Tag: Poetry

Rain pounds metal, wakes up a sleepy Fall.
Red flashes. Fire trucks stand parked
behind Medical Alert, a tow truck

and people holding their sides shocked to be alive.
Someone landed in the creek. Someone stopped time. 
Someone died.

Rocks fall. Branches crack, roots rip up.
What remains, creates awe;
whoever is not broken prays. 


 

(c) Gudrun Mouw
November 2, 2015

A Poem

Three fires within 5 miles, two fires cutting
off escape, the wind of fear finally abated, 

I walk with a friend
through the char of aftermath.
How quickly spurious shifts
can untwist old growth.

We note a distant glint of green 
even as sun glowers overhead.

Walking through 500 acres of burnt trunks
and limbs without leaves, not daring to touch
the rough of what is left, we are the delicate ones,
the chastened.




(c) Gudrun Mouw
August 25, 2015

A Poem

Sometimes


Sometimes, when the body is exhausted,
everything else seems more alive,
the smallest breeze awakens pores;

ears hear what is normally not heard,
and consciousness roams like an errant child
towards a nearby meadow after this morning’s deer.

Sometimes, when there is nothing more
to say or do, a vast field spills from my head
as if to receive native seeds–

California poppies,
lupine, hummingbird sage
and monkey flowers.

Sometimes, content not to go anywhere,
long trails unfold, and my feet tingle with heat
as if engaged on a hike into the unknown;

then, past, present and future collide
as though on holiday.

 

 

 

(c)Gudrun Mouw
July 4, 2015

A Poem

Warrior Pose

Except for a small candlelight, darkness
hunkers around me like the pit
into which I could easily fall.

Instead, I stand legs far apart, arms raised,
shoulders released, breath moves up. Pointing at
opposing walls, shooting through my fingers,
I can almost see

the electric charge that awakens my cells,
creating an outrageous lift to reach out against
the downward curve of night.

 
(c) Gudrun Mouw
April 8, 2015

A Poem

  • 1.          He Returns
    
    
    	His sound surrounds me,
    	and it is lovely
    	that aimless thoughts
    	do not need to be my friends
    	or my enemies.
    
    	The red-headed woodpecker
    	searches for soft bark,
    	and I do not have to wait	
    	for something
    	else.
    
    
    2.          Rain at Last
    
    
    	I move stone and sand
    	around the water-logged walkway.
    
    	I welcomed the rain.
    	and now I welcome sun.
    
    	The nature of opposites
    	brightens my neighbor the forest
    	without apology.
    
    
    3.           December Moon
    
    	After the rain, a clear night
    	shines full moon against
    	the early dark.
    
    	I open the driveway gate for you.
    	Quickly, a cloud surrounds the white circle
    	with rings of gold.
    

A Poem

A quote sent to me via one of my students:

Personalities are born once.
A mystic many times….

I am not Shams Tabriz,
But a light within his light.

The poem reminds me of my teacher who passed over a decade ago. His light continues, and is the same within us all.

I still remember the strong scent of rose when Gurudev, unexpectedly leaving his assigned seat, sat down beside me at a movie premier. Earlier, I had been asked to wait, for a time, before I entered the theatre, finally, just before the room went dark, my name not having appeared on the list. I was later than I wanted to be; embarrassed, I sat far in the back.

 

 

To Gurudev, Again

88 years you walked the firm
and the soft
through space thicker than water.

Your father called on your gift
for the rhythm and dance
of words.

You planted seeds unknown to me
until now
a tree of gratitude has grown.

 

 

November 24, 2014

A Poem