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Canta Libre - Songs of Life

6/25/2012

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contemplation:  original meaning "in the temple"


a bell rings noiselessly in a faraway place
winds move gauzy curtains of light
a waft of sage and sweet grass lingers
ever present spirits of ancestors
bid welcome to this holy sanctuary
beneath towering ponderosa, trembling aspen
the river bubbles ceaselessly
from hidden spring




supplicants


writhing in anguish
feeling wrongly done
hurling prayers of bewilderment and demand into
vast and heedless sky 
angry at the Void

why does the Ear of Heaven turn away 
in deafness
why focus its Eye on children
laughing on the banks of poverty
breaking one crust of bread amongst them
bowing to whisper Holy Name

- pb 2012 -


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sans definitive substance

6/12/2012

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sans definitive substance

 
you ask me who I am and to please 
explain myself and
I have no answer that would
satisfy your need for definition
my boundaries have all melted
and I will not, can not mold myself
into whomever you wish me to be
at this moment

I know no moment from the past
that might serve as touchstone
and no light shines far enough
into my tomorrows
to assure you or me
of my configuration in
a form we might recognize

water flows freely
through me
and suns rise and set
in me without hesitation
the pull of tides
the threads of moonbeams
the roar of thunders
and lightning jagging
across my tissue and bone
ignite the undulation of my coursing blood 
and my living breath
my mortal flesh has burst open

there is no container for
I AM

- pb 2011 -

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wearing winter

6/7/2012

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Picture
                                                                                                                                                                                                   
                                                                                              
                                                                                                                                                                                                


I’m still wearing winter
these waning days of May



not the winter of woolen layers
and snow boots and scarves, rather
the winter of inside spaces
of spicy chicken tortilla soup
of hot cocoa with whipped cream
of juicy pies and cobblers

of late nights with Anna Karenina
or Dante or Michener
of mending and knitting
and writing long letters

I’m wearing the winter
of contentment
of peaceful rest
of long walks on empty beaches
before summer people arrive
of preparing hard ground for abundance
of catching stray demons
and releasing them

with a sidelong glance at my reflection
in my full length mirror
I find wearing winter 
quite becoming


- pb 2012

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memorial days

6/1/2012

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Picture
were this the last word
i hear from your lips
the last touch of your hand
the last smile
the last embrace

know this . . . 

i have wrapped
each word
each touch
each smile
each embrace

each moment of
all the moments 
of all the years 
in delicate layers of
sheer light

tucked gently 
into my pocket 
i carry them 
with reverence
for our holiness

~ pb 2012 ~

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    Author

    poet . . . . dreamer . . . .   witness . . . .
    dweller on high plains 
    and by the sea . . . .

    Phyllis shares her love of nature, people, places, ideas, and spirit with you.


    All poems are original material copyrighted by Phyllis.  Please ask permission to quote, copy or reproduce.  Thank you! 

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