Category Archives: BIRTH. LIFE. DEATH

The Ending is a New Beginning

Day 30… the last day of National poetry Month.

Thank you to those who have followed and read my work.

I deeply appreciate that.

As is my favorite style of poetry, I give you a pantoum.

I will be gathering my pantoums for a poetry book.

Stay tuned.




A day comes to sunset, a story ends, a loved one dies.

A relationship meets its closure, a beginning finds it’s end

And endings make a place for a new possibility

Life is woven in spirals, cycles of starts and finishes


A relationship meets its closure, a beginning finds its end

The in-betweens hold the reactions, the bitter and the sweet

Life is woven in spirals, cycles of starts and finishes

Curves and turns, betrayals and losses, the heart breaks


The in-betweens hold the reaction, the bitter and the sweet

The re-start is out of reach in the crush of life’s take away

Curves and turns, betrayals and losses, the heart breaks

A new day gives rise out of the dark night


The re-start is out of reach in the crush of life’s take away

And endings make a place for a new possibility

A new days gives rise out of the dark night

A day comes to sunset, a story ends, a loved one dies

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DAY 12  National poetry Month.


This day asks to be written in a certain way

Resistance makes a plea of discord

And brain chaos finds its way back on track

if only to give into the ‘certain way’ to be over it

Finish with this day that has only just given rise


It’s memory history that defines the lay of words

How death’s stalk took two lives on the exact day of one year

Between the other, while Spring stretched her waking

and the two of you gave in to sleep eternal


On this day, this very day that calls up an ode

a story, a simple verse that can not be denied

For you are forever in the bones of this body

Forever a picture of yesterdays remembered


And there is a must have of celebration

Acknowledgement of how life comes and gives

and seems to end in that final breath taken

In how very gone you are in this life.


There can be no resistance to that call

Cause it’s a time clock inside that spills

Out the alarm of your passing to be recalled

To sit in the heart’s pulse of the ‘who’ of you


Of love lost and found, of rough edges

slightly smoothed and how a want to make connection

held so many distractions and avoidances.

And still, on this day of remembrance


I let you both in in the way I can hold you

In my heart to give the words to this day

That need saying to honor you

I love you

Till we meet again

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Filed under a poem a day. Michigan poet, BIRTH. LIFE. DEATH, national poetry month

writing for 45 minutes, 4 Feb 2015 A GIANT RAMBLe AbOuT aging.



This is a bleary picture of me at my 67th birthday.  Bleary is good.  LOL.

Ok… here it goes.  this is what happens in 45 minutes when I sit to write.  little if no editing.


There is an age you reach where the thought of how many years you have left to live is something you decided you’re not going to consider.  There isn’t half as much left anymore.  Maybe not even a third as much.

Middle age has passed, even the “new middle age” has passed.  ( Who determined that anyway?) and the hope for a new middle age, if we live to 150, is unlikely.

How many years have ya left  if you’re over 60 and counting?  That’s right people over 60, not so many.  AND, it’s a good idea to get good with that, and not calculate to often out into the not-so-far decade away or so, cause that can roll you over on your back like bad dog and make you feel all kinds of vulnerable.

And, how about how time is going REALLY fast.  Wasn’t it just Christmas last week?  Is it only 6 weeks till Spring? Thank God for that.  It will be Spring tomorrow and you’ll wonder, “Didn’t winter fly by?”

I’m a Hairdresser/Artist. I look in a mirror all day long at you and me, watching myself and you age.  And… I’m going to work till my hands can’t move and I’m cutting myself more than your hair.  I know that sounds scary and grim.  And we both know that’s not gonna happen like that, right?

And, how can I imagine retirement?  I am not one that has embraced the journey of retirement in those traditional ways: saving, gathering, etc. etc.  I live to the full extent of my existence in the moment; saving little and celebrating  life moments as they present themselves.  Really, it’s all a gamble, and I have been called to the gamble of BE HERE NOW. (Thanks Ram Das)

When I get off the train of ‘Now’, a little bit of terror creeps in.  I hate terror.  Who likes it?  NO One.  That terror involves questions and sentences like this running through my head…

“What are you thinking? You have no retirement, no real extra cash, no children to buffer you, (I never wanted children, so that one isn’t really relevant).   You live by the seat of your pants and you’re getting old.  Your knees hurt, you got stuff that you can’t identify that comes and goes.  WHAT the fuck are you thinking you old geezer girl?  You’re gonna have to just drop dead one of these days and hope it doesn’t hurt too much and there is no lingering.  And that no one will have to coddle and fawn all over your dying pathetic body for too damn long.”

