Crack

Crack 

oh it lay there - small neck

snapped - each tiny limb 

crimped on the stones 

oh it lay there 

it could just as easily 

been her hope-itself

still-in this season of

cold grass turning -

something lovely

overlapping 

dank dread 

the seep of 

soul as she 

prodded 
her-
self 

B

r

e

a

t

h

e

The Sunday Whirl

Ah Mother's Day

Ah Mother's Day..

filled with spectral 

color, depth and 

dimensions of all

the beating heart 

can bear, memory

of first cries - and

satin skin - of tears

of joy and anguish

of parchment good-

byes and joyous

hellos -of heinous

heartbreak and

inexpressible joy

Ah Mother's Day...

when the Great

Mother Earth her-

self sighs and

sends crashing

seas and gentle

rains to flourish

power, passion

and love beyond

measure or

replication -

Ah Mother's Day..

for all those who

emerged from womb

or entered a welcome

room - for those who

now sparkle in the

whisper of the wind

to those whose power

stirs conflict and heart-

ache ...cry silver tears

Ah Mother's Day...

may all find the

sparkle of love in the

gift of life and for those

fortunate enough to

attach joy to a particular

mother ... be she in your

arms or ensconced in the

mystic magical memory

of your heart

dance 

because of

or inspite of

dance 
the dance of life

Ahhhhh..... Mother's Day.....

Origins

                     cocoparisienne                 

Origins

a twig snapped in the slashing rain

and the mother weary with labor lifted

her head wobbling on thin stalked neck

and looked toward the sound only she

heard – the others off to side swapping

stories sitting in ash around the small fire

one blackened limb touching another their

shadows stretching up the cave wall – she

could feel the rain as though it poured clean

and cool – she could feel the rain as though

spirits of the grand mother of all walked with

clean feet and soft hands and lifted her in

this cavern of pain and indifference, washed her

body and hair free of sweat and desperation and

agony and delivered born unto her a swaddled infant –

as the rain stilled to the mist – radiates of a new dawn

showering her shoulders as she stood infant to breast

in the doorway looking out onto a ribbon of tomorrow

poised to walk …. 

she smiled 

The Sunday Whirl