Poetry

Dear hungry ghost deep within my body Welcome to this new day of existence in this 30th year of life Please come, blinking into the sunshine, for this moment, Sit down beside me

Post-revisionIn this Japanese Chinese American skin color of roasted sunflowers after a long laze in the sun I breathe on behalf of those not here – My grandfather, whose very hands labored in liquor

I set down the burden of grief at my feet It becomes the cushion on which I rest Touching the earth with head bowed I am capable of carrying this burden now, Learned

Dear one In the midst of this suffering I give you permission to feel joy Joy for no purpose other than Sinking into the crisp wind ruffling your Exposed hands, the sharp summer

Arriving at this little white house Through the forest, past the river I’ve come for four days of quiet retreat Knowing I’ll cook for myself I wanted to cook tom kha

Pregnant with poetry I stand on this fertile ground waiting, breathing down into my abdomen my breath nourishing that which is growing within me The budding rose grows solid in the open pasture

changing like all thingsTo my dearest friends, Each of whom I have invited to Delight in the towering trees Of a mariposa spring Our time together is canceled for now The conditions are

What does the practice look like if critical thinking is built into the beginning of every dharma talk before the refuges, before the four noble truths What if nothing is noble or right,

Today, throw a tantrum, rage at every Fucking thing you hate Let the axe fall hard into the ground, Fuck you fuck this fuck everything Allow yourself to feel everything. Notice what is

What does the practice look like if critical thinking is built into the beginning of every dharma talk? Is inserted before the four noble truths as the first and most important thing Do

Accessing the power in my body swinging the axe, letting the weight of the blade sing in my hands, I am but the metal's vessel The axe slices through perception, the infinitesimal roots

My body sings with power heat, sex, lustful for destruction, taking The axe arcs through the air, from the ground, past my left shoulder, singhing the air with the force of my fire

thoughts on wednesday's resiliency trainingthank you very much for your question, johanna for including your own mind and body experience in the possibility of human experience I recognize it - and you -

the poet is to write without fear to release her words into the wild knowing they are not just hers I do not wish to hoard my truth I want to celebrate and

Fuck the moon Fuck pointing at the moon I’m tired of looking at things outside myself pretending That they are a way out No, the way out is to Destroy everything Break

hey, I am happy to connect but I don't know if there is a bone in my body that can commit to anything outside of showing up I hate the idea of filling

I am a poet The horoscopes already read this fortune but I protested in my unconscious No, give me something more prestigious, more colorful more of service No, god roared This is your

I have a client, so broken by her own hatred that she emerges glowing in the summer light mind on fire lit by rage Everything she loves is broken. Ambition, pride, hope -

From Melanie to Joann:today was an act of love, my dear feeling caught in my own dark well of sorrow, angry, processing I carried myself to this little zoom and asked myself

I am terrified of you, J Terrified that in your company I will be so fucking bored Fall asleep during your stories Have no delight, no joy, no play I am terrified that

I wrote 10000 words of hatred, broke everything I love, including practice, my family, you, every person, every thing broke them with hate, broke them so I never wanted to see them again to see myself again

Hands in dirt like a newborn taking its first breaths in this is air this is sun this is water Squishing my palms into the earth, a worm wriggles back into darkness hello

I am scared to lose the sweet Harmony of father and daughter hands in the soil The damp earth and dark clay Saying all that needs saying I’m sorry for leaving, Look

The almond trees on the slopes in Palestine are flowering pink after a long winter rest I saw them for one fleeting afternoon, basking in the embrace of a dear friend No longer