30 June 2011


Bolder.  Bolder.  
It must be
All must be bolder and plainer
We must be so bold
and so very plain
and simple 
so simple
to begin to grasp
where we are
There must be
horses tossing rivers on their astonishing heads
Their impatient glowing dusty ears 
hear the call to the bold
and they toss those rivers right out of their beds
There must be grade nine drop-outs telling it
like it really is
bald scraped ugly truths 
gleaming, new-shaven and sharp
piercing our sleeping skins
The hungry mothers, the radical old, the shining prophet three year olds
they must stand and speak in the mic
right beside 
and still touching 
the bossmen past whom they have just elbowed
Watch mister president, watch mister prime minister
their mouths still moving on and on
like bottom fishes brought up suddenly from the muddy dark
The boldness
turns their faces into shredding tires
rolling off a bus onto the shoulder
Right there at their screaming war-eagle podium
under their flag (flag bored to death and stiffening fast)
before the bruise-blue curtain of our apathy -
right there all must be bolder
That so-called bottom line they use
to beat us into division and confusion -
time to step across that thing like a skipping rope abandoned on the gravel
We must screech to some halts
We need to get told off
because we can be 
way way way bolder
more ancient 
and even wise
We can cut the crap
We can dive deep 
and come up with a silver, streaming catch of
knife-edged, tempered, deep-sea

White Dive Dance

I dove
not knowing how else to move forward
or in any direction at all

My body curled over,
though knowing only a wordless desire to open like a hand

And so my hands cut through
that space of air
so heavy from its long living next to water

My arms sliced through the interesting zone
where waves reach up to become sky again

speaking quietly to each other as they try,
over and over

The lake remembers falling in a host of drops from clouds,
and it wants to fall down
and in

So it understands me, my diving.

And so I entered by fingertips and
the green was brown,
the brown was green

It all seemed fresh
and clean to me

My path took me down
they always do
my path took me down

Looking, looking in the froth of earth on the lake’s floor
Looking, looking in the suspended heaven of a warm summer underneath

Searching, searching
searching especially in the second half of my dive:

when the arched spine opens the chest to the silver water mirror

When the eyes first see the wavering surface -
reflecting the sky to the sky, all shards of white and blue,
reflecting the lake to the lake, all shadows of leaf and root

When the self perceives
the moving two-way mirror -
reflecting each back to itself,
and yet offering safe passage
to white, wavering spears of light that are

destined to dance on my shoulders and face
destined to throb on the grateful skin of my legs
with bubbles rushing behind the knees

Manageable, friendly bandwidths of whitest light
catch my fingerprints
and call them

to what only just now
becomes clear
is the one way through

Up.  Through shifting invitations of white.

2 June 2011

To a Kindergarten Teacher III

Only lightly touching earth you go

Picking the ripening fruits of your path
you polish these treasures

until they shine almost
as radiant as you

and then you pass them down to small hands

so that their footsteps
mingling with yours
may carry on the sweetness

Sweetly, you allow children to know you

your compassion like a soft wing

like flight feathers

Your kindness encouraging little birds
to rise up to a place of gentleness

a high place

where a small one
may see much

To a Kindergarten Teacher II

When you smile
at our children

your Earth eyes call day from night

But your light is so bright
and you are so generous

that we all share in your rising-sun heart

Dusty sunbeams
the kind that bless attics and stained-glass windows
stream through your hands


Healing colours
prisms of quiet awe

flow from your fingers
in their small rivers of peace

Little cupped-hand nests
fill with the beauty of your work

and all young hearts
are warm and safe

when your well-spring of joy is near

To a Kindergarten Teacher

A garden lies in the ring of your arms’ holding
where a child
may grow strong in clear wisdom-light

Sweet guide and helper
we see you moving through mornings

walking with our children
and the children we once were

and our eyes rejoice

Whole families open our thirsty hands to receive
your rains of grace

and your inspiration:
you help us to breathe

Little friends set forth
to seek their birthright wholeness

by the
of your love