November 28, 2009
Nice little poem by English playwright, Christopher Fry. Sent to me by local friend and colleague, Carla Kelley of the Human Rights Education Center. After we shared an afternoon exploring each others work. I love the notion, "Thank God our time is now...."
A SLEEP OF PRISONERS
Dark and cold we may be, but this
Is no winter now. The frozen misery
Of centuries breaks, cracks, begins to move;
The thunder is the thunder of the floes,
The thaw, the flood, the upstart Spring.
Thank God our time is now when wrong
Comes up to face us everywhere,
Never to leave us till we take
The longest stride of soul we ever took.
Affairs are now soul size.
The enterprise
Is exploration into God.
Where are you making for? It takes
So many thousand years to wake,
But will you wake for pity's sake!
-Christopher Fry
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
New Country -- Poem by Monica Pohlmann
October 3, 2009
Monica Pohlmann's poem below immediately touched me. She shared it last summer at an Art of Hosting training near Calgary, Alberta. Monica describes very well the experience of moving to a new world view. More of her work is on her website.
New Country
I have already moved to another country.
Already think in a new language.
Borders crossed and boundaries now much expanded.
I have caught a glimpse of how big life is
and how much bigger I could be.
Capacity threshold so much larger than I realized.
How to translate this to the motherland?
I loved there authentically.
Still do.
But I think in a new tongue now
and must claim on this new land the life that is truly mine.
Monica Pohlmann's poem below immediately touched me. She shared it last summer at an Art of Hosting training near Calgary, Alberta. Monica describes very well the experience of moving to a new world view. More of her work is on her website.
New Country
I have already moved to another country.
Already think in a new language.
Borders crossed and boundaries now much expanded.
I have caught a glimpse of how big life is
and how much bigger I could be.
Capacity threshold so much larger than I realized.
How to translate this to the motherland?
I loved there authentically.
Still do.
But I think in a new tongue now
and must claim on this new land the life that is truly mine.
Light Hearted -- Poem By Diana Durham
October 3, 2009
I met Diana Durham April 2008. Her poetry is beautiful. Her spirit is irrepressible. Here website is here. She emailed this poem a few days ago. Loved it.
Light Hearted
the molecules of glass
match the frequencies of light
which is why we have windows
and not dense dim rectangles
of other matter
to look through darkly
and how we can see, while still
indoors, the grass and green leaves
of gardens;
when we go outside it is the same
but unframed, larger, wider
views of plane-trailed skies.
so is our heart the framer
of all clear sight, its frequencies
know light and that something
larger lies beyond
which is why when they match
we no longer take ourselves
too seriously, seeing that
light always makes us lighter.
I met Diana Durham April 2008. Her poetry is beautiful. Her spirit is irrepressible. Here website is here. She emailed this poem a few days ago. Loved it.
Light Hearted
the molecules of glass
match the frequencies of light
which is why we have windows
and not dense dim rectangles
of other matter
to look through darkly
and how we can see, while still
indoors, the grass and green leaves
of gardens;
when we go outside it is the same
but unframed, larger, wider
views of plane-trailed skies.
so is our heart the framer
of all clear sight, its frequencies
know light and that something
larger lies beyond
which is why when they match
we no longer take ourselves
too seriously, seeing that
light always makes us lighter.
How Are You Navigating in the Time of Dramatic Change?
November 27, 2008
Simply rich. Stories. Wonderings. Shared among Berkana friends. Focused on a question. Listening. Giving full support. Daring to be in our learning edges, knowing it is the only way.
How Are You Navigating in this Time of Dramatic Change?
November 2008
Can you hear me? I am near, me. Near without fear.
I’m tellin’ a story about these Atlantic waters.
In my first ocean worthy boat sailin’ with all of us new in the deep sea blue.
I thought the harbor would be visible and open.
Of fuck, it is all haze.
I saw the opening for one moment only, but it was all we needed in that day.
I would do it again. And I do.
Popped up in scale, I remind others I have no idea what I’m doing.
I’m shedding myself into longevity and multi scale.
I just read your article and committed to try it. Whack this out. Here we go.
Feelin’ the real, collapsing in the market.
We are nose to nose, on the hunt for what works.
