Poetry Week of February 9-15

2/9/2020

In a class today we talked of silence. 
The precious space of sabbath.
We talked of chords and phones and tethering things.
That pull us from Peace. 

The Peace that is more the understanding.
Beyond, past Understanding.
Greater than.
Knowing.

We must be fierce.
With intention to notice, to see and to listen.
Fierce to protect ourselves and

The chapel that is our life.

2/10/2020

One breath.
A moment to see.
A different side.
To me.

One breath.
A moment to see.
A different side.
To you.

One breath.
A moment to be.

Us.

2/11/2020 
Mindfulness in three perspectives:
Time, be with me.
Body, I’m in you.Heart, I feel you.


2/12/2020 

I brought a few things to this mindful life;
The bell, the breath came later.
Compassion arrived as my teacher,
And I rolled in all of the people who loved me into being*.

Formed by grandmothers and godmothers, parents and teachers. Especially the art teachers.
They found me in the field of mindful presence.
And held onto me. 

I brought poetry and writing,
Walking and wondering.
Sitting still.
Be still, I am God, he said.
I was finally quiet enough to hear.
Quiet enough to speak to his listening. 

Quiet enough to know.
Silence is where we grow.
Silence holds a truth where we say what we see.
Silence is the teacher our teachers wanted us to be.

*ref: Fred Rogers

2/14/2020

Good morning, Love Birds.
Mamas and Daddies.
Brothers, sisters,
Best Friends.
Good Morning, Saint Valentine.
The one who said,
Love, Your Valentine.
One thousand,
Seven hundred and fifty years ago. 

Love your Valentine.
The driver in front of you.
The driver behind.
The post person,
The gent who makes your latte.
With the little heart drawn in foam at the top. 

Love, you, Valentine.
Take a moment.
Place your hand on your heart.
And breathe.
I’m here, you could say.
Loving you.
I’m here. 

I’m here, Valentine.
In each little letter of each little word.
For you.
For your happiness and your peace.
For the way you say,
I love you today.
Say it loudly so even the ones.
Who can’t hear you or see you.
Can.
Love,
Your Valentine.

2/15/2020 

“Why the sunrise?” They asked.
“It calls me.” I replied.
A daily invitation to exist.
To write the day.
In words and actions.

A blank slate to encounter
The tender,
The suffering,
The wonderful.

A do-over. A do-ing.
Open for the business
Of this day
Of my life.

A Week of Poetry

I offered a poem.
He politely declined.
With jade-like humility. 

And so I think I’ll just 
Leave these words here.
In case a poem is the thing
You don’t know you need. 

The glow of space
To hold a new thought.
A house for words, a house for play.
A poem is the little lark that bravely sings the day.

***

Pink blanket in the center lane.
Temperatures in the low thirties.
How cold were they to not feel it fall?
How far did they walk before they realized.
The one thing they owned was strewn in the middle of 5 lanes?

What can I do for the human I only see the remnant of?
The body this blanket sheltered has moved on.
And with luck to a real shelter.
No one needs a blanket in a shelter. 

Pink blanket in the center lane.
A call to take the stacks of blankets out of the cabinet.
And hand them out on frozen mornings.
For the one who can’t feel it’s warmth.

***

In a class today we talked of silence. 
The precious space of sabbath.
We talked of chords and phones and tethering things.
That pull us from Peace. 

The Peace that is more the understanding.
Beyond, past Understanding.
Greater than.
Knowing.

We must be fierce.
With intention to notice, to see and to listen.
Fierce to protect ourselves and
The chapel that is our life.

***

Was it three minutes?
Or was it ten?
Just a portal on social media.
It was ten.
Ten minutes I might have been meditating.
Making oatmeal.
Only 50% of the humans in the house eat oatmeal. 

Now it’s twelve minutes and I’m still here. Loving you.

***

To the person on any Southwest Flight who finds my Texas Driver’s License:
It was a short relationship. The renewed card arrived and was put to use and lost before the Old One Expired.
So easy to get lost in the Story of Lost Things: The Great Distractor. 

Do mindful people lose less? Or do they lose more, less concerned with keeping track. 
Do mindful people track less because they have less?
Minimalists Lose Less. 

I am not a Minimalist. Three weeks ago it was my Favorite Turquoise Ring by Leo Feeney. I try to break my cycle of fret: stepping back to that day: the trunk to the dresser and now: no where. 

There’s not enough Mindfulness to bring it back. Let it go: like the sands of a Tibetan Mandala. 

But to the person who finds my Texas Driver’s License: feel free to mail it on back to Texas. I’m counting on the kindness of You, Stranger. In this bountiful world of common humanity I hope you will.

***

I brought my mood to the office today.
Bundled neatly. I worked on it overnight and on the drive up. Layers of worry about last week and next week.
Nothing present but a lack of presence. 

I didn’t know how large the parcel got. 
I even tied it with a bow.
Walked in to my office and within a matter of minutes I unpacked it. Handed some to one and then another.
We sat in the hot tub of my mood.
Felt good for a minute and then it didn’t. 

The breakthrough is knowing I choose the content of my knapsack of emotions.
I choose how I show up to my devoted, loving colleagues.
I choose the moment of mindfulness to recognize.
And grow.
To carry less to care more.
That’s what being a friend is for.