l'arbre de ma mere

Standing,
Half-dead
In the marshes,
Roots grip relentlessly to Earth.
The leaves have all secured their own death though it is barely June.
Insects scatter in search of new residency,
Eventually, oxygen too will abandon this great oak.
Unaware of itself,
Blind to its own corroding bark and petrifaction,
This tree cannot see what the surrounding forest now sees,
Though it can feel it.
There is beauty in its ignorance,
Arms lift up towards the heavens
Saying silent, unanswerable prayers.
Branches stretch westward,
Reflecting on summers when the phoenix came to nest.
It has done all it can,
Which is,
All we really can ever really do,
Now it stands and waits.

staying present (childrens poem)

I try to pay attention to all that I do
Whether crossing the street or just tying my shoe
If I'm making my bed or climbing the stairs
I try to be mindful, I try to be aware.
I want to stay present but my thoughts start to drift
At times I can be focused
I guess it comes in shifts.
Its important to be aware of each moment
Since that is all that is really real
Its good to pay attention
To exactly how I feel.
Whatever the feeling
I want to notice how it goes
Are there butterflies in my stomach?
Or an itching on my nose?
Am I feeling very joyful or grumpy at this time?
Am I starting to get restless or am I feeling very fine?
Sometimes my mind starts racing about what is going to happen next
I'll start to get all anxious
Or I'll start to get perplexed
But then I'll remind myself to stay in the present time
Then I will remind myself that everything is fine
Whatever bad thing that can happen,
that's not happening here
It isn't taking place
Its just something that I fear.
Then I feel much better and can get back to doing what I do
Whether its crossing the street of just tying my shoe.

these heaping bones

grass stained dress
bare legs of dry blood and stitch.
i've worked my lifetime to get here,
wrung towels dry and scaled the Himalayas.
set ablaze to scarecrows in the field,
no longer afraid to share my harvest.
so i won't ride with you in this boxcar set for Chelmno
diving shallow waters
that offer little intrigue.
it shant work that i am me
and only one of us knows that that is truly splendid.

lifes not made of jello (childrens poem)

we never know what is going to happen
its funny in a way
we never know what will happen
it changes everyday.
our minds have expectations
of just how things will unfold
but life is not made of jello
lifes not from a mold.
things are wishy washy
stuff we often don't expect
but this is really lovely
not something to reject
for image exactly how boring
if we never got surprised
imagine if we knew
before we ever tried.
its interesting to not know
how things will unfold
life is not made of jello
lifes not from a mold.

mother

Mother
Whose life gave me life,
Whose blood became my blood,
Whose earthquakes have no fault line.

mOTHER
Whose breast I did not feed from, so that hunger pains strike steady
to this day,
Whose circumstances created my own,
Whose childhood fell forward like an endless maze of dominos, creating
parallels I do not care to draw upon for fear of recognizing the
obvious.

motHER
I can not reach you.
Holy grails rest inside,
Just let me in,
Just breathe them out.
Ive come to your door with sledgehammers and love,
Dynamite and honey,
And still,
There is no answer.

Each month the possibility of life passes between my legs,
And as the spotted white chips crash forward,
I make the promise that every generation dares to make:
Let not history repeat itself.

I know there is peace at the coast, near the dark edges of earth where
all life began,
One just has to go there to find it.

for diane di prima and erica jung

I
i am mary magdalen,
my identity stoned to dust by men unable to turn their gaze from the
diamonds on my chest.
i am eve,
guilty without trial.
a story rewritten by vaticans of cloaked cowards,
framed for the fall of man while adam chewed and swallowed.

i am germany in 1933,
emily dickinsons sonnets before she died,
and rochestors mad wife, tucked neatly away in the attic of possibility.

i am the apple dangling in the garden,
luscious and round,
red skin flushed from the blood of desire,
full of juicy promise,
attracting not serpents, but fruit flies that briefly gnaw pieces
of outer skin
then buzz away before air browns the under flesh,
before they reach the core,
to the seeds of possibility.

childrens poem

On the ground,
Shovel in hand,
I dug a hole,
Deep into the land,

And placed inside some seeds so small,
In hopes to grow a tree so tall,

I planted the seeds,
about 5 maybe 6,
Then covered them up,
With some dirt and some sticks.

I went back the next day,
But nothing was there,
The earth looked so barren,
The earth looked so bare.

I didn't understand it,
Where was the tree?
If it was there,
I sure could not see.

I had to find out,
I needed to understand,
Was something wrong with the seeds?
Something wrong with the land?

I kept looking and waiting,
But I still just saw earth,
I kept looking and waiting,
For the seeds to give birth.

Finally I decided,
It was time that I leave,
As I started to go,
I ran into Steve.

Steve is my friend,
I've known him for years,
He'd been there for the good times,
There for the tears.

"Whats the matter?" he asked "you look so upset."
I told him my tree, it hadn't grown yet.

"Well that's disappointing,
I don't know what to say.
When did you plant it?"
"Just yesterday."

"Yesterday!?? Yesterday!?!?" he started to smile
"Things of this magnitude, they do take a while."

"Well I gave it some water and made sure to take care,
but when I went back to check it still wasn't there."

He paused for a moment then proceeded to say,
"You must have patience its been but a day!"

"Steve don't you get it?
There isn't a tree!!
I don't know what went wrong,
I don't know if its me."

"Relax and just trust it,
Just let it be,
I promise its growing,
You just wait and see.

The seeds are still opening,
They need to grow roots,
And then they'll be stronger
And turn into shoots.

It will come above ground when its good and its ready,
It will build a strong base that will help it keep steady.

It will grow beautiful branches,
On which birds can nest,
You just need to be patient,
You need not be stressed."

It started to make sense,
He began to seem right,
I guess that a tree doesn't grow overnight.

Sometimes great things take a while to achieve,
Especially BIG things that are hard to conceive.

So I took Steve's advice,
And trusted it would grow,
I knew it could happen,
It just might be slow.

After a while
Lo and behold!
It seemed that a baby tree did unfold!

Amazing!! A miracle!!
It just took some time,
I couldn't believe it,
Before me a pine.