Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Shattered Glass

Tuesday, October 20th, 2009

I am the glass shattered
On a clear
Winter day
Appearing as ice
On an otherwise
Unbroken surface

I am the dove
Holding her sound
The weight
Of the gray sky

I am the mountain
Beneath the sun
Holding the tendrils
Of winter
To not unleash
My power
Upon the plains

I am the air
You breath
Whether or not
You call me

*image credit: Adobe

Query: perceived reality

Tuesday, March 17th, 2009

If I were to dream but then awake
yet hovered between the two
would it be the time awake
or time asleep
that was more true?

Whose rainbow is it anyway?

Saturday, January 24th, 2009

Can I hold
The rainbow that I see
Gather it
In clumps
Shoving down to
Mix with the lint
And remains of my day
Within pockets?

If I can’t do that
Feel that
Does it mean
I or would it be,
have failed
Or ceased to exist?


Sunday, December 28th, 2008

Forgive me
in advance
I know not what I do
at least
in the moment before doing.

I stumble on this path
sometimes realizing
what it is
what I have said
what I have done
to hurt you.

i think sometimes
out loud
but on paper
or would that be
the blank canvas of this page?

So often
i let the words
and run
into my
my moments
not seizing them
not taking them hostage
making them
account for themselves.

without reason,
i grab a pen
or a keyboard
and make them
make themselves known
to stop
the cycle of words

they now
to ask,
why would I want
to be them?
Heads bowed
backs bent,
against and under
the weight
arms draped down
anguished leather
of fingers pricked
and worn
under a machine
within dark enclosed space
the only sky
the sound
someone counting,
and again,
the worth

Soap Bubbles

Sunday, December 28th, 2008

To open
to live
to breath
the kiss of the immortal
As I sell myself
against time
not as nice as I used to be
half as nice
as I may be tomorrow
I kick at the confines
soap bubbles dispersing
in the water
leaving film
my fingernail scratches
the outer edges
beginning to claw
the blue
at the edge
of vision
pulling back
light from beneath
now silent
resting on the counter
dishes pulled from the washer
a cycle complete

Against the sky

Sunday, December 28th, 2008


Against the sky
I breath
watching you take flight
I don’t count
how many you are
I see only
until later,
much later,
when I print you,

Today is a handful, or slightly less, of seeds

Thursday, December 4th, 2008


the Earth fell from beneath my feet

but it was not

an unusual occurrence

because yesterday

the same occurred.

I woke,

I stood,

I put my feet upon the ground,

I lifted my arms,


and looked to the windows,

where recently,

i hung scraps of cloth,

to obscure the view.

of them,

or me?

It does not matter.

I know there are times,

we belong to no one

but ourselves and God in our heart,

and those moments are




they are the moments,

God willing,

when the rest of the world

stands back

and does

not come through our door uninvited

and we have moments

just for thanks and gratitude

that we are

in those moments ok.

It will be the harrowing moments after

of self realization

CNN or Fox News

where we may doubt our own


So long as we hold


in the moments in between

we can gather courage

like beans

or seeds


in a pocket

promising a different now.

Peace to you. We send such loving thoughts your way.

Surface Earth

In my hands

Monday, November 24th, 2008

In my hand

I hold

the promise of today

which was the breath,

the blink,

of yesterday,


In my hand,

I hold,

the courage,

of a moment,

fingers curled,


palms warm.

In my hands,

I hold,

the tempo,

of a new tomorrow,

watch my fingers spread,

reaching to the horizon,

refusing to meet,

a dividing line.

In my hands,

I hold,

the spark of hope,

so tiny,

I dare not look,

to see,

if it exists,

but close my eyes,

against the

sand of time,

willing granules

to become affixed,

within my eyelashes,

so short these days.

I will,

the space of time,

to exist,

as I hold it,

in my heart,

and send to you.


Surface Earth

When a heart breaks, does it have a sound?

Sunday, November 23rd, 2008

What is the sound,

of one heart,


One heart,




What is the sound,

can there be,

when no one outside of yourself

can hear it?

