Weeds

{without context,

intentionally}

Visions of myself

in the meadow of my mind,

skinny as a rail,

talking of things unrevealed

to the flowers

(or the weeds -

depending on how you see

them).

Everything is a metaphor

for everything...

and still, I am learning.

Sun rays on my cheek;

warm and

burning.

Spitting and 

spewing out beauty -

rejection

all over my face,

from a disorder

in the face of a

disorderly world.

Only still, I am learning.

I cannot tell the meadow why

it breathes and breeds

no more than I

can know why I breathe,

why I need.

Speaking out

to who and what

I do not know when or where or

why... only how:

only by being.

Be still, I am learning.

Visions of myself

in the meadow of my mind,

hungry as anything,

talking of things unrevealed

to the flowers

(or the weeds -

depending on how you see

them).

Everything is a metaphor

for everything...

and still, I am learning.

The Spirit Tree

{Of course,

For The Branches,
with so much more love
than words will ever hold}

The Spirit Tree forever lives -

and then again and again,

so do we.

The Spirit Tree
is where we build our nest -

through the rays and the glows

of the solstice’s test...

the folds of the

branches will never be blown bare

by the bitter north wind,

nor the southern flame and flare.

The Spirit Tree

firms its roots in the soil of life;

it bares stories in the forms of

leaves, flowers, fruits, and strife,

that fall into the spiral

of new buds and "remember whens" - a song

in the form of storms

growing a history deep and strong.

The Spirit Tree

is alive with laughter ringing,

baking bread, holy water,

and voices singing -

it soaks up the rays and the rain and

the tears and the pain;

with the cries of birth, death, and waiting

running in its veins.

The Spirit Tree

is here, and it is now:

echoing in a chorus of

everyday, eternal sounds:

we hold and are held by these branches

from where we first fell down,

from where we first flew up; and

from where the bees hum to the rhythm of the woodpecker’s drum.

The Spirit Tree

is not a mystery,

but a common vow that rests

in the nests of the chicks and maturity -

eternity round the rings of its trunk.

It paints the sky with rainbows; pages

of bark decorated with blossoms held together

with woven memories through the ages.

The Spirit Tree

cannot be seen

except in the form

of you and me,

where if you look closely,

your heart’s eye can find my soul’s mind;

it can picture a place

that gives our soul breath and through our’s, thrives.

The Spirit Tree never dies -

and then again and again,

neither will we.

Sacred Skin

My body is a temple

that desires communion

and requires solitude;

it flows with holy blood and is held

in sacred skin only sacrificed when

given to share

by choice

with the strength of bones

built to be worshiped.

My body is a temple

laid down only when

yes means yes -

flesh to fuel the desire of faith -

free and

given to share

by choice

with the strength of bones

built to worship.

My body is a temple

built by the stars and the moons;

by the bears and the willows

that came before it: the earth

expressing themselves;

given to share

by choice

with the strength of bones

built through worship.

My body is a temple

not to be defiled by the church

or the unholy hands that seek to colonize,

and patronize, and claim

the land and the groundskeeper;

who holds no key but the security

given to share

by choice

with the strength of bones

built for worship.

My body is a temple:

its Spirit chooses to give life again

and again, reborn with each new cell,

and each new “yes” to life -

where faith is not fear, but is

given to share

by choice

with the strength of bones

built in worship.

Our bodies are the church,

where God resides,

and is revealed through

the fires of desire:

holy, and beautifully

given to share

by choice

with the strength of bones

built for all to worship.

- Carolyn Gray

We Are Stars

Did you notice?

We are stardust.

Did you know?

We are stars.

The twinkle in your eye

reflects the universe to mine;

eternity in our gaze..

our eyes make the day

while lighting up the night.

We make, we create,

we re-unite life; it radiates

from our fingers,

from our breath,

from our death.

You bring out the star light

in me...

Did you notice?

We are stardust.

Did you know?

We are stars.

White fire from before

the black hole

danced us into being.

A sun sacrificed that we may live

to bring light:

death gave us - paved us

the path to life

so we may gaze

at the blaze

in each others eyes

after thirteen billion years

and an instant it’s taken me to say,

Did you notice?

We are stardust.

Did you know?

We are stars.

I fantasize

about the night skies and

how you and I dance within it

like the day's rays

we light the way

with life.

There’s fire in our eyes -

the galaxy gazing

at itself, smiling

in the twinkle of our skies.

You bring out the star light

in me...

Did you notice?

We are stardust.

Did you know, my dear?

We are stars.

Sweet Fragility

[a.k.a.

we need each other]

Ice 2013