Collaboration

Passion Fruit plants: Intertwined

Photo-Jason Groepper

The earth, the air, the water;

The sun, the sea, the dust of stars;

The times that passed and built the present;

Things nascent now that

Have not yet become –

All intertwined.

We’re none of us alone

Or separate.

Aware or not,

Collaboration

Is and always been

The only way

For life

Aligned.

 

For The Daily Post

Be in the Pink

Storycubes1

If your heart groans

Under worry

And your belly

Plays acid songs,

Don’t despair:

Life’s still there.

If your head spins

With confusion

In realities

Beyond compare,

Don’t give up:

There’s repair.

If your muscles

Clench with anger

And anxiety

Sheds your hair,

Don’t give in

To what’s not fair.

If your color

Lost its luster

And your spirit’s

Pale and bare,

Don’t lose heart:

We’ve hope to spare.

If the dark nights

Press your innards

And your lungs

Beg for calm air,

Don’t forget:

Love’s everywhere.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Panic’s Anti-Dote

anti-dote

photo: dreamaker2.tumblr.com

 

There’s scare aplenty

Wide cause for alarm

A lot to frown at

Much that charters harm.

No wonder

Panic comes.

Trepidation pushes buttons of old worries

Latches through the tentacles

Of history

And ill-used charm.

It glitters daggers

Into

Masquerading stars and sun.

No wonder

Panic comes.

And yet …

Be brave

Stand firm

Lock arms

Form links

Knit facts

Raise voice

Weave hope

As panic’s anti-dote.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Happy Girl

Happy Girl from pintrest
Photo: Pinterest

She giggles at the slightest silly

She grins at mirrors

Smiles through windows

Makes a dozen strangers’ day.

She beams at dogs, at books

A toy, a leaf, a pigeon

The world itself at play.

She chuckles at her own reflection

Adores someone’s freckles, wrinkles, shoes.

She rejoices in a pigtail, a polka-dot ribbon

Celebrates a doll, a braid, a tube of sparkling glue.

She chortles with abandon at a joke

“Again, again!”

She finds joy in the smallest moments

Her laughter paints bright happy into

Even the most mundane.

 

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Do It Anyway

He has stage fright. The real deal.

Social phobia with all the trimmings.

Speaking in front of anyone renders him paralyzed with irrational but no less numbing terror.

Talking to a store clerk makes him sweat.

Let alone giving a speech in front of assembly.

The whole school. Faculty, too.

He trembles at the thought.

“You don’t have to do this.” His mother. She is distressed by his distress. Protective.

“But I do,” he says.

He’s scared.

Determined, too.

He asks me to teach him how “to speak even when my throat gets stuck.”

We work on it. On breath, on visualizing, on rhythm and on parsing and on tone and pitch and breath again. He practices. With me, at the mirror, with family, with a good friend.

He knows the words by heart. He wrote them. A speech about things that oh-so-matter and are so very needing-to-be-said.

“The words come into my dreams,” he tells me. “Is that weird?”

I shrug. I don’t think so. “What do you think?”

He smiles shyly. “I think they want me not to be afraid. The words. Like we are friends now, words and me.”

 

The day comes.

He calls me in the evening.

“I threw up twice and I trembled like crazy,” he says, but his voice is giddy. “Then I thought about the words. My words … like friends. The beads on the necklace like we practiced … and I could breathe … I was still scared but I did it anyway!”

 

learn-how-vvg

Pathways to Hope

path

In times of much uncertainty,

It can be hard to see a path

Worth taking.

A walk unencumbered by darkness or demise

Might seem improbable

Potential tarnished

Possibility destroyed.

For there is so much vitriol. Fear-mongering. Divisiveness. Incitement.

There may seem no way worthy.

No path available; a future bleak with war.

 

There’s hope, however, in paths semi-forgotten

In steps untrodden

In walkways hidden under heaps of misdirection, worry, mirrors, smoke.

There are sturdy lanes to follow.

Not the blathering ones cluttered with false promises or empty bravado

But the ones one forges

With their soul.

These paths, too, are waiting

Ever present, patient, true to form.

 

In a time when paths seem blocked

Futures sold to the highest bidder

The loudest, richest, most shocking

To the very wrong …

There are still avenues

Unmarred,

Open vistas

Brimming with

Clear breath

Kindness

Real growth.

 

So if you find the path a-twisted

If you feel the weight of futures crucial to avoid,

Step yourself away from highways-into-nothing

And take instead a quiet stroll

Into your soul.

Find solitude

Hold empathy

Recall respect for all that is,

The Truths that make life possible:

Compassion, not destruction

An open heart

The step by steps which widens futures

To allow companionship

Acceptance

The brilliance woven into threads of love

For tapestries of hope.

path lit

A Far Away Home

 

far away home

imgur.com

 

 

May there be a home for you,

At the end of every journey.

May there be a home for you,

No matter how far you’ve gone.

May there be a home for you,

At the pause of every breath.

May there be a home for you,

In the remotest place.

May there be a light left on for you,

To help you walk through dark.

May there be a warm hearth greeting you,

And love to bloom all sparks.