Copin’ for me is in my hope. The only way that I can hold scale is by being in family.
The scale works me in my frail, my shaking tail.
I so want to be there, to get as close as I can.
Not waiting. No gating. Beyond dating. The journey of my soul awakens.
I sound like I don’t know what I am doing, but I do know.
I find my way in the immediately infront, the next simple elegant step.
I’m seeking clarity of direction. Detection of that direction.
Shape and motion in this collection to direction.
Looking at this land, my partner and I, but we are letting come.
Awaken to oneness.
Work with friends.
Work with simplicity.
These are the tools I know that help me navigate
My practice in the day to day, this way to that way.
I’m in my physical parallel breakdown.
Systemic crisis is teaching me what my life is.
Learning that I’m not less than. We are not less than.
In right relation in this station.
I’m so hungry for home. Building beyond this roam.
Integrity, feeling on my edge.
This phase in these days.
Takin’ it in like a sponge and needing my time.
Back in the day, we practiced river time.
Without watches, setting up camp,
watching the stars, seeing my clarity in tending my gear.
I’m often wrong, but never in doubt.
I’m not buying my own bullshit.
This phase is groundless and very confusing.
What is this crap? Grow some food!
There is no release as I spiral in.
Language separates. Sound anchors. Songs. Sounds. Rounds.
Meetin’ in vibration we find our unity in our community.
The ground I’ve found, but the compass of figuring it out isn’t working.
I can feel the gazillions of answers – we remember more in our silence.
I got through labor with low vocalization.
Moo with me. You too, with me.
We are holding you as you move to the rim and get your baby home.
I’ve been to that rim.
My center is in our house. Our home. Our basic home.
Nursing and getting people to bed.
Steppin with my grandfather to the places he couldn’t dream of going.
Travelling across these times, feeling the birth of possibility,
Bringing that baby home too.
It just comes naturally – the mooing. The moaning through the groaning.
I’ve been bailing out my ship, spinning through conversations with friends.
Talking about our stuff on the couch.
I’m trying to be with my mad, unaware of our own neighborhoods.
What if I lose the anger? There are hearts achin’ and breakin’
As I remember what it means to be together.
Speedin’ in this boat, afloat in the choppy waters.
I’m trying to slow down but feeling my heavy foot on the accelerator.
Sleep walking in the consumerist pattern.
Evicted from our garden, from our growing.
I’m opening dialogues, other gardens with conversations about Zim dollars.
Speaking from Greece, we eleven women
Cried our way into arriving, grieving our thriving.
Wearing masks as we show more of our selves in the world.
I knew we just needed to feed these women.
Making bread, up late at night, watching the grief clear.
I need to be clear.
Standing in my places with many faces.
Stil in the world. Being still, still in the world.
Wanting to know my place – it might just be a fantasy.
The dark in the coal mine teaches me to be where I am.
My perspective shifted ten years ago; I turned in to myself.
Taught by my hacking, again,
as I’m being navigated to the sweet spots of deep spiritual outside of all this stuff.
Boldly just be. Boldly just be.
What I need shows up in abundance as I take my jewelry off, just bein’ here.
Doin’ a lot of good deeply in some place.
The first time on that 26 footer in the Gulf of Mexico,
I learned about shielding myself to the sun.
Back up the Houston ship channel,
making our way amidst huge oil tankers in the mid of night.
I was completely aware of the fleet, the sail, and the harmony. Attentive.
Thank you Wendell – “Willing to die, you give up your will. Keep still until moved by that which moves all, you are moved.”
Connect.
Take in all that I can.
Tell the truth. We don’t have time not too.
Simply rich. Stories. Wonderings. Shared among Berkana friends. Focused on a question. Listening. Giving full support. Daring to be in our learning edges, knowing it is the only way.
How Are You Navigating in this Time of Dramatic Change?
November 2008
Can you hear me? I am near, me. Near without fear.
I’m tellin’ a story about these Atlantic waters.
In my first ocean worthy boat sailin’ with all of us new in the deep sea blue.
I thought the harbor would be visible and open.
Of fuck, it is all haze.
I saw the opening for one moment only, but it was all we needed in that day.
I would do it again. And I do.
