Wild Heart: A Call to Have a Soul-Filled Life. {poetry}
She is a wild heart. She runs free. High in the mountains. Softly treading the hillside. Imprinting the sand by the ocean.
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poetry
Always Make Room for Her. {poetry}
Do not banish or forget her. Hold her dearly and hold her gently. Delicately and lovingly, place her in your room.
Tiger Lily and John Wayne: Two Puzzle Pieces. {poetry}
The yellowed yarrow man sat to eat my sorrow with sips of supper. The two murre eggs in his head met the nest of driftwood in the place my eyes rest.
The Womb of My Mother. {poetry}
I continue to break unhealthy patterns of my ancestors, of my grandmother, of my mother, of my sister and of me. This is the way of awakening.
The Water Mumbled Mantra Into My Dreams. {poetry}
Children jack-knife off rock perches, lovers kiss, moms float babies downstream cradled in bright inner tubess, lap-happy dogs paddle the water.
We Regress Back to Refined Terror. {poetry}
In this war, those who have everything will fight back, as they did in the Renaissance. Nobody can live in half a palace.
Mama: On Never Fully Receiving a Mother’s Love. {poetry}
What if that love was only fractionally given, leaving a sense memory of what is longed for but can no longer be fulfilled?
In Retreat as Collateral Damage. {poetry}
My fire? All sucked off me alongside my verve, my royalty. I have nothing left but bulging bones and thoughts in the foreground of my evanesced presence.
What Happens When an Illusion Finally Ends? {poetry}
You just woke up from an illusion that you should not stand in the dark, that darkness would swallow you if you didn’t run from it.
Ancestor Mother: The Story Is Sacred Medicine. {poetry}
I’ve been walking with the Eve creation story, the one I was told in Sunday school, finding the ways in which she has sung through my voice.