I want my last breath
to be the question
which my whole life answered,
to end with the sweetest, most open,
softest heart in all my years,
to smile as I spray across
the universe and collide with
starry friends and look back
over hearts still hoping
for an answer, or, perhaps,
a new kind of question.
I’ll be out of town for a day. See you then
Sparks are the beginning of fires, which warm, protect and guide, or maybe just give us something nice and spacey, a flickering flame upon which to levitate dreams.
Writing this, I guide myself. Reading it, you guide me, and perhaps yourself. We rely on each other. We move en masse, hobbling together through thickets, carrying what light we can find to see. Voices emerge, then recede.
Sparks of emotion can change your path. Sparks of ideas can light the universe. Sparks of distant stars give us dreams.
Listen, watch, trust, repeat. Sparks happen when you least expect.
Sparks can travel the speed of light through these wires, zapping you and moving on. What are sparks to you? Pass this spark on. Light a fire.
And please remember who was your flint. This flint sparked at Liz’s
Here’s an echo of my past. In the cavernous halls of the blogosphere, it takes time for an echo to come back again…I posted this April 24. How time flies.
An inch of an odyssey takes infinite time
Forever toward it
Forever undone, forever undone, ever undone, undone.
Assuming an end is presuming a beginning.
Look where you’ve been. Look! Can you see?
Now you are wondering “Where on earth am I going?â€
Preparing for death frees the wind
to sigh, breathing a soft, new breeze
blowing a tender new bud, unique seedlingOur days and our nights
Swallow each other whole-
Lune lusts for shadow chased Helios.
There is no up, there is no down,
Nor back to the belly, nor the crown.
Only forward we lean to fall, grind, roll,
Heave atop the vanishing moment
Hop the lilting merrygoround.Maps crumble into soot
pinched thin by greasy fingers
peddling false, painted mirrors.
Furrowed, worn paths fell us safely
To known, well trodden soil, dense, smooth, glossed
Away from the path to the effervescent fields
The path through the marshes, ripe, rank and raw
Away from the path beyond to gardenia festooned hills
There is no end, no beginning
Day and night flashes-
Tingling fragrant sparks
In our hearts.
Technorati tags- poem, being present, literature, philosophy, time, spirit, awareness, philosophical poetry, abstract poetry
I wonder what would happen if the world finally came to its senses and decided war and power were self-destructive ends. 
What would it be like if women took leads and created an order of nurturing deeds. Would some women rise up and demand to be heard? Would they bicker and barter for their version of goodness goddesses as the best to be shared? Would we begin to see the comfort of a woman’s touch turn to brawn? Would her womb become the vehicle of a new ruling class, one of strength and control, a new kind of structure for keeping the peace?
What would the future be like if the world were ruled by a virago’s powerful, womanly clutch?
Technorati tags- strong women, women leaders, Athena, woman’s touch
Safety comes in many forms.
Most are safe from the weather and storms,
from rain and cold, but some are not.
What would it be like to be in their shoes?
Could we think pretty thoughts,
Of love and affection, and colors for our rooms?
There’s another kind of safety which concerns me more.
It comes from within, from our minds and our thoughts.
I feel safe in my brain most of the time.
But then sometimes I realize I’m blind,
that I really feel covered only when I build a hat
to block my conscience from saying
I’m safe because they’re not.
Gratitude helps me feel beyond my hard head.