Popped up in scale, I remind others I have no idea what I’m doing.
I’m shedding myself into longevity and multi scale.
I just read your article and committed to try it. Whack this out. Here we go.
Feelin’ the real, collapsing in the market.
We are nose to nose, on the hunt for what works.
Copin’ for me is in my hope. The only way that I can hold scale is by being in family.
The scale works me in my frail, my shaking tail.
I so want to be there, to get as close as I can.
Not waiting. No gating. Beyond dating. The journey of my soul awakens.
I sound like I don’t know what I am doing, but I do know.
I find my way in the immediately infront, the next simple elegant step.
I’m seeking clarity of direction. Detection of that direction.
Shape and motion in this collection to direction.
Looking at this land, my partner and I, but we are letting come.
Awaken to oneness.
Work with friends.
Work with simplicity.
These are the tools I know that help me navigate
My practice in the day to day, this way to that way.
I’m in my physical parallel breakdown.
Systemic crisis is teaching me what my life is.
Learning that I’m not less than. We are not less than.
In right relation in this station.
I’m so hungry for home. Building beyond this roam.
Integrity, feeling on my edge.
This phase in these days.
Takin’ it in like a sponge and needing my time.
Back in the day, we practiced river time.
Without watches, setting up camp,
watching the stars, seeing my clarity in tending my gear.
I’m often wrong, but never in doubt.
I’m not buying my own bullshit.
This phase is groundless and very confusing.
What is this crap? Grow some food!
There is no release as I spiral in.
Language separates. Sound anchors. Songs. Sounds. Rounds.
Meetin’ in vibration we find our unity in our community.
The ground I’ve found, but the compass of figuring it out isn’t working.
I can feel the gazillions of answers – we remember more in our silence.
I got through labor with low vocalization.
Moo with me. You too, with me.
We are holding you as you move to the rim and get your baby home.
I’ve been to that rim.
My center is in our house. Our home. Our basic home.
Nursing and getting people to bed.
Steppin with my grandfather to the places he couldn’t dream of going.
Travelling across these times, feeling the birth of possibility,
Bringing that baby home too.
It just comes naturally – the mooing. The moaning through the groaning.
I’ve been bailing out my ship, spinning through conversations with friends.
Talking about our stuff on the couch.
I’m trying to be with my mad, unaware of our own neighborhoods.
What if I lose the anger? There are hearts achin’ and breakin’
As I remember what it means to be together.
Speedin’ in this boat, afloat in the choppy waters.
I’m trying to slow down but feeling my heavy foot on the accelerator.
Sleep walking in the consumerist pattern.
Evicted from our garden, from our growing.
I’m opening dialogues, other gardens with conversations about Zim dollars.
Speaking from Greece, we eleven women
Cried our way into arriving, grieving our thriving.
Wearing masks as we show more of our selves in the world.
I knew we just needed to feed these women.
Making bread, up late at night, watching the grief clear.
I need to be clear.
Standing in my places with many faces.
Stil in the world. Being still, still in the world.
Wanting to know my place – it might just be a fantasy.
The dark in the coal mine teaches me to be where I am.
My perspective shifted ten years ago; I turned in to myself.
Taught by my hacking, again,
as I’m being navigated to the sweet spots of deep spiritual outside of all this stuff.
Boldly just be. Boldly just be.
What I need shows up in abundance as I take my jewelry off, just bein’ here.
Doin’ a lot of good deeply in some place.
The first time on that 26 footer in the Gulf of Mexico,
I learned about shielding myself to the sun.
Back up the Houston ship channel,
making our way amidst huge oil tankers in the mid of night.
I was completely aware of the fleet, the sail, and the harmony. Attentive.
Thank you Wendell – “Willing to die, you give up your will. Keep still until moved by that which moves all, you are moved.”
Connect.
Take in all that I can.
Tell the truth. We don’t have time not too.
The Place of Tremble
November 26, 2008
Another harvest poem from a recent check-in circle in FL. It came after a teaching offered by Teresa Posakony on the birth and death of organization systems. Beautiful again. The words of participants when asked, "What makes you tremble?" and "Where do you stand?" I love the many entries in these words to the work that matters in our hearts, be it in FL or in other places of community and work.
