“From The Inner Tongue Onto The Page”
Yesterday, I woke up thinking
That “ conversation is not the Soul’s language “
In the Writing Circle, poetry, in whatever form it comes,
Has a voice and an awareness
As it is the call
From deep silence
To be known
It is singularity of a particular nature
Un copied, in all the universe
Unique and present
Waiting in queue
To be folded in life’s dynamic unfolding

Influence and energy exchange
Our intention
The engine and the drill

I see the Core of you all tonight
And I see your delight that is built into the very motive for our survival

Don’t you feel motivated?
From where?
To drill to the Core
And describe the very thing
That touches it precisely

It just falls from the inner tongue onto the page

“The Urgent Message”
A sheet of paper knows every room in my house.
It’s usually carried there when an urgent message
Is coming through the airwaves.

Just the other night,
( Too lazy to move any further than my arm could take me )
I reached into my night table because an urgent set of words made sense
real sense

Half awake, half asleep
I foraged …and ripped out the last page of my crossword book.
One thing can be another

AHH… the sentence.
I shut the light.

The words flooded in…
the light-

A sentence.

And again and again
Like spinning yarn
The page …the only page
was filled and brimming
over the edges
Illegible
Teeny
Tiny
scribbles

Source would not leave me alone
The edges of the page and the extent of my passion collided !

If more paper doesn’t find its way to me
I’ll wrestle with words
Until they fall back to dreams.

I guess I thoroughly believe in the existence of what’s present…

…that unless paper can make its way to me,
I surrender the rest of words,
to the potential that never made it out of bed.


I wish I had more time to write about the unity of all things…