Or is sound,

an image,

something transfixed,


into gesture and face?

Can we hear the sound

of a heart breaking

in visual imagery?

Imagine this,

if you will,


through a moment in time,

when life becomes reversed,

when the difference,

between what is and what isn’t,

is no difference at all,

where there are no lines.

Imagine if you will,


in fact,

the wrong look,

the wrong intonation,

the wrong laugh,

and imagine,

that is all it takes

to make you into

the other.

What is the sound,

of a heart breaking?

What does it mean,

to be the other?

Who must you be first,

where must you stand,

to call


of your brothers

or sisters,

the other?

May peace be with you.

Surface Earth


Monday, April 7th, 2008

Envelops me
Its knotty
Gnarled veins
As time
Otherwise mine

Fingers tracing
The Navaho existence
Of the planes
Of my
Against the sky





To this
Playing bingo
With time

Life Unfolded

Friday, March 28th, 2008

Do you ever wonder,

why you are here?

In blogland?

Is that even a word, blogland?

I sit in the spaces,

of the music tonight,

Sarah McLaughlin playing,

I could not find the other cds I wanted to hear,

it does not make her unworthy,

but perhaps,


Did I tell you the story?

Once upon a time,

there was a little girl,

she was too big,

yet too small,

she set off for school,

on one of those buses,

you know,

the yellow ones,

she couldn’t reach the first step,

but refused the help of her family,

the bus driver reached down,

across three ascending steps,

a hand,

and grabbed her,

into tomorrow.

He reached,

and she held,

and she stepped,

into the time,

that was not defined.

She was gone.

She spent the days after,



maybe only once,

being forgotten,

on the very front seat of the bus,

the one behind the driver,

reflected in that big mirror,

but not seen,

the littlest one,

there that day,

into the bus pulled into the yard,

and someone,

a stranger,

found her,

unaccounted for….

she arose the next day,


and got back up those stairs,

without a hand that time,

she did not want one.

She got off the bus,

the right stop this time,

and at three,

or was it four,

she remembered,

the sun playing across the cement,

the butter in her hand,


without the excuse of bread.

The way the sun

sat upon the world,

not asking,



And in this moment,

this fresh, new Spring,

she wonders,

if the girl,

will have her back.

The Dandelion

Tuesday, March 25th, 2008

I turned my head

And You were gone


I hear sounds around the realm of me

I don’t know what they are

What You are doing



I claim

To know You

Better than anyone

But I can’t feel

What would happen

If we surrendered

To the world around us

If we hung our heads

And just admitted

That it was not for us to see


But since

We don’t know

It’s not then pretend,

is it?

I make rules

And regulations

On Your speech

When I defend others

Whose rules?

