these arms

there is a time for us to share
expressions of the heart
when flooding lips fall words like rain
right at the journey's start

with certainty trip into love
face first and arms outstretched
we fall into each other's depths
trusting two hands to catch
 
but silence always has her say
time quietly unearths
the tender injuries and scars
brought on by love's first birth

questions arise, judgments are made
the impulse is to run
back to the the safe security
we've always known and done

but in stillness speaks a whisper
so meek it's rarely heard
"instead of closing, open up"
how gentle come the words

so muster all your strength, release
unnecessary fear
deep down you know this is the voice
you've always yearned to hear

it echoes from the sorest place
inside your aching soul
if it's where the pain is sharpest
it's where the wound is old

there is a time for us to share
for words off tongues to roll
but after all is said and done
comes time for arms to hold

self surrender

you don't feel like you have what you need
to move from this place.
you, sitting there in your chair,
with your blanket and your tea,
staring out the window at the rustling leaves
undulating in the spring breeze
writing poetry.

this is not stillness.
this is not simplicity.
this is not serenity.

this is you -- frozen.

just months before, your waters flowed freely.
there was movement,
a rushing toward.
but when you looked back
you found that you were rushing alone.

so you stopped moving.
your tears soaked you straight through.
the chill of loneliness washed over you.
and you have iced over.

what you call "stillness"
others call "anxiety"
that internal and unwanted "twitch"
is the uncomfortable feeling called fear.

you are afraid to move
because you are used to moving so fast
so far ahead of those whom you love
so that you can feel free

but now you see that you are untouchable
and you are afraid that if you move
to turn your head around
you will find that there is no one behind you

move.
but slowly.
stop running.
walk.
turn around.
find your way home.
there is love in that place.

and when you find someone there
take her hand
and learn to walk with her
and beside her
match pace.
trust.

you don't always have to lead--
you don't even know where you are going.

insomnia

Insistent eyes meet mine in the

Night, requesting watchful guard over a

Soul asleep to restfulness, riveted by its 

Own attention in the mirror of the mind,

Minding itself alone, absorbed in ceaseless

Nothingness, and interested only 

In assuring me that I am not yet 

Awake to my own need.

words unspent

words are a currency
sometimes overdrawn
checked with no courtesy
unbalanced with brawn

words are a currency
too often unspent
or said with urgency
and unclear intent

words are a currency
much greater than gold
worth more than all money
worthless when they're sold

words are a currency
both priceless and cheap
speak incoherently
and sow what you reap

words are a currency
of foreign exchange
lend with maturity
or leave with chump change

words are a currency
well-thought pension plan
share without warranty
and save all you can

 

tantrum

his tiny fingers grip the cold metal bars of the cage, inside
of me and he doesn't like me one bit, the angry
boy, strong and boy,
is he smart, and powerful
pouting lips, parted on
chubby cheeks, drawn
taught with rage, tugging
the brow, down and furrowed, into
button nose, creased
and unsatisfied, wanting
more, wanting more,
wanting, more
now. wanting what
he wants, now
he is inside of me, and my
cold hands reach through the metal bars, reaching
inside myself to take hold,
of him and to hold, him
in my hands, and tell him
that though he is small,
he is not unheard.

attention

Ask me again, I
Thought to myself when she stopped listening and began
To distract herself with whatnots, instead of to
Entertain the prickling
Notions popping up inside her head
That pretentiously
Insist that there is a girl
On this giant spinning ball who says that, right now, she is
Needing her to need that girl too

wet wishes

the penny drops into the well, wishes
washed away by wishes, upon
wishes wanting the rain
to whirl itself around each word wrapped
around each coin, counted
on by each childlike dream
dropped in to drown, out

side by side we wet each other's wish, cleansing
our conscious desire, to carry
more than we can contain, within
the confines of our cantankerous connection,
the uncooperative conduit of contentious concern, we hold

each coin, the currency of quarrel, caught
between fickle fingers fishing for faith, full nes-
tlings finding their future in the well-wishes of
this water, waiting for what is to come, to come
back to us