Rembrant linger on my mind
jazz notes play in my ear
my walk will never be the same
i will carry with me the internal sense of freedom
knowing there are others that live the words
freedom and tolerance
that walk with confidence
it is the culmination of a journey
back to self
a confirmation of truth
and a celebration of the human soul.

wedding day

Glorious, glorius day
radiant sun piercing through
a clouded sky
we prayed, the children an I
for blue skies until dinner was over
holding hands, we prayed

the music played at the church
and eyes were wet with tears
the happiest of all days
a joyous uniting of two souls
who finally found their home.

our home

an oasis of tea green
i'm swimming
in the cool colors
of this room
painted by us
together
our home
i can still see
the letters
i luv you
painted on this wall
in our home
our home.

Heat - by Jane Hirshfield

(one of my new favorite poems!)

My mare, when she was in heat,
would travel the fenceline for hours,
wearing the impatience
in her feet into the ground.

Not a stallion for miles, I’d assure her,
give it up.

She’d widen her nostrils,
sieve the wind for news, be moving again,
her underbelly darkening with sweat,
then stop at the gate a moment, wait
to see what I might do.
Oh, I knew
how it was for her, easily
recognized myself in that wide lust:
came to stand in the pasture
just to see it played.
Offered a hand, a bucket of grain—
a minute’s distraction from passion
the most I gave.

Then she’d return to what burned her:
the fence, the fence,
so hoping I might see, might let her free.
I’d envy her then,
to be so restlessly sure
of heat, and need, and what it takes
to feed the wanting that we are—

only a gap to open
the width of a mare,
the rest would take care of itself.
Surely, surely I knew that,
who had the power of bucket
and bridle—
she would beseech me, sidle up,
be gone, as life is short.
But desire, desire is long

happy mother's day

"happy mothers day to you"
written in bright thick colors
against the blue
card that opens to show
little hand-prints
bigger than before

she writes now
reads too
today she made two goals
running hard, laughing
against the blue.

packing

i don't know
what to make of it all
it was
like the life before me
captured in pictures
in letters
in hearts
it was

never enough.

surrender

it's not too late to know
the colors i dare show

it's not to soon to leap
into my rivers deep

it's not to bold to say
you always wanted it that way

and it's not to weak to see
the truth in you and me.

the peaceful cat

it is me
the peaceful cat
spread out in the ray
of sun
warmed by your touch
nudged in the crescent of your neck
leg thrown over your long body

getting to quiet

quiet to chatter
chatter to screeches
screeches to crying
crying to laughter
laughter to quiet
quiet to chatter

chatter to..
when do we get to quiet again?

how the light comes

i know how the light comes
slowly, creeping, in measures
as you are ready
like eyes adjusting to a dark room
unable to see through the black
frightened of the unknown
then it comes
slowly, creeping, in measures.