very early healing pieces

Below you will find links to early healing poems , post trauma so not quite so full of the rawness of pain of my earliest pieces (those are in my own possession), but still prior to 2003.  Still, these speak loudly of where i was at that time. Many of them allude to the healing that Love was working within me. At the time, I understood this Love as God, Today, I might say it was an inner Love awakening and/or being released from where it had been hidden and distorted within me. Either way, Love heals. I am fully comfortable with not having to name it, defend it, ‘believe’ it, or be bound by it. I simply want to Be in the midst of it, whatever it is, or isn’t.

Certainly there have been times, like this, when I have needed the feeling of being Beloved, for healing and wholeness, and times when I have felt powerless in the face of my pain. But who knows from whence Love springs? Was that healing I received in those dark times from an external Being, or did I unlock that Love within myself? Does it matter?


you rain and rain upon me

till i am wet with you

my soil saturated

with your passion

and now i lay exposed

my fertile fields

rich with the humus of death recycled

fervantly await your seed

as i emanate these

earthy fragrances

of prayer


i cannot sing

i cannot dance

i cannot love


when i open my mouth

i remember

when i open my heart

i remember

when i move my feet

i remember


how my voice was ripped

out of my throat

how the trust was torn

out of my heart

how i was knocked down

to my knees

when i tried to dance


oh how shall i ever learn to love

when the memory of pain

makes my song of love become a dirge

the memory of fear

makes my dancing feet begin to run



i shall never sing


i shall never dance


i shall never love





You receive


ejaculations of my pain

urgent emanations of my soul

which rise within me

to become a swollen, aching need

to be released


And as I enter into You

you draw me ever deeper

embracing me

within your enveloping warmth

until i am absorbed


into mercy’s womb


and the raw potential

of my unleashed pain

is transformed somehow

by the passion of your love for me

within this uterine state of being

this sacred conjuncture

which conceives the pureness

of a new life born in You.

death valley

oh god,

how i long for you

to come

and rain upon my soul

yet each day

you pass overhead

with the promise of rain in your belly


and i have learned

that your promises are lies

for you withhold your blessing

in dark clouds of resistance

to my pleas

and dump your precious flood

upon higher plains

where fertile lands absorb the deluge


not a drop

penetrates  the depths

of this parched and dismal


where i live

enclosed by fierce formations

of my erupted pain


oh god,

can’t you see that i am here

in the darkness of this desiccated valley

or do my cries for rain

merely echo off these barren walls


oh how i long for you to come

to settle in my valley

with your promise laden clouds

to burst upon me

downpour upon me

inundate and saturate

this thirsty soil with your love






on eagle’s wings

i soar

as the eagle

with the rising sun

which pours its gold

upon these canyon walls

layers etched in time

exposed by fury’s rage

and painted with the colors

of my pain


the vista captivates

as it reflects the dawn

which pursues the shadows

and annihilates the darkness

and i revel in the vision

laid out before my eyes

the play of light upon

the excavation my pain


as i rise above the abyss

to glide on wings of grace

to swoop and climb

in flight’s majestic dance

my song of freedom

breaks the silence

as my voice echoes off the walls below


and i soar toward the aurora

which rises in glory before me

as i am lifted

by love’s wind beneath my wings

flute song

go back, my child

go back for your flute

do not weep

nor anguish over loss

simply go


fret not over time

remember time is nothing

we will wait for your return

so go and seek your flute

for the haunting ballad

of its primeval song

is calling you



we will light a fire

and patiently await

for we need  your flute

to join our circle with her song


we long for her mystic melody

to float like breath into our souls

entering the lungs

of our potential void

to expand

our capacity for love


we yearn for her haunting, woeful tones

to stir our passion

and to soothe our pain

as they whisper melancholy

reverberations of our sorrow

resonating with the echoes of our pain


and we desire her animated song

to inspire our dance

and exalt our pleasure

as it soars entrancing

undulations of  delight

resounding with the voices of our joy


so go

down the hill

around the hairpin turn

back to where you left it

and return to us

following the same path

but bring your flute this time


so we can mourn

so we can dance

so we can fill our lungs

and lift our voices

to the music of your soul

wild raspberries

i used to grow

wild raspberries

but you didn’t care for the chaos

of thorn and bramble

when i became your piece of property,

a squared-off


of me

you wanted me to grow grass

so you tilled and you tamped

and you seeded my soil

with your image of beauty

individuality renounced

conformity blessed

dandelions disallowed

even this yellow attempt to create

in the way in which i was created


herbicidal rain

artificial food

mechanical insemination

so i did what you asked

i grew grass,

a profusion of lush greenery

which you



so flawlessly neat

so perfectly tidy

toilsome chore of control

but i used to grow

wild raspberries


when i look into your eyes

i see the eyes of a child born

innocent in this world

and i wonder what they saw

to make them see

the world the way they do?

i wish i knew the answer to

what makes eyes that harm

eyes that see an enemy

or a friend

in me

eyes that see dark clouds

or rainbows in a storm

for i don’t understand somehow

how raised fists and open arms both

create eyes that crave for love

how both poverty and wealth

create eyes that hunger

how it is that rich protection

as well as stark survival both

make eyes that fear

how pain gives birth to both

the eyes of oppression and compassion

for i can somehow see

that beholding pain gives birth to eyes

of both the rapist and the saint

so tell me Dahmer, Ghandi

Hitler, Theresa

Jesus and dear mirror

what did your eyes see

to make you see

the world the way you do?






dessicated valley

there is a land

an isolated valley

of nothingness


where seeds of hope

dropped from above

excitedly begin to grow


when occasional

violent storms


upon the desiccation


eager sprouts


toward light, non-existent


as tentative roots


for something deeper


only to discover

toxic truths

of a land abandoned

long ago


desecrated soil

contaminated water

subterranean lethality


hope shrivels

ephemeral existence

impression in the dust


swept away

by these howling

whirlwinds of my pain

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