In Gratitude

“She stretched her spindly arms into the wide blue sky, swished the soft petal blossoms of her skirt, and with a whisper of laughter, tipped her chin to the afternoon sun.”

Kelley

Dancing with the Moon

“I wish I could photograph
the wind for you,
or the shadow of the leaves
dancing on my windowsill
under the light of the full moon.”

Kelley

Nothing to Fix

I’ve walked miles and miles
searching for childlike freedom
but have always remained carefully guarded
against realizing such spacious hankerings.

Containment keeps me small,
keeps me waiting,
wishing,
wondering,
if stardust will ever dare to reach me.

My fears keep me balanced somewhere between
different and beautiful,
shadow and knowing,
withholding and giving,

But the road is long,
my soul persistent,
and that whisper of hope
is growing toward a shout
reminding me that,
to touch the light,
I need only reach.

Kelley

finding my way

“it’s an angel for your pocket,” she said
and I wondered what good an angel
could offer me

its shine so tarnished
by rules
and politics
and hate

but I carried it anyway
until the day I finally came to understand
that divinity isn’t limited to
a building with a steeple,
a temple or a mosque,
a confessional or a prayer rug,
or any other place of respite like that.

divinity is available in the warmth of the sun,
the shadow of a tree,
the depth of the water,
the breath of a breeze,
and the beating of my heart.

and even when the comfort of a church seems shallow,
the onion-skin pages of a book seem false,
the zealot’s cause filled with separation,

the tarnished angel in my pocket
can still point the way to God.

Kelley

1/100 Poems
Not my first ever poem (check the poems category in the sidebar for others) but the first in my life list count.

Things Discovered Upon Turning Left

On my familiar path,
right-hand turns have always led me
to where I thought I was supposed to be…

the nature center parking lot,
having traversed the greatest quantity of trail possible;

the end of a tidy package of years,
having navigated the corporate minefield with a modicum of scars;

an understanding of myself,
that neatly fits with the “me” everyone thinks I am.

But then one day,
for no real reason I can discern,
I decided to turn left…

absorbing moments on the trail,
without much thought for the consumption of it;

accepting the corporate current,
instead of paddling always upstream;

challenging the stories I tell myself,
to find a new understanding – a new truth.

And now?
Now, I’m finding more and more reasons
to throw away my rule book,
and embrace whatever presents itself
down the left-hand path.

kelley

Resting in the Chimney Tree

When I find myself
wishing yet again
for deliverance
but not knowing where to start,
I consider a forest path
and a particular hollow tree
who once held me,
safe from the rain,
and whispered, “just begin at the beginning”

Sunlit meadows,
crashing waves,
whispering wildflowers,
the muddy scent of lake,
goslings,
and cottonwood fluff
offer themselves to me daily

further evidence
that the easy parts
are waiting there
at the alter of my life
to be sifted through,
picked up,
and slipped
into the pocket of my heart

as fortification
for the hard parts
which will show themselves
when I’m ready
and prove powerless
against the soul poems
that burn joyfully
inside the protective circle
of my hollow chimney tree.

~kelley

Tennis Anyone?

I noticed two blackbirds in the park today
they were sitting at the edge of the tennis courts
discussing wind and tail feathers
and other such matters of life.

they chittered to each other
and to the sky until one
flew off in an apparent huff,
over “what” I can scarecly imagine…

the laughter of children?
an errant gust of wind?
a more appealing patch of sunshine?
a simple instinct to move someplace other than here?

~kelley

Everything is Temporary

some say the world is an ocean
composed of countless teardrop souls
each inextricably bound to the next

today
angry words have pulled me into whirlpools of self doubt
shattered egos are crashing relentlessly against my battered shoreline
and the child within me is waiting quietly behind sand bags…

praying for sails
and a warm wind
and cool, clear water

Field Trip: Andrea Gibson

Andrea told us she was in a sweet mood as she started.  She’d heard Oklahoma was a place where people opened doors and she said someone had already opened one for her that day.  I suspected she meant that someone had been nice to her – maybe someone in the airport had been kind enough to open a door and let her pass through first, not uncommon here in the heartland.  But, by the end, after hearing her words, I wondered if she might have intended some other meaning.  I wondered if she might have been talking about being offered an opportunity for a new perspective.

Things I didn’t know before yesterday…

• that the definition of “woman” and “man”  isn’t always clear – chromosomes and appearances can’t tell the whole story and, to base a decision about marriage solely on gender, may be missing the point
• that “queer” is an inclusive term
• that love is tender no matter who it’s shared with
• that everybody is scared sometimes

It was an amazing, mind-stretching afternoon – one I may have to digest for a while to really understand.  I haven’t given voice to my inner poet much lately, but was inspired yesterday to let her out.  This really was prompted by a dream, but the words encapsulate alot of things that have been on repeat in my brain – some recent, some much older.

Open the Door

Last night I dreamed the world was infected
with anger and sadness and discontent
and I dreamed that
somehow
without ever even knowing it
I held the cure.

It was a complicated concoction
made up of love
and forgiveness
and acceptance of every difference
But I held the key.

In my dream, the infected were banging at the door
shouting to be admitted into a sanctuary I’d created
for myself and a few other faithful few
and the door was rattling on its hinges,
light was beginning to show around its edges,
the lock was crying out its fear of failure,
and just when I thought there was no more hope
the answer tiptoed carefully to my ear.

In an instant of pure clarity
I heard the voices of the truthful
daring me to let go of fear
saying love is holy
singing I am… you are… we are beautifully imperfect
teaching me that my words have power and truth
and by lending them to the world
I can be part of the dangerous choir.

The answer was just this…
open the door.

A Dreamer’s Journey

Finally got my new Polaroid Pogo to work tonight (!!) and a little test picture I took of Tucker inspired an art journal page and a poem…

A Dreamer’s Journey

The dreamer,
if she is to awaken,
must face her fears
with a lion’s heart.

She must study in earnest
the truth of her spirit,
and allow that truth
to guide her past
the snarls and whispers
that might otherwise
tarnish the dream.

She must welcome mistakes
and know that they are
just part of the journey,
part of the learning
she needs to continue
to grow.

She must always have faith
in her inherent beauty
(both the inside and the out)
and she must be willing
to sing the Song of her dreams
without fear
without hesitation
without regard for naysayers
(neither the inside nor the out).

Above all else,
she must believe
in the power of her dreams
… to lift her up
… to carry her forward
… to help her remember who she is

For our dreams give us
the questions,
the answers,
and the map in between.
It is in our dreams,
at last,
that we find our way home.