Tag: Poetry

Music Within

The radio transmits sounds I cannot
integrate. I push the button off;
a lyric rises inside, playing
an energetic silence.

Words unsaid create pitch, vibrate
and color the atmosphere.
We are disconnected, or
connected to melody,

something between the letters,
beyond articulation,
expectation, or fear 
waiting to be heard.

(c) Gudrun Mouw


A Poem

What’s Wrong With “Holiday?”


Gathering pine cones

for the fireplace, blankets,

clean towels, spring water, Christmas candles,

we collect what we need for a gathering

during this holiday season.



Look for the handcrafted

reindeer that makes me smile;

but, I will also celebrate

with a Buddhist prayer, a Sanskrit chant,

and the rose fragrance of community heart.



(c) Gudrun Mouw December, 2015


A Poem

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, 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