I let myself have these’s projections.  They happen more than I like to have them happen.  Then I look around as all that I have that I am grateful for, and let those pleasures and joys fill me up and push away the fear.  Future stuff has yet to happen and why linger there?  I have no idea.  Do YOU?  What good is it to fall prey to what we thing is going to happen as opposed to what is happening right now?  How can we make that good? WE have the power to change our attitude right now.

None of us get outta here alive in the physical sense of things for sure.  My spiritual path says I am an Infinite Being and Love is all there is. (Me and the Beatles are tight)   With that said, I’m having some trouble with this aging thing.  I do not wish to linger in the negative zones of that ‘thing’ as it creeps in to smother my good humor and well being.

Don’t think for one minute I am above having a good ol’ face lift.  It’s a respectable thing to do.  And we have the science and the Way to get looking younger, like how we feel inside.  I feel 30.  I do!  How about you?  And that face in my mirror is not a face of a 30 year old. NO it isn’t.  Graceful.  Nice one.  Gracefully aging.  I’m trying.  I am, I mean it.  And if I had the money to spare, I’d get a little nip n’ tuck.  I hope you still honor and respect me for these wants of mine.

My 45 minutes is almost up.  Thanks for listening.  You are kind.  Now you know a little more about me and how getting old sucks on some levels and is wondrous on others.

Here are the wonders.

I know a lot of shit.  And I have lots of wisdom

I’m still highly creative

I believe in magic.  I always have

I love my friends and family

I know I am loved deeply.

I am still learning things everyday

I love life

I think the Seasons are glorious even when I complain of too cold or too hot

The Earth is magical

I am a Mystery unfolding

I love feeling 30 inside this 67 year old body.

There is fabulousness in living in the moment.

I close with giving you a Haiku


Bringing in my Breath

Wonder and magic fills me

Dancing on the edge




SOLAR RETURN again… a haiku


A Solar return

Age moves old on bones

Winter’s chill illuminates


Winter’s chill illuminates

Hail the days gone and to come

Deep freeze till Spring time


Deep freeze till Spring time

Seeds sleep in the winter nights

The silence holds peace


The silence holds peace

Rebel life gets in the way

Days slip to the wind


Days slip to the wind

Seeds sleep in the winter nights

A Solar return

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Being silent… listening


Chill lays a damp rest on my exposed flesh.

Morning moves with the swift flight of birds

ascending with the Sun.

What is re-born sits with ringlets  of scattered

morning white tumbling, breathing.

With those two crows that take watch in the

corners of these eyes that have seen six decades

There is a rightness to this with a hand

extended into the wet dirt, moving centuries

around in the stirring of life up again.

Burying it closer to the surface this time

where green finds her rest and scattered

blooms come again because they must

The coffee is bitter in the sweet of the must have.

Inhaling the moist morning with the waft

of lemon and citronella to ward off the bitting.

A rapid scold comes from the tree tops speaking

in a foreign tongue familiar like music without

words that give a feel, a pulse, a cadence known

without remembering why.Telling the story of the

moment with absolute clarity.

There is no wrong in the want to carve my

initials across this land.  Lay some bit  of

myself in the claim of where I’ve been and

where I am.  The safety of it is illusive, dream

like, a fugue on this Earth Path of my foot-

prints shallow and deep along the soft and

hard ways finding home.

Sitting here in the damp of this rising

morning.  Being silent, listening.






Weave out of the old

Texture the new

Find the color

that the breath

gives to the empty

to spread on the


Walls of a new life

made ready for this

next moment and

the next as the wait

shortens to the Call

of the way of a


Whisper rising to

be heard just right

in this weave in

this texture

in this colour

that breath gives


When home finds

a new place to Be

in this passing

of days on this

Land, in this place

for a little


While longer

when Home at

last becomes

the vast wonder

of the Infinite

And till then


I am Here




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Old Love’s visitation

day 25… napowrimo

Nudes with bow #@2

Shared history in a chemistry of long ago
Decades have passed mostly whispered by
With scattered temptations and other yearnings
In flash mob moments caught in an
exuberant push for remembering connection

There will always be this love undenied
The many long agos and far away
are the coloured threads that weave us
Worn in places still weaving anew.
In the rise of chemistry that stills lingers

Old love that joys the heart and laughs
In-spite of distances and other loves
Other lives, all tumbles together for
in the memorabilia of lives well lived
while still unfolding into the next

We meet like it was yesterday
In that familiar way of us
In essence still thriving
building our tomorrows
in this today in our goodbye.

till next time


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