The journey through this world is both wondrous and complex, and I’m one who likes to write poems about it.  Please know that you are also welcome to send your poetry, prose or stories to Concinnity magazine to share with others.  In the meantime I offer these:


Crossroads

Here am I at this point, so tiny, so fine;
I mean to surrender…be woman, divine.
Its not up to me; ‘likely never has been,
Though at times I believe I’ve a crown and I’m queen.
Dear Mother within, all loving and kind,
I thank you for seeing through these eyes of mine.
Your touch is like magic that makes me all new;
I can reach out to others as you show me to.

The following poem was written for a friend who was falling down despite what she knows the truth of. When I finished writing the poem, I saw that it was perfect for me too – whenever I loose sight of what’s real.

Girl on Swing

BEYOND DOUBT

Dearest little shred of doubt,
That lurks within, and lives without,
I see your presence here today,
And offer you a heartful space.
T’is ‘knowing’ that is moving me,
And only in that, can I see
The way to step into the next,
In spite of any part perplexed.
We really, truly move as one,
In love that makes us all undone.
Each threshold that appears too much,
Is softened more by oneness touch.
Had I never met the man named “John”,
I may have never carried on,
To do that which I longed to do,
In deepest depths with all of you.
My heart is filled with gratitude,
Because I met this awesome dude…
Who only moves to serve the all,
And touches those who hear the call.

john-de-ruiter-jewel-cafe 

 

 

 

 

TENDERLY AWKWARD

I move towards your table,
where I see an empty chair,    
There’s an open space beside you
that seems to pull me there.
I’d like to sit beside you…
just sit and love you so.
If I could move a few more steps,
the truth of that would show.
As I stand and dearly falter, admiring the view…
Another moves, and takes the chair and melts all into you.

INTO THE DEEP  
In the midst of the pain
And despite what remains
Of an old crumpled past never real,
I’ve a pen.  I can write,
Anytime, day or night…
Within patterns that have no appeal.
I can move on with ease,
In the stormiest breeze.
I can fall and be fine on the ground.
As awareness, I see,
There is only ONE me,
With no ceiling, no floor and no sound.