Secret Language

Every part of you is a secret language.
Eye, mouth, chin,
shoulder, elbow, hand
all speak,
all sing.
Together, you are a symphony.

Imagine what your hips would say
to those who will learn
and listen.

The first line of this is from a Rumi poem called Having Nothing” and translated by Coleman Barks. It needs work, but I like the idea of where this might go.

The Trouble with Time

I have trouble
with time.
It is constantly sneaking
away from me,
hiding in the folds of a book,
under a cup of coffee
or behind a daydream

Like a cat,
it stays just out of reach
until I turn my back.
Then it rubs against my legs
nearly tripping me up

Particles, sprinkled on the path,
crunch underfoot
Waves, crash into me
submerge me,
knocking me down

I cannot seem to manage
this time;
so forgive me
if I keep you waiting

Sunday morning thoughts

I have been reading Rumi and Mary Oliver; most recently “The Truest Devotion” and “Wild Geese”.  They put me in a frame of mind to think of things like this:

There is love
And there are rules
And there is love of rules

Which of these do you worship?

May 5

Sunday morning,
May sunshine
pours
through the windows.
Outside
there is a new
tenderness
to the air.
The breeze sings
in soft tones,
drawing us out,
urging us
to reach
for the sun.
Join the chorus
and sing.
This is a time
for birthing,
for growing
for beginnings.
This is a day to
be alive.