Butterfly –
from egg and caterpillar to cocoon of silk
to orange and black smear of summer
and quivering wings on Bee Balm – do you mark your age?
or do you think only of your assignment
to dance on flowers
while we, the more evolved, fight our own metamorphosis
from cocoon of flesh to angel
arguing and resisting all the way home
to the garden.
©photo and poem by caf
Today I came to this woods looking for a poem
and this is what I found:
In the distance,
in the trees,
luminescent waves of foggy sunlight pierce everything,
delivering the energy of Life,
the love of God.
A bird floats back and forth and becomes transparent—
a foggy lumination playing in white and yellow currents
riding on the exhalation of God’s breath.
I won’t hurry too quickly from this place.
I won’t say I’ll be back tomorrow.
For this light … this particular tantalizing light,
is the face of Holiness.
©photo and poem by
The trail that often shifted as you walked
the fine threads you have followed
from necessity or curiosity
are woven into the tapestry of your life
glowing, brightening
A fine web woven
strand by strand
a strong net made of stories you wove to shine your heart,
what you love and your place in the world.
The filigree lace rests in the wind
gently rocking on the breeze
premised on the map suggested by Spirit.
At the completion of your travels
you will view your weaving in its
completeness of color, texture, snarls
and shining jewels
ready to leave the loom
and gleam in eternity.
©photo and poem by caf
Today the geese came home
to melting pasture
soggy hay
muddy cows
and white-water creek.
Their loud chorus rose up
into chill dampening air,
the messy spate of thaw
smelling of molding winter
and cold sun warming transient spring.
Scarf’s fringe blew across my heart
as I watched them
resume last year’s flight over my roof.
And I was grateful
for I remembered the world does not awaken
until the geese return.
©photo and poem caf
The old tree stood alone in the overgrown cemetery at sunrise
singing winds toying with her clacking coat of leaves
her wavering arms extended out
over thistles and milkweed, flowers and grasses.
Browned summer fronds
flew from her
floating happily to Earth
eager to touch the soil.
I watched her for a long while
from my shelter among the headstones
and just as the sun came over the hill
the ancient one
waved her limbs,
picked up her roots and danced.
©photo and poem by caf
Waning moon
Stars, small suns to other worlds,
the smell of morning.
No matter the evil,
the ugly,
or the political,
the Mystery is still here.
Can we remember this?
©photo and poem by caf
Only a Calf
A new small calf born deformed
and rejected by its mother
taken in by others and nurtured into health.
This world is too beautiful to ignore
and too broken to turn away from.
Put down your books
come to deep looking, feeling, knowing
of beings – children of the World Being Herself.
Sit with knowing Her, feeling Her – all of Her
before you’re gone and it’s too late
to know Her in this way, as Her child, Her expression of Self.
When you were born it was as though She sent you
to school for the day… but only for a day.
When you return home your Mother
will be waiting for you.
©photo and poem by caf
A whale named Moon, spine broken by a big ship,
unable to dive for food.
emaciated, swims 3,000 miles
to die of starvation in the winter feeding grounds.
The moon rises over the stark winter marked trees
breeze gentle by my ear
as stars witness the rising sun.
An old woman begs the soldiers to leave her family alone
We just want to live our lives, care for each other.
So the soldiers laugh
shoot her husband, rape her and her daughters
steal their food, burn their house.
Grasses in the field, dried wild flowers
wave and clack in midday air.
Sparrows squabble over seed lying on the ground.
A fox crosses the road toward beckoning hill.
An elephant is shot, stripped of her tusks
her corpse left to rot in hot sunlight
while her calf looks on trumpeting in fear and grief, not understanding.
What can I do but witness your suffering?
I don’t know what to do with this.
Some days my prayer books are no help.
©caf
Imagine how happy Earth was
the day you opened your new born eyes
and drew your first breath
in a green forest that
sheltered unfolding ferns, wildflowers, fledglings
and you – an innocent fawn.
The mourning doves cooed,
ground hogs danced
the nearby hills murmured with astonishment.
Others gathered to see you
sniff your freshness
admire your raw, emerging awareness
And the forest sang you a birthing song
of greeting and sheltering …
Welcome new one to a space of wonder,
fields, streams, sunshine and rain.
This will be your home for a short while
until the Spirit that birthed you calls you home.
May your wildness be a blessing
a beacon for all to see how plain innocence
can be a way of life,
and unconditional living
is the truest nature of all creatures.
May you grow in grace and ease.
May confident peace and joy
move freely through your soul.
May you know wonder as a friend
and parcel of your own nature.
May you find comfort in the soul
that weaves all together
and is your truest home.
Amen.
©poem and photo by caf
What is this liquid heat I have guzzled on mornings beyond count?
Is it dirt – black and grainy?
Is it root or bark – ground and bitter without any sweetness?
From where does it collect its flavor?
Does the sun, source of fire and warmth
add to its astringent taste?
Like a soul, it must be finely ground
to be useful.
Some say it comes from a bean grown on tree or bush.
I say it is liquid Earth
black, oily delight for my spirit.
©poem and photo by caf
