home (a song)

i took the train, i walked
the dusty gravel roads,
i heard the summer birds
like water to my thirsty soul,
i took a train and cried
'cause i couldn't find my home.

ah but that was sixty-nine
when we first cracked the code,
my hair made them crazy then
but i knew we found the motherlode,
ya, that was sixty-nine
and none of us could find our home.

oh but we found each other
we loved the gentleness we shared,
we were sisters and brothers
and lovers too whenever we dared,
ya we found each other
and that became our home.

i take the train, i walk
the seasons into my heart,
but its not all history
this indelible, sacred mark
this is home, right on brothers
home is what can't keep us apart.

when will it happen

when will it happen.
when will i begin to unfreeze
and the ocean
leave my heart
and river my face.
when at last will i
love who i see
in the mirror.
see me look away
with eyes like
frightened deer
when we talk?-
see my bankrupt
bravado like the
evening news?-
when will it happen?-
the awakening
and release.
there are lies we never
admit to untill we
are ready to begin,
lies we keep in
the dark secret place
of the heart,
lies we prefer to live
with rather than
admit the truth...
when will it happen,
the awakening
and release.
am i ready to surrender,
to release my tired war,
to reach for peace.
when will it happen?-
only now ofcourse:
when i am ready to accept,
only now;
when i decide the light
is not that scary,
only now;
when i begin to lovingly
see me wholly
accepting and accepted...
when now begins
then love will happen.

how do we

how do we nurture ourselves
deep into the secret sacred place
of knowing
without doubt
that we truely love ourselves.
how do we slow down
so we may listen,
so we may hear
the open sound
that springs from within
organic, natural and whole;
the sound that is
the movement arising
from the soul...
how do we learn to accept
the complicated simplicity
of our beauty,
the seemingly endless turning
that dizzys us
as we begin
awakening.
how do we christ our wounds
unwind the past
into holy water
that will save us
from the desert
of our longing.
how do we hold
our gentleness
our imperfections
our divine connection: and
how do we not tear ourselves apart
as we reach through our darkness
to touch
our creativity
into being.

i love words

i love
words
that smile
from your
mouth, that
sprout wings
as they sing into
trees. i love words
that dismantle
difficulty, that are
easy to swallow
and digest. words
that speak from
your eyes and
capitolize the important
things, like how
you feel. i love words
that leave tracks in the
woods so i can find you.
and i love the words
you use to open your
heart, to keep us in
tenderness while too
many words turn
to stone.

butterfly wings

inspiration from
trees perpetually
caught in autumns'
losing, or from
wounds long ago
inflicted on this
guilty eternal
innocence sleeps...
still this
inspiration
without wings
or words
begins to speak and
the cracked shells
of everything
tremble in
anticipation...
a sacred brith
readies itself
as inspiration
blows buterfly
wings from
the hurricane.

never good enough

you ache upstairs
among sparrows
and apples

and keep your tears
in an old chest
beneath the bed.

summer covers
your skin
with kisses, but

you only want
the arguement:

the present is
never good enough.