And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
And when great souls die,
And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles,
no matter how long,
She speaks slowly
with a voice like moss,
soft, deep and damp.Read More
“Hieroglyphic Stairway” by Drew Dellinger is a poetic invitation into rising to the challenges of our times. It asks:
what did you do while the planet was plundered?
what did you do when the earth was unraveling?
This poem is a group poem written by the participants of the “Awakening Creative Flow” workshop Mary delivered at the Expressive Therapies Summit in Los Angeles, Saturday, March 30.Read More
When you are 80 years old
and your beauty rises in ways
your cells cannot even imagine now
and your wild bones grow luminous and
ripe, having carried the weight
of a passionate life.
She had horses who danced in their mother’s arms.
She had horses who thought they were the sun and their
bodies shone and burned like stars.
She had horses who waltzed nightly on the moon.
She had horses who were much too shy, and kept quiet
in stalls of their own making.
Tell a story about why the sun comes back.
Sit still until the itches give up, lizards ignore you,
a mule deer holds you in her eyes.
Explain yourself over and over. Forget it all
when a scrub jay shrieks.
I will honor all life- wherever and in whatever form it may dwell - on Earth my home, and in the mansions of the stars.Read More
Climbing through a dark shower I came to the edge of the mountain
I was a child and everything was thereRead More
with the animals dying around ustaking our feelings we are saying thank you with the forests falling faster than the minutes of our lives we are saying thank youRead More
This woman loved a man and she breathed to him her damp earth song.Read More
Walking, I can almost hear the redwoods beating. And the oceans are above me here, rolling clouds, heavy and dark, considering snow. On the dry, red road, I pass the place of the sunflower, that dark and secret location where creation took place. I wonder if it will return this summer, if it will multiply and move up to the other stand of flowers in a territorial struggle.Read More
It’s the cedar – the mother of lingonberry – that is my tree.
It doesn’t need summer – rain and snow are enough.
Its top is high and ragged, no one hears its sound.
It has a tough, long root that it sinks into gravel.
The world is hungry for your beauty,
to bring forth
your deepest gifts.Read More
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.Read More
Connections are made slowly, sometimes they grow underground.You cannot tell always by looking what is happening.Read More
When did poetry arrive for you? What is your relationship to poetry? Do you write it, read it? Where does it live for you?Read More
A beautiful poem by Michael Havers that has us question our place in nature.Read More