The Place of Tremble
The place of tremble beyond right doing and wrong doing: I will meet you there.
Aware with attention, callin' it back to center.
No need for a bender -- just the mentor in the center.
Listen. Breath. How cool is that!
Sharin' voice. Sharin' choice. Sharen Joy.
Other council fires burned before ours, for hours.
I'm in the vision. I fear the rejection, the detection of my own judgment.
Out of the cave of like-minded people to the wave of new, seein' my bein'.
In the magic of the profoundly open.
Is there danger in the stranger? Perhaps better in a manger.
Thirty years later in the land of gator,
so entrenched -- views, words, labels.
Can we foster vision in the people?
Ownin' it. No bemoanin' it. Growin' vision.
Shimmie on the bridge. Do I have the strength in my base to dance the curve?
I did the most horrible things, whispering my truth in the ear of my ex, among many in difference.
My passion makes me tremble.
Can we just get on better with each other, sisters and brothers, fathers and mothers.
Trusting in the bridges of possibility born on busses that plunged unknowingly.
In chunnels, tunnels, funnels of absolute authenticity.
Do we have the courage to let fall away?
The mired and the tired. Why are we holding on, we spirits in human form?
Am I really changin'? Can I trust my self, my self?
Trustin' in the right place to be free.
I have visions. Is it real? Am I alone? Alone in this tone?
I think it's tiiime we learn how to swim.
Gonna be a dolphin.
Letting go to the place of no story, trustin' my dolphin muscles.
Knowing choice, choice in my voice.
When someone close dies, and goes away -- that's change.
I would like a place just as it seems.
No thinkin'. No red meat.
We have the will, but oh those snickers are good.
If I ain't trembling, I tremble.
What if I forget?
Can I come to still?
What is the under this in unlearning? Grounded on my feet, and workin'.
I've always done work. What the hell am I doing?
Those old methods don't work for me anymore.
No more fixin'. Just leap and float.
The ecstacy of near death has been with me all of my life.
What do you mean, no!
Ecstacy, frustration, anger, cry, laugh.
I can't split. But I can walk back and forth
on rope bridges in Ireland lookin' for birds above salmon.
I was in the bathroom, takin' care.
It's up to me - really - every day.
Awesome, fearsome.
I'm at the no point of every point,
trembling in the sacred, that wholeness.
Those toes, my toes, blistered and callused because I use them.
I wonder where that new flow is going.
I wonder with no blunder.
I saw these systems going away --
like unfolding flowers, showing it is possible.
Can't be a hero of a story that your own creed created.
What if it were a new story altogether, the old that we've had all along in the new?
In another life, I thought I was bringing in change.
What if all organizations have soul?
Can we bring this back? What woud it mean to fail in soul?
It's a new place. Bring my heart as I bend the curve.
Making the heart. That is my start.
I care about spirit and contributing when moved -- this is my groove.
I've decided to be a voice for families of the future.
Living in the now, this how, not knowing where we're going.
But knowin' we could do better.
Kids deserve it. Our future. Knowin' we can do better.
Another harvest poem from a recent check-in circle in FL. It came after a teaching offered by Teresa Posakony on the birth and death of organization systems. Beautiful again. The words of participants when asked, "What makes you tremble?" and "Where do you stand?" I love the many entries in these words to the work that matters in our hearts, be it in FL or in other places of community and work.
The Place of Tremble
The place of tremble beyond right doing and wrong doing: I will meet you there.
Aware with attention, callin' it back to center.
No need for a bender -- just the mentor in the center.
Listen. Breath. How cool is that!
Sharin' voice. Sharin' choice. Sharen Joy.
Other council fires burned before ours, for hours.
I'm in the vision. I fear the rejection, the detection of my own judgment.
Out of the cave of like-minded people to the wave of new, seein' my bein'.
In the magic of the profoundly open.
Is there danger in the stranger? Perhaps better in a manger.
Thirty years later in the land of gator,
so entrenched -- views, words, labels.
Can we foster vision in the people?
Ownin' it. No bemoanin' it. Growin' vision.
Shimmie on the bridge. Do I have the strength in my base to dance the curve?