Not Jesus

I lift from my seat typing those six letters

Lord hear me


If I could explode the world would tremble

If I gave even a percentage

Of what happens inside of me

Even witnessed a moment

Of how

I want to scoop

Up the pain

In the world and tend to it

A gardener

In an untended basket

I want my hat pulled low

My brim to the Earth

I want to bow in thanks

I want to dance

And tell You



When my feet hit Your contours

I want to say

I am sorry for being ashamed


Being alive


I am sorry

I apologize for who I am

that would bow

to You



kiss the dandelion

peeking out

between the cement slabs

The Valley is Mine

Monday, March 24th, 2008

The Lord God

is beautiful

He lives within

the valley of my days

He stands


and wrings His hands

as I

set the water to warm

fingers crossed

and stuff

the sink

with a handtowel

as the stopper

stopped long ago

as I take one of ten

of a pack


and sink them into the water

and two of four

of a pack

and sink them




the Dove

I wish organic


beneath the trickle

and say

how wonderful

how divine

I have withstood time

I have taken

the necessities

of a woman in business

and parceled them to



a value pack

and have further


the value

beneath my tap

I have laid

the efforts of my days

against the cracked

tile of the tub


have thrown



within the graying water

the rest that

keeps me whole

setting it



along the path

of my legs

my feet

that raise




Two Hands

Friday, February 22nd, 2008

He was given

two hands

on which to count

to hold

to grasp

On one

he counted

the injustice


the favors


The other

lay empty




Sitting on the edge of the universe

Sunday, February 17th, 2008

I sit

feet beneath me

crawled into

the depth of a chair

I sit



is somewhere

on the edge of my being

I falter

hanging on

fingers on the edge


how hard

I should hold on

I want

to send you a picture

a sketch

a charcoal

sketched against

off white

rough paper

to show you

what my words mean

but I lack the materials

and the time

in this moment


I sit on the edge of the universe

my faery feet


into the foam of the ocean caps

I dip

my toes

the toes I sometimes




I dip them in

those little things

I dip them in and out

do you see them now?

those five points

dipped in foam?

those happy



sprayed against the

horizon of the sky

against the epicenter

of the unknown?


I sit

on the edge

of a moss covered rock

I dip

my toes

into the clear


clear waters of a meandering stream

I watch what I think

are the

never moving rocks

the pebbles

watching the

water go by

I dip and dip again


My faery feet

I see them well

I never asked

I never told

just a little one

a wee one

they said



so slight

when they sucked my breath

I didn’t

know how to say


Thoughts on a moonless night

Thursday, February 14th, 2008

You have asked me

In no uncertain terms

To broker a deal

Against a sky with no moon

I have sifted

The moments of my time

Against the hourglass

Never fashioned

I bowed my head


Only once

And allowed the definition


Sunday, February 3rd, 2008

There is never a moment

I do not feel

The fleeting joy

Of the smile of your face

The curves of your cheeks

The lift to your eyes

For whatever else

We have been born to

It is not the promise

Of an earthly tomorrow

love within pure eyes

Thursday, January 17th, 2008

If I take a moment

And affix upon you

My battered eyes

I will not see

If I take a moment



The eyes I used

As a child


I will see


As you

See me



Sunday, January 13th, 2008

It comes down now-or should I say they?

The end of my day.

The resevoir of sound
Coats and soothes
This otherwise me
Willing it to turn to snow.

To awake at five in the morning
To rush to the window
On the tip
My toes
To hold
And waiver there
Into the glass
Of the
Next moment.

Poetry, Writings and Rambling Thought

Thursday, December 20th, 2007

The following is an assortment of stream of consciousness writing. Some of it is old. All is unfinished. I’m just wandering through pages of writing. Maybe it was Grace finding her meditation draft book, or Sorrow 11, and her beautiful fridge, maybe it was the sheer tenacity of MotherWinterMoon or the brave heart of Ruby, maybe it is the absence of Ronnie and Mystery’s voices or the sweet sincerity of ToBeMe….but I wandered through small pages of my writing, small unfinished thoughts and leave them here this evening as a tribute to your own.

May the Divine bless you.



Thoughts on another Day (July 7, 2007)(07-07-07)


I wonder

as I meet myself on paper

thinking of the days

which I perceive

to start so early

so unrelenting.

The morning,

the Sun hung oddly in the sky

the glare

the impact

the weight


I wondered what it would be

to be wrapped in robes

trudging across a vast desert

having it as my home

easy then to believe

in a vengeful Almighty

when shade and water

would be my gold

and so often unfound

who would I be?


Let Me Ask




what is it,

to type from your soul,

to find,

that when you open

your eyes,

the words are gone,


a backstroke,

something gone awry

the words are gone

and I ask you

i plead

I beg


what have any of us done

to keep the world as it is?

my children laugh,

I am like a blind man at the keys,

my head rolls,

I refuse to watch what is written,

oh yes,

I go back for typographical errors,

but not for the moments within the breath,

I don’t know you,

you don’t know me

and you wouldn’t

for the person I am

was a person trampled upon

willing always to give

to the point of self extinction

I am done

I put my hand upon the plug

to stop this mind

yet, look upon the library

I put my head down

you don’t know what


cost me

to earn this rug

I put my head down




The barriers of Saturday

Copyright 2007: S.E.



