a poet understands

Mary Oliver has passed
and her memory goes on,
like a fading song, too soon.

that gently when the lyrical sound
gets turned down,

you reach for her words
as this is what she gave you,
not her essence.

her essence belongs to the
great beyond and the
silent moments she helped you
reflect on your own insides,

borrowing her voice,

pointing to droplets of dew on shards of grass,
wind through the wings of Wild Geese,

your own strength.

* * *

Mary Oliver’s
The Journey

Poetry
By
Mary Oliver
The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Writer’s Block

Major writers block,
road block
pathway is a wall
of difficulty,
no climbing tools today,
better focus on what
“can be done.”

Climbing shoes on,
but it’s too hot,
the air is a bit
oppressive. Maybe we
can go home?

But we can’t, have to
keep going.

Rest on the wall, by the
wall, facing the wall.
Seeing the wall,
acknowledging the wall.

Maybe we can unpoliticalize
depowerfulize,
unseat this bad master
that sets us all apart from
each-other?

Or worse, from ourselves?

Climbing that wall,
will have to happen another day…

I only follow my own
assignments,

and one day –
that will get me over
the wall, through the wall,

invisablizing the wall.

de-solidifying, penetrating,
star-gazing away that wall.

Maybe it will dissolve,

get flooded with water, and
revitalized with plants.

Maybe that wall can be decorated
with all the graffiti founded
in the expression
that alleviates all our oppression,

We are united only in our
mutual desire for freedom
of authority. Don’t you see?

We need to be the boss of ourselves.

Fierce Orchid

You carry a riddle in your roots;
your leaves fresh, anterior, alert.
Perhaps a keiki in your future.

How strong you are in your aerial
apparatus, and your submerged green
fresh and fleshy chlorophyll tendrils.

Wrapping is what you are good at,
climbing, living, breathing through
soil, air, elements.

Your home is thick with fog and mist,
and your styles are unique, while full
of mimicry.

I walk forward

No fear in this busy being
of light of hope of faith
of trust

She guides me so effortlessly,
sitting beside the stream
of life of wisdom of
peace

When I listen to her
my mind, my openness, travels
into time into space
into realms into
heaven

She becomes me and
I am her, and you and
he, and we, we are
all together
gathering it in,
this moment of passing

acknowledging all
is beside us, behind us,
in front of us, before us,
ready to be discovered
above us
around us.

Within.