Tag: <span>Poetry</span>

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

I have recently finished reading, The Way of Silence: The Prose and Poetry of Basho by Richard Lewis, a book given to me by one of my yoga students. Basho was a seventeen century Japanese haiku master.

What seems timely for me, at this time, is that he embarked on a solitary journey, gradually withdrawing from the world as personified in the final observation of this book: ….”it has been customary to leave behind a death poem….But every moment of life is the last….”

This reminds me of the yogic teachings that every breath is both a birth and a death—a beginning and an end. That is something to contemplate during this dangerous Covid pandemic era. I ask myself: Is it not crucial to value the present moment, however it appears and however difficult that might be?

March 14, 2021
Gudrun Mouw (c)

A Book Review

On the tile roof, a seagull stands strong
against the rising down-coast wind.
Sun shines sideways through
the pepper tree, whose shadows
dance wildly inside the parked car, where I wait
during this pandemic for take out food,
as wind moves everything it can.
I have been waiting, quietly, since
we hid from the Gestapo,
though I didn’t know what I was waiting for.
And now, I wait again in this current era
of dictators and would-be dictators
as that strong bird still stands
against a down-coast gale.

September 19, 2020

© Gudrun Mouw

A Poem