as i walk my streets daily with my dog, we find all sorts of curiosities to explore, sniff, and ponder. then the words seem to find space in my head, and demand release.
here is another one of those walking poems that won't stay quiet.

Lilacs, honeysuckle
Urine and death
Pungent aromas
Combine in an urban perfume
That evokes the reality of living
In the city streets.

Life is here,
Amidst the beauty and garbage
Waiting to be discovered
Attempting to establish roots despite
The overwhelming odds
that smell of decay and despair

Hope springs eternal,
But reality hits early
As asphalt, grime and filth
Attempt to strangle the
Tenders shoots of beauty and joy
Who will tend the garden of souls
Planted in the urban streets?

sacramental living

Another Saturday spent savoring words, sounds, smells and the cacophany of life bursting forth new and fresh amidst the changing landscapes, physically, mentally, spiritually, emotionally.

Taking a deep long breathe in, and attempting to put some of the ideas into coherent thought- to capture and release the long held emotions, clamoring to be heard and birthed.

Funny how each Saturday as I sit and prepare for my women's virtual writing circle, life seems to take on a new hue and vigor- perhaps because I have set aside time to simply observe and consider all that is around me, things that have gone unnoticed by rushing to and fro to meet the demands of the days and nights of expectations, necessities and commitments.

But Saturday morning, life takes on different pacing- and I ease into the day differently. Not always eager to get up and do this new thing, especially if the night has been long and the morning arrives early despite the hour posted on my bedside clock!

Sacramental living- taking time to literally smell the flowers (roses and honeysuckle this week!) the scent of freshly mown grass, the pungent ripe odor of soil turned to hold new plants....savoring the simple flavors of fresh eggs, crisp Granny Smith apples, nourished in body and soul.

And then to enter the realm of possibilities online- in the circle of women around the world sharing their heart and soul stories- poignant, pointed, poetic.

Words that we all resonate with, that throb in our brains and hearts, as if we too have given birth to each other's pain, sorrow, joy and frustrations- in these words of wisdom and whimsy.

Sacramental living- sharing the gifts of creation, in exterior and interior landscapes- delighting in the abundance and joy- holding in care the hurt and sorrow- and lifting up together the prayer for peace and harmony-

Indeed this is intelligent life-
today's piece follows.....


This is My Body.

This is my body-
Born by one who chose to disregard
The life given after proving fertility
Fecundity, success.

Mother of perpetual sorrows.

This is my body,
Given to one who chose to discard
The life given
After using and abusing it
In pursuit of other better choices.

Man of perpetual demands

This is my body
Scarred and seared
Bearing the wounds and wonders
Of a life lived on the edges of love.

Child of perpetual surrender.

This is my body
Broken, bruised and worn
gently anointed by the words
of women, embraces of friends,
the mercy of God

Woman of perpetual release.

This is my body
Resurrecting
Amidst the ashes and dust
birthing myself again.

Woman of eternal peace.

why write, why do this exercise in words and ideas. mostly to keep the hounds at bay- to find space to unload the words and thoughts that pop up and won't go away. thanks to my writing circle, i am putting them out into space to find another head to haunt :)

I write

To remember who I am
To allow myself the grace
To rant, rage, recall

I write to reflect
Love and humor and light
To seek peace and hope

I write
To respire the
Good, and foul
To savor the aroma
Of words and thoughts
Caught on paper

I write
To reclaim my imagination
Delight or cry
Giggle, scream

I write to release
The inner me that gets bound up
In expectation, conditions and”norm’
Outside my understanding and control

I write to respond
To the hurt and healing
To the bitter and blessed
And to seek comfort from the storm

Playing around more with words, and this spilled out.....

Words toss around
Like pennies in a fountain
hope that wishes will come true
cast into the water
sink sluggishly to the bottom
discarded in the depths
embed in the muck and grime

words toss around
like useless change
the shining glow
and shimmering promise
of joy and expectancy
covered in the water of sunken dreams

where are the mermaids
to wipe away the muck and grime?
to return the sparkle of joy
and hope?
and deliver the wish to
the broken heart?
To erase the thoughtless toss of words
that cannot be called back?

They slumber in the deep
In the pooling waters
Waiting for a word
Peace

a growing thing

A poem about the growth I've seen in my garden
and the garden of my soul.....

My bleeding heart is blooming
I noticed just the other day.

There standing tall amid
The decayed mulch and stone

Strong, firm green leaves
And bright red hearts,

Dangling delicately
Dancing in the cool breeze

How did I miss
This remarkable sight?

After the long months
Covered in the ice and snow

Bursting through the cold
hardened soil.

The bleeding heart
Lifts its glorious leaves

To the sun, the warmth
The promise of spring!

My broken heart is blooming
I just noticed the other day

Unexpectedly
Warm as the spring air

Tender shoots lifting up
To greet the

Gentle breeze
Restoring a weary soul

A soft kiss of joy
Brushing the face of today

Breaking through the
Hardened ground of my soul

Reaching out to
Embrace love again.