The colors drain into me

A vortex

Of sound and light

I am color

I am words

I am what I was at the beginning

And what I was at the end

I am the moments in between

I type in a fashion

That if anyone were to see

They would be so confused

I can only hear the words

See them in blank

Close my eyes and let my

Fingers decide

What is it for a soul to fly

Within this earthly existence

What is it

What is it

What is it

There is a place removed

We all know

The touch on the shoulder

Thought you heard a sound

The flash of light

Or darkness

In the corner of your eye

A military tanker banked

And flew

As if on a human road

I lifted the fingers to my forehead


I don’t agree with war

I don’t judge the soldiers

I live within

And without

I am what you call here and not here

I am within you

All of you

Tilt your head

Turn it to the sky

Hear the birds

They are actually speaking

Have you forgotten the language

Watch a bird

If you approach


It will wait for you

There is a pattern to the morning

To the Seasons

To Spring

Why we go so many years without






The avenues of us





We go

Why we go

Because we do

It has been












Enter: S.E., copyright, 2007


Walk along the moss

The earth springing

Between my toes



Wrapped in gauze

Is what we called it






No tulips


Hair thickened

Feet bare


And bare


I breath

I breath

I breath


The oxygen has a name

When it enters my body

It is not

Just is


I pause

And look at the sky

I dip my fingers into the blue

I taste it



I light the world


I sit

Cross my legs

Fold unto myself

I glow


I draw the energy of the earth



Bowing my head



I say

To the earth

The soil

The pieces I didn’t

See before


The world

I sit atop

I am the woman

On the pot


On the fountain

Of knowledge

It moves through


It whistles

It gurgles

A stream

A winter thaw

Of a mountain

The cold clear

Never touched



Becoming me


I breathe

And am graced


You can see me

Feel me


my hair is in

what you think

is your wind


The way your car rocked

That was me

I was breathing

The lights that flicker?

It was me


Smiling and not smiling


We grin

The paths

The corrals

You humans

Have drawn against our creation


You have fenced yourselves



to free will




Sheer Walls Copyright, 2007 Surface Earth



I have gone from you

There is silence


A canyon


I have gone from you

And you didn’t falter

In your step

So convinced in your anger


You missed

The opportunity

For me

Not to go


I have gone from you

A bird from the North

Flying South to Sanctuary


I called for you

Cried for you

Screamed for you

Ceramic crashing to the ground

Did you hear me?



The silence of righteousness

Of anger

Followed the shards

There on the ground


Left alone

Extreme emotion


Without attention


I have gone from you

Somewhere on the bottom of the canyon

Unable to scale the walls

I won’t come back this time

I have told you

There are no handholds

No crevices

Within which my hands or feet will fit


Blue: SmallThoughts on Being Woman

Copyright, SE, 2007


She crawled across the floor, the blue of her dress dragging onto the wood which had not been waxed in years. Her arms extended in front of her, hands clawing at the ground, then sliding to catch air.


They had sucked too much from her, believing she could either take it or was blind.


She looked toward the window sill, the worn wood, wondering if it was a dog that scratched the molding, there were claw marks darkened with age. She lifted herself with her knees drawn up beneath her, her head against the molding , chin down. Her eyes lifted through the level of the trees, looking out to the road below.


How many years had she sat in this position within her mind without knowing it? When did she first begin to cower and why? She was transfixed with what she did not know about herself, either what others had never told her or what she had not told herself. She rubbed the dirt from beneath her nails, she wasn’t grotesque, quite the opposite, she was told she was beautiful. Every once in a while, she would catch a glimpse of herself in a store window and be startled by her reflection, the angle of her cheek bones against the background and realize with a gasp that she was the woman reflected and she was indeed, in that moment, with that set of eyes, beautiful.



She has always been surrounded by people who tell you its black when its white.

Who are they protecting?

Certainly not her, lying through their teeth to serve their own motives. Is there a time when that is acceptable?



Pieces: Copyright 2007, surface earth




Do you see

There upon the floor

Your heel grounds onto

The piece of otherwise me



A thousand

Hawks circling


Already dead

Or gone



Yet with weight

There upon the air

Can you sense it?

My heart

Crying to you




A dead stare

Were you ever

Really there?







SurfaceEarth, 2006:

I feel like I’m walking in Heaven Lord

And there’s no other way to say it

I feel like I’m walking in Heaven Lord

Doesn’t matter where you put me

Where I land

Because now I get it

I see what

You have given me

And Lord

I feel like I’m walking in Heaven

I see the ceiling

In the room

Where I sit

But Lord

I hear the music that is ours

If we could but listen

I hear the sound

Of a saxophone

Wishing me a very Merry Christmas

I recall a funny card I saw the other day

“Happy Birthday to Me”

“And Oh, Merry Christmas to You”

Jesus surrounded on the front

I feel like

I’m walking in Heaven Lord

There are no lines

No forms to fill out

Which country I’ve come from

Or where I may go

I don’t need to keep up

With the Jones

Because the Jones are right here with me

I’ve got it all

You know

Right here inside of me

I feel like I’m walking in Heaven Lord

And thank you

For what you have given me

Cardboard Box in the Rain

Monday, August 20th, 2007

I sit within a section of time

I have placed myself in the center

the bottom

of a yet unfolded cardboard box

I follow the arrows

further the crease at the folds


one by one

the four sides

around me

I am sitting

within my slice of time

unaware as to the continuum

the cardboard

my barrier

the rain falls against the air

creating a curtain

drawing light from within

the appearance of morning

it glows within in its own making

the box has a lid

I attempt to draw down

there is no handhold

there is no way

to close and seal

the last piece

against time

Today is not yesterday

Thursday, August 9th, 2007

wintersky.jpgOnly at the Sky, -SE

Was there a time

When I knew more

Than I do today?


Three decades

Passing into four

How is it

I know less?


The trees


And rebirth

The same as the year before


I don’t know the last time

I climbed the branches

To count

Were there more

This season

Than last?

Were there less?


I breathed

Each morning



At the sky


I drew in

And out


I took my foot

Reaching behind the knee

And found a tree

With a limb

Close to me


I climbed


Only at the sky

Within these moments, poems form

Thursday, June 28th, 2007

So few are these moments, listening now, late at night, work tomorrow, Opera, a silence again within the spaces, rivers of words find themselves upon the page, three pages to be exact, untitled…


Holding onto children

the fear they will grow

away from you


is as if


spun cotton


into your pocket

to save for another

cold day


I want to hear your words

as pictures



then I can see

your thoughts in between

where your mind stutters


filling in the gaps

between our language

my hair

now falling

pieces on my arms

I mistake such occurrences for insects




What happens

when your stories

of stories

have become more familiar

to me


to you?

World Stripped Bare

Wednesday, June 6th, 2007

If I could

dip my hand

into the dimensions

cup my hand

right and left


the energy

adjust the imbalance

within this world

If I could

dip my hand

into time and space

and but see




a part of me

If I could




through the sky

scoop up



parallel worlds

sit them

side by side

upon the ground

the soles

of every foot

making contact

Other Random Thoughts

Darkness Calling

Sunday, April 8th, 2007

copyright 2007

I find my way to You

between the shrilling

ringing of the phone

the blare of horns

the hum

of the computer

I close my eyes

clear away

the veil of darkness


since waking

hooking my smallest finger

into the edge

of the fabric

closest to my right eye


a sliver of light

paved stones

trees blanketing

vision to the left and right


the apex

You stand


arms outstretched

I remain


at the fabric

my finger grown tired

the light fades 


Words Stripped Bare

Sunday, April 8th, 2007

copyright 2007

If I could

dip my hand

into the dimensions

cup my hand

right and left

feel the surge

of energy

right what is wrong

with this world

If I could 

dip my hand

into time and space

and but see

the particles

shift and dance

a part of me

If I could dip

my hand

across the sky

scoop up 


I could sift

parallel worlds

sit them side by side

upon the ground

If I could

dip my hand

within the sky

stop seeing with my eyes

stop breathing with my brain

If I could dip

my hand

within the sky

forget what I have been taught

and find the child in me

If I could dip 

my hand within the sky

would I

could I

feel what it is to create

the love of creation

bathing over me

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