a ritual to start the work week
Mothers of the revolution —
pray your children know their strength
and do not cower from the swords
they press against the king’s throat.
Fathers, feed their courage with fire
to warm them and light their way.
Bear the legs that bring them forward
but not the arms they carry,
for they must learn to hold their weight,
its center and its edges.
Love their power to unlock it,
their freedom to stand and fight.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Chins rested on chests, breaths heavy, hands clasped,
we stand together to honor our grasp
of body relieved and of life renewed,
spirit ascended. And yet dour moods
sink only to rise: hearts opened by tears,
lifted by sighs. While ours, the hours, years
upon years, we spend them like seeds, sowing
hope, growing grace, and leaving fears blowing.
With our pools refilling and pyres burning,
Earth begets us and ever returning.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Comfort comes only moment by moment;
here we find mere fleeting feelings of ease.
Softness and warmth offer brief embraces,
eager for savoring and for sharing.
Care given is care taken. Care taken
becomes care spread: fingers that press into
heavy shoulders; shaky voices that stroke
broken hearts from afar; fresh blooms
that issue soothing scents: pillows piled to
heaven, tuffets where our souls can settle.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Open your eyes, you can’t run
you can’t run from what you don’t know.
Open your hands, you can’t run
you can’t run with what you don’t hold.
Open your mind, you can’t run
you can’t run to what you love blind.
Open your heart, you can’t run
you can’t run if what you fear flies.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Without grace, wit
slices up dreams
as well as schemes,
cuts down wishes
and scams alike,
leaving no trick
of mind or might
whole or unharmed.
Cruelly, it swings
at the webs that
bind us, blindly
untethering
anchor and prey.
Sharpened by pain
inflicted by
others, steel on
stone, heart-piercing
cleverness kills
when wielded with
malice alone.
Mercy nurses
in wisdom’s arms
and shared insight
dies in darkness
that tears could light.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
just be; stardust upon stardust under stardust
standing and expanding
on the fallen into suspension
returning regrouping reshaping remaking
corporeal delights to eternal enlightenment
fully embodied we disembark
leave these ships for higher planes
settled still settling taking off shedding shed
wide feet gaze breath narrow spine focus speech
heavy shoulders light head
pelvic bowl slowly overflowing
heart drips ripple the surface
slip evenly over every edge
leaving paths to follow and learn
lurching forward drop by bloody drop
body after body before body; be just
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
All we have
we have al-
ready: fear
it and it
comes undone.
Fields we sow
and forests
we fell: earth-
bound making
old cells owned.
What is held
gives if for-
given: love
it and it
grows again.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
The purpling red of ripening berries,
warm sweetness, flashes against stark, snowy white,
dark fucshia fireworks against winter’s brightness,
silent bursts, eye to finger to tongue.
Kindling, carefully collected and piled just so,
sparks, awakening some inner-kettle
whose whistling steam powers our stillness,
a toy train circling its track.
Thick black ink, thoughtful against brown paper,
directs hands and trucks, covers colorful folds
holding clear, faceted glass ready to break the sun
into pieces, red to violet and back again.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
The guard who stands upon the parapet
scans sky and ground for any sign of threat,
yet can not sense the dread and fear that grows
within the private chambers far below.
Call them down — call them back within
to check your kitchens, stables and dungeons.
And order all their swords be left behind;
bring cups and coins to share with those they find.
Ease their grief — mend their broken tools.
For only kings with settled castles rule.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
You can bet I’ll jump the gun.
You can bet I’ll trip and fall.
You can bet I’ll miss the basket.
You can bet I’ll drop the ball.
You can bet I’ll leave you hanging.
You can bet that I won’t call.
But you can bet that in my silence
I’ve been thinking of you all.
You can bet I’ll keep you waiting
for your message to be returned.
You can bet you’ll second-guess me.
You can bet that you’ll feel burned.
You can bet that I’ll forget
every lesson I ever learned
and that the love you share, I’ll tell myself,
is love I never earned.
You can bet that I’ve been grieving.
You can bet there’s more to grieve.
You can bet I’ve been believing
you’d be best if I’d just leave.
You can bet on my capacity
to fall short when you most need.
But if you bet that I’ll get up again,
that I’ll strain to lift you even when
tears stain my cheeks and my knees are weak,
then friend, I owe you everything
and this note stands as the deed.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
whole and growing, strands twist
and extend — together
a world ever spinning,
starting and completing
its cycles and spirals,
but never quite ending.
losses loosen and slide
over my skin to nest
in the drain — together
a home, just a tangle
of threads caught up in each
others’ paths and passing.
thinning, mainly, a frost
creeping at the edges,
light between my fingers
radiant — our wisdom
reaches from within us
for new heads, hearts and homes.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
