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Tag Archives: Advice poem

Gift, Wrapped

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See today’s gifts
Tumbled out of time’s
Woven basket, spilled
On the blanket spread
At your feet
All their meanings
Are wrapped in
Traffic, incessant phones,
Sour blueberries in
Five dollar pints,
Lost pens,
Grumpy students,
Grumpier teachers,
Gray ice, dirty windows,
Sun shining through the
Everyday winter grime

Watch It Glow

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For the new year, this new wardrobe.
Remove all the old travel costumes:
Who I was
Who I thought I should be
Who you thought I should be
Who I feared becoming
Who I dreamed of being.

Done now with all the taking off, all the folding up
and giving away what no longer fits,
walk into the new year awake.
Carry only this woven basket of intentions—
To be gentle to others and myself,
lift my head from my tasks
and look around me as I travel,
rest when it is time to rest,
start a fire, small and steady,
and watch it glow.

Whispering, Rest

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So often have I traveled
away
and back
to this room in my heart
where the candles are lit
the cat is sleeping
and from my window
I can watch the snow falling,
so soft and quiet
that I must listen hard
to hear its message.

Armor For The Morning

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It began as such an ordinary day—-
She woke herself reaching, as usual,
for the armor, but pulled her hand back
Empty,
her head and heart suddenly filled
with this Advice, this Certainty:
Pain will always find you,
despite the shield. The armor is heavy,
so cumbersome to carry that you
wake already weary at the prospect
of strapping on all that cold silver
before breakfast.
Today, instead, make oatmeal
and fill yourself with warmth
no protection at all, only comfort.

Ships Across The Sea

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At the darkest turn of the year,
choose lightness. Choose to believe in
their capable hands, each steering
the ship of their own life—
sometimes, far off across the sea
sometimes, near enough to signal
sometimes, pausing at your side
where you can watch together
the moon, the whales
and schools of tiny, iridescent fish
darting beneath your hulls,
close enough for you and the one on the other ship
to marvel together —
How the neon fish catch the moonlight
and pull it deep into the sea
far below the waves, into the quiet
where we have never been before.

On Your Trail

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Calmness has been trailing you
for years now. Can’t you feel
its breath at the nape of your neck?
It follows, resting at the place
where a mother cat gently
tugs her kitten’s soft scruff.

Be warned. If you stop, it may
catch you. And then where
will you be?
Not on track,
not on task, but
off the road somewhere,
in a meadow
just you and
Calmness, tending you with
its sandpaper tongue
and low purr.

I Need A Poem, Here

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I need
a poem
some days,
a reminder
to Breathe,
built
of tiny lines.

Each pause
a place to
rest,
a soft red pillow
shaped like the suggestion
of a stop sign.

The poem puts out its hand,
whispers, Wait, and
look both ways:
Snow dusts
the dark morning.
Houses glow and simmer,
dawn and lamplight
meet and kindle
at every window.
Now, stretch
and breathe
into the new day.
That’s the kind of poem
I need now.

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

The Sketchbook

MOSTLY MONTREAL, MOST OF THE TIME

Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Poetry Practice

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry