Poetry Divine Posts

January 6, 2022

 
 
Walking towards winter sun, facing
the old growth, oak forest,
I meditate; a memory arises
 
of that man in a shirt with the name
of a place the Gestapo had decided
to send my grandfather so long ago.
 
Shocked that this fresh new year should display
such a shirt once more, along with violence and hate.
My shoes are soaked with tears
glistening in the grass.
 
 
(c) Gudrun Mouw



Uncategorized

October has passed. That bomb cyclonedidn’t get us. A month of forgivenesshas passed. I forgave myself and others. Now here is November’s Balanced State,

calm and cool. Our mini meadow greens
from rain in recent weeks.After many drought months—a sweet revival.

November, 2021(c) Gudrun Mouw

A Poem

we drink ocean air

refreshed by breeze

and October sun.


So far I am surviving

another nightmare

of bullies, liars and cheaters.

Oct. 13, 2021(c) Gudrun Mouw

A Poem

I had a moment when presence spoke up.
I was weaving back and forth, up and down
through the oak forest, suddenly, Ms. Presence
appeared: from branches, dips, mounds, holes, dirt,
wild grasses, that child’s voice came forth,
“Here I am. Watch me!”

September 23, 2020
(c) Gudrun Mouw

A Poem

The tree that sheltered us
during the long ago storm
that blew off the cottage roof,
that hundred some year old tree fell uphill
creating a weave of dry, tangled limbs.

This drought goes beyond the beyond.
I carry water until it hurts;
dishwater is not wasted,
but my tears are not enough.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
August 22, 2021

A Poem

Walking meditation practice has been an important helpmate for a while now. It teaches me to be present with every step, to experience the movement of body, mind and breath. I learn about being attentive in the midst of sight and sound and uneven surfaces underfoot. Resting afterwards, I appreciate the wonderful gift of respite.

The Spiritual Journey