I did the most horrible things, whispering my truth in the ear of my ex, among many in difference.
My passion makes me tremble.
Can we just get on better with each other, sisters and brothers, fathers and mothers.
Trusting in the bridges of possibility born on busses that plunged unknowingly.
In chunnels, tunnels, funnels of absolute authenticity.
Do we have the courage to let fall away?
The mired and the tired. Why are we holding on, we spirits in human form?
Am I really changin'? Can I trust my self, my self?
Trustin' in the right place to be free.
I have visions. Is it real? Am I alone? Alone in this tone?
I think it's tiiime we learn how to swim.
Gonna be a dolphin.
Letting go to the place of no story, trustin' my dolphin muscles.
Knowing choice, choice in my voice.
When someone close dies, and goes away -- that's change.
I would like a place just as it seems.
No thinkin'. No red meat.
We have the will, but oh those snickers are good.
If I ain't trembling, I tremble.
What if I forget?
Can I come to still?
What is the under this in unlearning? Grounded on my feet, and workin'.
I've always done work. What the hell am I doing?
Those old methods don't work for me anymore.
No more fixin'. Just leap and float.
The ecstacy of near death has been with me all of my life.
What do you mean, no!
Ecstacy, frustration, anger, cry, laugh.
I can't split. But I can walk back and forth
on rope bridges in Ireland lookin' for birds above salmon.
I was in the bathroom, takin' care.
It's up to me - really - every day.
Awesome, fearsome.
I'm at the no point of every point,
trembling in the sacred, that wholeness.
Those toes, my toes, blistered and callused because I use them.
I wonder where that new flow is going.
I wonder with no blunder.
I saw these systems going away --
like unfolding flowers, showing it is possible.
Can't be a hero of a story that your own creed created.
What if it were a new story altogether, the old that we've had all along in the new?
In another life, I thought I was bringing in change.
What if all organizations have soul?
Can we bring this back? What woud it mean to fail in soul?
It's a new place. Bring my heart as I bend the curve.
Making the heart. That is my start.
I care about spirit and contributing when moved -- this is my groove.
I've decided to be a voice for families of the future.
Living in the now, this how, not knowing where we're going.
But knowin' we could do better.
Kids deserve it. Our future. Knowin' we can do better.
Moving From My Heart -- Poetry
April 21, 2008
This lovely poem from Toke Moeller, in response to so much challenge in Zimbabwe as this country seeks another way. It gives me access to that part of me that thinks about Zim, and that tries to work with any of the levels of uncertainty, challenge, broken heart, violence, blocked vision that are present in my life and those around me, or those that I am invited to work and journey with. Thank you Toke. All.
moving from my heart
I enter the unknown
finding life each day...
as the scale grows organically
I respond as I can best
almost as a reluctant warrior for peace
but what have I got to loose
by giving of myself
letting go
to the hidden
but subtle harmony
within
This lovely poem from Toke Moeller, in response to so much challenge in Zimbabwe as this country seeks another way. It gives me access to that part of me that thinks about Zim, and that tries to work with any of the levels of uncertainty, challenge, broken heart, violence, blocked vision that are present in my life and those around me, or those that I am invited to work and journey with. Thank you Toke. All.
moving from my heart
I enter the unknown
finding life each day...
as the scale grows organically
I respond as I can best
almost as a reluctant warrior for peace
but what have I got to loose
by giving of myself
letting go
to the hidden
but subtle harmony
within
I See Us Standing In a Circle
Another beautiful offering from Tim Merry, inspired by a Berkana board meeting...
I see us standing
In a circle
Hands on each others shoulders
A sacred fire in our centre
Shadows on our backs
The light on our fronts
Our hearts made visible on our chests
Light spreading
Our shadows embedded
Never still
Yet we are still
Together
In a circle
Hands on each others shoulders
A sacred fire in our centre
Shadows on our backs
The light on our fronts
Our hearts made visible on our chests
Light spreading
Our shadows embedded
Never still
Yet we are still
Together
Returning to the mother of us all
Home
In a circle
Hands on each others shoulders
A sacred fire in our centre
Shadows on our backs
The light on our fronts
Our hearts made visible on our chests
Light spreading
Our shadows embedded
Never still
Yet we are still
Together
In a circle
Hands on each others shoulders
A sacred fire in our centre
Shadows on our backs
The light on our fronts
Our hearts made visible on our chests
Light spreading
Our shadows embedded
Never still
Yet we are still
Together
Returning to the mother of us all
Home
Kirkridge AoH Phone Council
There is a lot that is captured in this little poem from a call that I could not participate in. The power of relationship. The power of community.
