What A Difference A Day Makes

Miles from the fight of yesterday
I sit quiet, close to my grand boy
Watching some cartoon rabbits
Who only speak gibberish

I say often take me as I am or choose
Another because this is who I am though
I self-examine more often than can be healthy
My conclusion always is that this is a masterpiece
Of created reflection, this body and soul that walk
Around sometimes blowing up everything in sight
Then begging forgiveness other times
Loving so tenderly I make Love cry.

Changing is divine when everything is wrong
Remaining whole is divine when everything is right.
You choose, would you rather change the one you love
Or love the one you want to change? Hummm???


Mountain View

This view of mountains used to be my home
Here now I search again for You listen for the sound of
Love, wonder if it is the wind or the still small voice
Take refuge in the Dwelling place of All That Is
Bend my being to enter your house…no just actually
Open my bones and see that this is where I Am
Take your always open hand to begin the dance
Again, as if something in forever had stopped
Drink like a wanderer lost in the desert amazed
To find that I thirst no more and there is no other voice.

The Dance of Life

The wild sweet cry of here we go
Rings out from every room
Another five weeks on the road
The breath of family everywhere
From Maine to Colorado I feel
Our mother earth in birth…the fear
Of flight and TSA, the smell of rain
And rotting earth, the farm in Maine
The mountain song we’ll sing in Colorado
I hear your voice that sings with stars
We’re dancing hand in hand with soil’s
Pregnant love we grow again as part of All
In earth and sky and tattered human bodies.

Some Things Unburied by the Isla Vista Massacre

I spent several years
Working in the battered women’s movement
From which I was rejected by some of the women
I worked with because I was hired to deal with the men
Who abuse. I think blame is the issue. If I speak of
Our culture as violent to women, someone will want to rape me.

If I say lets deal with the sickness culturally and individually the
Disease that causes fear and rape and murder say nothing
Of the endless lives of desperation that some women lead
Or the fear that I carry of walking alone even in “good”
Neighborhoods especially after dark,
In terms of healing not of blame then I will no
Longer be a sister, not belong to the women
I am so old that I have been through the woman’s
Movement of the sixties and seventies,
I have counseled endless women on how
To survive or get help or heal from being raped as children
Taught men in prison how to survive being raped by their mothers and fathers

My own life has the usual scars of nothing more
Than having been born female into an era and culture
Of male privilege and entitlement and yet I have the
Courage to want to go beyond all blame
To want to find the place of redemption
To slam, destroy and maim the powers that
Create wars, imprisonment of people of color
Especially men I want to forgive, move on recreate
The world so that my grand daughters will
Walk in beauty instead of fear and my
Grandsons will be free from the terror
And sickness of not making it, not measuring up
Not being able to cry or be tender.

We are so wasted by the media that wants
Us to speculate and blame, so distracted
From our power to love this culture right now
Into a place that has no need for war, or guns or rape.
Killing is murder and war is rape just as love requires
Infinite courage and energy in a world that knows only war.


I adore morning
all the old sloughed off
cool southern Cali
crispy cold makes
coffee delicious
i’m the only one
up in the silence
of dawn broken
by bird songs
and messages
from those who
wake early like
me or my east coast
homies there is
so much hope
in the awake
kisses still forming
on the lips of desire