Ruah's Poetry
Why do you believe in God? she asked-And I told her-- the showings- moments when all that isdissolved in golden light-that time when I expanded-yard, town, state, country,planet, sun,cosmosand then back and backand back againthe lady bug on my hand--Those 5 no time daysof pure and shimmering awareness-everything- everyone- radiant-vibrant, vibratingwild, still, alive, onlya kind of perfect-What happened? she askedI woke up one day and I Sawand I woke up one day and I didn'tBut what did you do?-{so many teachers and teachings and practices}did you get it to happen again?As she asked I saw 2 things-- a brown doe glimpsed in green woods-Would I race, calling, crashing, to find her?- closed shell in my hand, and a pearlOr insist- Giver of Gifts - now -more?Many souls are meant tostrive, and climb that holy mountainBut my path is not that mountainrather forest, meadow, oceanWhere quiet, I breathe, and watchAnd if I once againam blessed with Sight- Well-Thank you.That's one of my names for God.
How They Come
Poems come sometimes
like a dog in my bed
pressing its cold brown nose
against my cheek-- insisting, insisting-
wake up!
Sometimes like a cat
yowling under the porch
until down on hands and knees
I scrabble in the dust and dirt
and pull
Then there are the ones
still as a pregnant hare
waiting for the
winged shadow
to pass
How do poems come to you?
INSCAPE
It can take time
to know the heart of a thing,
a sometimes difficult
and always simple
presence.
If you are lucky,
or blessed
that deep down in
drops its veil,
shyly, or with a shout.
You are changed
forever.
Making Lists
What if I made a list
not for the willful pleasure
of crossing things off
getting things done-
But for surprise
and noticing-
rain pregnant sky, happiness,
the silence after music, a poem
What if in making that list
my pencil broke
and released the scent
of clean clear gray
Peace in a Time of Revolution
To be still
In the curl of chaos
To welcome dark waters
And lightning strike
To steady
In webbed roots
As merciful wind whips leaves,
Blasts dead branches
To choose
This rough real
The generous gesture of a Heart
Emptied of all but YES
The peace of God
Is not my favored sleep, alas,
But rather trusting
This bloody death
Is bloody birth
Fire Pieta
Sonoma County
October, 2017
Sonoma County
October, 2017
Legs open wide on the blackened ground
She cradles the burned llama
Against the fullness of her body
An officer with a gun
Approaches up the hill
To perform the final mercy
She waits
Her eyes are lowered
I imagine she is rocking
Crooning
Praying the Poetry in Anger
May anger ground me in the real
Earth speaks- I am
May anger purify my troubled heart
Fire speaks - I wake
May anger clear confusing mind
Air speaks - I perceive
May anger couple together
Water speaks - I gather
May anger proceed from wisdom
Soul speaks - I act
May anger fruit with trust
Spirit speaks - I create
Beauty
May beauty break my heart
and tenderness gather the pieces,
to lay upon the altar of this weary world.
May wisdom place a blessing cup upon that altar
and Spirit pour its gathering Light
into this ever-breaking
Until we we know
each illumined fragment
as infinitely precious
Inescapably One
Martin
for Steven Charleston
His swollen hands rested on faded jeans
and he rocked slowly in the old porch swing.
We could see dry dirt, bits of trash, and waves of heat
the blue silver of oil slick across the way.
Two small yellow flowers glowed in the murk.
A fat bumblebee bumbled back and forth between them.
Beneath a sky as blue as turquoise
and clear as clean stream water
we could hear the soft roar of cars,
some rushing through the reservation
some leaving, some trying to leave.
A breeze blew through like a blessing from somewhere.
I could hear his breath-faint wheeze, rough cough.
I could smell him- sage, sweat, tobacco, wood.
The bee came closer, louder than the cars.
He turned to look at me- young white woman bringing food.
His eyes were filled with Tears, and with Light.
I knew I was sitting with a Christ.