What lives on in us from Kirkridge?
~ A Virtual Harvest of 20 ~
Feeling welcomed
Loved
And accepted into a community
Where principles don’t need to be negotiated
The power and presence of circle
The importance of rituals
But without a key note speaker
Where will the wisdom come from?
It’s a surprise!
Maybe it’ll come from the rise of the 40 year olds… (no matter how old they are)
Maybe it’ll come from us, who are learning to integrate new skills and
Generate between generations
Maybe it’ll come from us, who are finding our voices and
Learning to ask more authentic questions, like…
How do I live divided no more?
How do I let curiosity soar?
It starts with the spirit of inquiry and sense of discovery…
We remember
Dancing knots and
Falling snow
The sweetness of closing circles around
A fire a-glow
And that gives us the
Courage and
Strength we need
To create a quiet space to listen to our soul
To practice hosting every day
With an open heart
We tug on the thread from Kirkridge and pull it through
To new beginnings
And although it’s frightening
We know we are a part of something bigger
Something exciting
Something that frees us
So we start close in
We feel connected to each other
And filled with gratitude
We know it’s not impossible yet
The Walking People walk with Us
~ A Virtual Harvest of 20 ~
Feeling welcomed
Loved
And accepted into a community
Where principles don’t need to be negotiated
The power and presence of circle
The importance of rituals
But without a key note speaker
Where will the wisdom come from?
It’s a surprise!
Maybe it’ll come from the rise of the 40 year olds… (no matter how old they are)
Maybe it’ll come from us, who are learning to integrate new skills and
Generate between generations
Maybe it’ll come from us, who are finding our voices and
Learning to ask more authentic questions, like…
How do I live divided no more?
How do I let curiosity soar?
It starts with the spirit of inquiry and sense of discovery…
We remember
Dancing knots and
Falling snow
The sweetness of closing circles around
A fire a-glow
And that gives us the
Courage and
Strength we need
To create a quiet space to listen to our soul
To practice hosting every day
With an open heart
We tug on the thread from Kirkridge and pull it through
To new beginnings
And although it’s frightening
We know we are a part of something bigger
Something exciting
Something that frees us
So we start close in
We feel connected to each other
And filled with gratitude
We know it’s not impossible yet
The Walking People walk with Us
Holly Masturzo Poem from the Center
harvest/found poem -- conversation with tenneson 07.27.07
what does the next look like?
lean into it
ask
what is real?
stand with
the deepening edge
be willing
to pause
hold yourself with
that big energy
this time of turning
tap into the purpose
the experience
of being human
greet this as an invitation
to our next wide ocean
of beauty
what does the next look like?
lean into it
ask
what is real?
stand with
the deepening edge
be willing
to pause
hold yourself with
that big energy
this time of turning
tap into the purpose
the experience
of being human
greet this as an invitation
to our next wide ocean
of beauty
And Things Get DoneOnce I touch the space
of connection,
whether through a person,
a meditation,
an energy field,
a walk on this earth,
sitting next to or under a tree,
creating with others,
deep listening,
being still,
then all things feel more possible.
My insignificant work cracks open
with even a bit of significance
and I get things done.
My strain softens to even a tiny smile
and I get things done.
The flow of abundance feels real,
washing over my toes.
Sometimes I just let go and flow with it
and things get done.
Problems transform to learning and creation
and things get done.
Solutions appear;
things get more done.
Is it really this simple?
Love gives us entry.
Love of another.
Love of self.
Love of life.
Love of colleagues.
Love of simplicity.
Love of the possible.
And things get done.
It is our time.
It is my time
to train in trust
to lean into love
to receive, to offer
to just be.
It is time to restore
simple, beautiful, creativity
that is in us and between us.
And things get done.
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