Calling Out My Name

Biding my breath,
I have been waiting far too long
in the shadows of my head
to be honest.

But the mist and these abundant bird songs
remind me of days when I was a maiden,
chaste in thoughts undefiled by anger
or worry of the discovery of my hidden gifts.

This inspired thinking is brash
as it dares to step into the open meadow
and announce itself
like the bells ringing
in a clear voice

without apology
for calling out
a name given to me
by the goodness
of universal kindness
and unconditional love.

Getting Somewhere

What difference does this abrupt undulation,
this current of smooth radiation of a smile
and the balm of loving kindness make?

What difference if I levitate a little
when I walk in a spell under a small invasion of joy
with my hands submerged in the morning dishes and eyes
tracing the edges of bleeding hearts peeking over the deck

crouched and at the ready to disappear
at the slightest friction; sparks of unpleasant radio news,

tremors of the invasion we hoped would never arrive.

Rather let us notice the explosion of spring chanting freedom,
the waft of pink voiced apple blossoms off the veranda--

a chronicle of the evolution of fruit and women marching
on their way to harvest,

arms swinging at the urgency
of getting somewhere fast.