Weaving with the wind

I love the image of the field of corn in the autumn. When the wind catches the corn, it does not stand stiff and direct against the force of the wind; were it to do this, the wind would rip it asunder. No. The corn weaves with the wind, it bends low. And when the wind is gone, it weaves back and finds its own poise and balance again.
― John O’DonohueAnam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

cornfields pixabay

the winds have blown me
where they will,
wrecked resolve
and fear instilled

splintered remnants
of callous gales
became fragments of truth

buried deep within
my memories
is a knowing,
a sacred treasury

i am bending to
a flexible mind
rigid beliefs soften,
that were held confined

i’ve swayed and swung from
uncertain heights
quaffed my fill of
unpleasant sights

i’m learning to weave
like fields of corn
care for my soul
with kindness adorn

and when the gales
have come to pass
i will stand poised,
and balanced at last

*photo courtesy Pixabay



“Distracted from distraction by distraction”
― T.S. Eliot


social media
makes me think,
i could look pretty
in the pink

selfie sticks
in covert drawers,
hide away
the vain applause

putting out
searching for
real sensation

hoax slayers
are everywhere,
media snares

the tears i cry,
screened responses,
little white lies

does actuality
mean a thing,
waiting for my device
to ping

covering up
phony lives,
deception thrives

my reality,
in domains
of a wannabee

authenticity is
afraid to speak
on boulevards
where shame reeks

lonely earthlings
in unsung voids,
trying to live
through androids


“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you,
don’t go back to sleep!”
― Jalaluddin Rumi

sunrise 2

i’m beckoned from slumber
by an effervescent sunrise
that brushes
the mantle
of my deepest sleep

i stare out
with sleepy eyes,
hoping to capture
the promises
that a new day brings

shadows move over
the fields,
elongated by the sun’s
oblique presence

the day unfolds
and time is told in simple forms

cheeky clouds waft across
a coral sky
and hide the sun’s timid glow,
but only
for a moment

beams erupt in charm
and paint the sky
with daybreak’s blushing pleasures

i tread drowsy corridors
and wipe dust
from my misty eyes,
thankful to welcome another day
in all its elegance


The Eye of the Storm

Masses of birds can fly for miles within the eye of a hurricane, surrounded on all sides by powerful wind and thunderstorms, yet sheltered from them within the middle of the storm.
Flocks of birds showed up in radar images of Hurricane Irma’s eye, as the birds moved with the storm up the west coast of Florida.
the eye of the storm

the eye of the storm
is where i fly
on winged grace
in the azure sky

all around me
are chaotic streams
trying to pull me
to anxious extremes

safe and secure
in the arms of light
my innermost fight

guided by
a benevolent force
braced with love
to stay the course

relocated to
fragrant fields
faith and mercy
my eternal shield


The language of the heart

Because of our kinship in suffering our channels of contact have always been charged with the language of the heart.
― Bill Wilson

language of the heart

in this place of strangers
i found you
locked inside your darkened home,
your face not apparent
just an outline,
a secret location
where i bared my soul
and in knowing you
i came to life

with love
and acceptance
your open arms around
my shattered dreams
buoyed me up
in a sea of pain
and longing

i didn’t feel alone
in this mystical place
where cathartic words
in pitch black grief
and found belonging
on Earthlings
with no home but this

to bear the courage
and spill those shards
of brokenness
on ears and eyes
that drink in their own torment,
yet bravely mouth words
that restore
the hope
buried deep
deluded reveries

wounded ones
into knowing
that change
is possible
wounds can heal

Picture courtesy of Dave Herman