Who understands me but me......

...I cannot fly or make something appear in my hand,
I cannot make the heavens open or the earth tremble,
I can live with myself, and I am amazed at myself, my love,
my beauty,
I am taken by my failures, astounded by my fears,
I am stubborn and childish,
in the midst of this wreckage of life they incurred,
I practice being myself,
and I have found parts of myself never dreamed of by me,
they were goaded out from under rocks in my heart
when the walls were built higher,
when the water was turned off and the windows painted black.
I followed these signs
like an old tracker and followed the tracks deep into myself,
followed the blood-spotted path,
deeper into dangerous regions, and found so many parts of myself,
who taught me water is not everything,
and gave me new eyes to see through walls,
and when they spoke, sunlight came out of their mouths,
and I was laughing at me with them,
we laughed like children and made pacts to always be loyal,
who understands me when I say this is beautiful?

-Jimmy Santiago Baca, "Who Understands Me but Me"

The nest

The threads of grass, so round and dry, intricately woven,
With small beady eyes and sharp black beak
the blue green lichen is so mindfully placed.
The soft deep center gathered with special care,
Such a safe, delicate place to set oneself.
And all of this love held so high,
Safely cradled in the crook of the limbs
Or delicately balanced on a branch
Covered by design or surprise by the big broad leaf,
To keep the treasure dry and shielded from prey
That would pluck and feed.
This sacred place so instinctual in its creation.

Guided by a small heart beat and a tiny breath
And supported by the assurance of the preciousness of life.

 And here I am.

The creator, the nest, the limb that holds the nest,
The broad leaf that protects the softest deepest place.
I hold my hands out and bring that softest part to my heart.

Nx



.

The seaside....

So kind to me as it caressed my feet, my ankles,
a small line of solid surface moving up my body,
the under of it filling every crevice
until my mouth is full and my eyes disappear in its cool kindness.
So grateful for its loving touch
On this warm summer day.

Nx

like the bird....

The wing is my extention,
my search for balance.
The wind is my ground.
The bird's hollow boned flesh
echoing in the wind.
Earth.
I am your projection,
Fill up the space with the other.

Nx

You came to visit me last night in a dream...

You came to visit me last night.
What a surprise.
A clear, crisp, textured visit.
You showed me your new tattoo
and said, "it does not read the way I was hoping."
We smiled together at the imperfection of our lives.

I had forgotten how pale your skin
and how red your hair.
Always so thick and wild.

When you touched my skin,
It was full of no goodbyes
And when I touched your skin
I felt all of your body
so solid and sure and strong
cradled in my open heart,
laying safely in my arms.

I brought out the basket that I had made for you
from the first spring shoots of the reeds in the pond.
I filled the container with all the gifts that
I have received from you.
I wanted to return them to you.

So we could be human together.

Nx

Desire change

 This is a raw poem that calls from real and authentic places...........places that may be alittle frightening if heard with an open mind/heart......the whole way.....it is a bit scary when you are peeking at the truth of it.............read it out loud!! Read it to the whole audience!! 


Desire change,
Be enthusiastic for that flame
in which a thing escapes your grasp,
while it makes a glorious display of changes.

Be enthusiastic for that flame
in which a thing escapes your grasp,
while it makes a glorious display of transformation.

That designing spirit, the master mind of all things of earth,
loves nothing as much in the sweeping movement
of the dance as the turning point.

Rainer Maria Rilke

you are alive

You do not breath to stay alive,
You are alive so you breath,
You do not eat in order to live,
You are alive so you eat.

Bernie Glassman

the painting

The paint still drips with the enthusiasm of the first stroke,
The red, the yellow, and now the orange
Changing shapes and hues with every push and pull of the brush.
The image is clear, then hides deep inside the shadow of the blue,
Now a face peers out from the darkness.
A little lightness and the face is gone but from the light shines
A setting sun sliding down the mountain.
The moon in the corner must shine on something
Or can it be as it is?
All round and white and full...just that is enough.
No need to show as anything other than what has
Lived behind my eyes.
Nx

I am the one who.....

I am the one who holds it closely and then pushes away,
I am the one who shuts it down and opens it up, 
I am the one who rocks the baby with empty arms
I am the one who rolls in the ashes,
I am the one with the electric body
I am the one who drinks it right to the bottom,
I am the one who never sleeps,
I am the one who sits until all the branches have fallen,
I am the one who coughs up the pain from wounded beings,
And swims in the tears.
I am the one who talks to the chickens and cows,
And asks the little green frog in the grass to stay the night
I am the one who smells the fur of dogs and purrs the cats,
I am the one who bites the pill and races through the wind,
I am the one who plunges deep in the water and rests in the silence,
I am the one who is adored by the dead mother,
I am the one who adores the dead mother,
I am the one who lays in the forest between the rooted columns
And melts into the moss,
I am the one who hears with her eyes
And sees with her ears. 
I am the one who is always listening for the voices that have been left behind.
I am the red one who is always just alittle to big for the room,
I am the one who lets the paint run down her arms
And drip off the ends of her fingers,
I am the one who aches for the love I have lost
And lays tingling on the floor,
I am the one who ran the  beach
feet numb with achy cold water,
I am the one who climbed the mountain
Following the tracks of the wild ones,
I am the one with the slippery skin who slides off the rock
and disappears into the deep cold water.

Norma

The plunge

The small body flew in the air,
Arms and legs searching for the balance
and connection.
Shattering the sharp surface.
And then the silence, deep, dark, unseen.
The relief of weightlessness.
Held in the thick syrupy arms of the water
As it carried her to the surface and sun
As effortlessly as the breath it knew
She would need.