I stood beside the River today

"Twirling Home"

Standing beneath the Pine Tree
from on high my eyes can see
dancing and twirling merrily,
the ice floating down.

The sounds the River can sing
from the clinkety crystalline of spring
to the crush and scrape these ice chunks bring,
as they make their grinding sound.

All edges and jaggedness wearing away
the ice travels onwards, but here I stay
feet planted on this Land, upon which I pray
that the River of Faith make me round,

too!

There is me and there is you,
and so many more of us too!
We can journey along, sinsonging our songs
open and ready
feeling deeply strong and so steady.

At our core we are more
dense than even the nucleus of the Stars!

So we bump and then grind
sparkle dust dispersing to shine
on all that it encounters.

And then someday we find
all the magic of being mutually entwined
reveals our own roundabout way home.

We float and we stride
side by side, ride the ride!

And remember, we are never
and have never been
alone.

Losing track(s)

"Lost but not Found"

I am not sure how much many
I am supposed to do. To be.

Certainly more than I am.
I can never be enough.

If I could just be more and better
Then maybe he would not have let her
Into his arms?

Surely this was proof of my uncouth ways.

Will I be safe from all pain
If I can be just the same
As the best person ever?

Will money and prestige
And making sure everybody likes me
Mean that I will never
Have to hurt again?

There is always one more poem to write
Always a reason to end this fight
I should be able to choose even more light!

Right?

I have lost track of how much more I should do.
Maybe all this searching will never lead me to true.
Maybe I am already perfectly new
And fresh.

Like the snow that keeps falling.
We can shovel it away while the children are balling
it up to make fluffy, breakable projectiles.

And if we rest just awhile, the blanket can cover
The wounds brought about by one too many past lovers.
No paths out there for me to take, it is time I discover

That the Garden of Love
In my metaphorical Heart
Is what I am
And there is no part of me
That is not already perfect and free.

How many before tomorrow?

"There is still time"

I think that tomorrow is the end.
I will have made it.
I think.
I must write though.

Hopefully the words can flow
From my finger tips.
Soft lips whispering inside my head
As I type...

Writer.
Am I?

"This Morning"

I want to be the kind of Mother
The Mother that never makes them wonder
I want to be the kind of Mother
That is always a kinder Mother
Than I was last time.

Oh the words don't rhyme
When I yell.
"Mommy! Stop talking mean to me."
Guilt. I yelled. Again.

This guy just won't be reasoned with.
Spirited. The book says.
"Like regular children, but more."

Me too. I am more. And never too much (for the right people).
More emotions. More perceptive. More intense.

All this simply means: Apply More Love.
And sometimes my cup runs out.
I tried to take a time out!
Last night.
What a joke. He spoke with tears of abandonment when I left the room.
There must be some other tools to keep us all living and loving along.

I sing songs. We pray.
And at the end of each day
We all know how much we love one another.
I guess, at least
I am that kind of  Mother.

Not a perfect one.
But we do have fun.
And the love flies free
Fluttering joyously
Amidst my Sonshines and me.

"Did you just lick my foot"

I will let you be a puppy
If it means you eat your supper

I will let you run all wildly
If it calms your energy and you mildly
Snuggle in tight.

Tonight, you bounced and giggled.
You squirmed and wiggled.
We laughed and maybe tickled
Awhile.

Sometimes you lick.
Sometimes you swear!
Sometimes you even disappear
And hide on me.

You ate that candy from the sidewalk.
You covered the walls in coloured chalk.
You filled the toilet with paper and squeezed it.
You sniffed the pepper and then you sneezed it
all over the place!

And then, when I sing,
(like Buffy Sainte Marie)
You keep on doing
all the things
"Just  like little kids do"

Except you are more likely to pee
On a great big tree
than in a puddle.

"That I Might Climb a Mountain, Even Once I am Old and Grey"

I saw Buffy recently
She speaks and composes so eloquently
For the people who have long been silenced
Who have been oppressed and treated with violence

And she is still carrying on
So damn strong
At the age of 78
She looks better than great

I watched her move about that stage
Filled with hope; thrusting love at the rage
We should all feel when we realize
The injustice of the Treaties broken before our very eyes.

I intend to use my voice too
I don't quite know yet what I can do
But act in service to Creator I must
Placing my Faith in the Great Mystery, I trust

That I can make a difference too someday
Strong enough to climb mountains, even once I am old and grey.

1 - 2 - 3 - ... 4?

One, two, three, four
Nobody knows what is in store

Five, six, seven, eight
Time now to appreciate

What am I here for?
This message I can hear more

Clearly now:

"You are for what everybody is for Mama. For love."

And so, once again.
As below, so above.

If that meant anything, I suppose.

Meaning grows when we energize on it.
Best intend for love to spawn it
Spawn more and more and more Love and Joy
All within, there is no magic toy
Outside of self.

Nothing to hide from. Look darkness in the face.
There is no race to the end.
All moments depend
on the quality of what I intend.

Last Daycare before 8am Start until 2020

I almost got it right
This Earthling such a delight
This morning.

He did not rise without warning.
No.

I had to wake him.
His sleeping cherub face
I rubbed his forehead
He stretched a little
And settled back into slumber
Eyes moving beneath lids
Eyelashes long and beautiful

I grow beautiful children.

"Are you waking up?"
I gently asked.
I hear my Grandmothers voice inside my head:
"Never wake a sleeping baby."

But I must. He will ask:
"Do I have school?"
Yes, little sweetie. You do.
"And you have French?"
Yes, little sweetie. I do.

The floor in the bathroom is warm.
I even start the car to warm it up today!
Except, it isn't really that cold out.

We leave with plenty of time.
No sighs. No cries. Food ate. No fear of being late!

This is so great.

I win at this solo parenting thing.

We arrive and head in.
Both of us wearing a grin
And enjoying this day.

As we begin to head up the stairs
He stumbles and places his hand
exactly where...
my foot is about to land.

Oh! The tears. The face. The sadness. He feels betrayed!

"Mama! You stepped on my fingers!"

I kiss him. I rock him. I say that I am sorry.
"Ouch. That must have really hurt."
Validate these huge feelings
Mine own are already reeling

A warm smile greets us. I explain what happened.
I pass my child, now calm, into the arms of the dearest most gracious caregiver
And I am grateful for her and for all the people that work there.

And I leave. Still on time.
Wondering what it is we are doing on the Earth.
Trying to forgiving myself for harming the Angel I birthed.

Wondering if I will ever get it all right
someday.

French Fries Never Die

The fry is still there
At the top of the stairs
And I am wondering where
The cleanliness lies