Category Archives: Poetry

this woman’s a warrior

A winner!

her back to the world
she stands outside into the
and the snow
made her a white helmet
and shoulder guards
and is now knitting a cape

the deer don't dare come
near her and the
boars too
stay away
and the men agree

this woman's a warrior

better not bother her

there's a blade stuck in
her heart
and you better not reach
to pluck it out if you're
not the one who put it

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Beneath the Red Cliffs

A gem of wonder. Pause and penetrate to the Core …


by Thomas Davis

for April Chischilly

Beneath red cliffs as first morning light reflects fire
into an impossibly blue sky,
a Navajo woman, aging, calm, long black hair and black eyes
a part of high desert juniper and pinion trees,
walks as beauty stirs backwards and forward in time.

The medicine man in his Hogan’s darkness
sees a woman he doesn’t know through an ancient crystal
handed from medicine man to medicine man
through thousands and thousands of years.
He feels heart-strength, spirit-strength,
sees her facing what is beyond the light’s weaving,
her beauty-song echoing and echoing
into the song of women, the spirit of women
who have forever given birth
and lived through the everyday turmoil of everyday
without flinching, trying to find the courage that is who she is.

Courage weaves a blanket from light out of the woman’s heart
into the texture of red stone.
It rises…

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Mixed Metaphors


Destiny calling
Blindfolds, earplugs, out to lunch
Black sheep sleepwalking

Happy Families


The silence spoke volumes
Passive aggression
She didn’t know the term
But then she had no need

She had no real desire
To continue living
And so was quite grateful
For his contribution

He had no real desire
To continue living
And so was quite grateful
For her contribution

Passive aggression
The silence spoke volumes
He didn’t know the term
But then he had no need

Ball And Chain


The love of your life
So sweet, so all-embracing
So dear, so costly

Ah Now I See: Four By Six


What we dismiss as shit
(Beyond the bodily)
Is no more than something
That we don’t understand

Oaks A’borning

Thanks to my kind friends Phil and Susan this piece of mine was included in the Mind Trees Of The Urban Forest* project, performed by John Chambers.

Dear William


Blooming before us
Daffodils remain speechless
For what are words worth?

The Doors of Midsummer


The Doors of Midsummer

A breath of cloud moves east across Y Garn’s face.

Words are as scarce as swallows in a cold summer.

Anyway, anyway, they only grow from dream to tangled lie,

flowering like the bindweed covering all beneath,

Weighing down, weighing down until nothing else remains.

The doors have opened in every hill,

An invitation to join the dance and summer’s feast.

But we are taught to doubt generosity,

To look for the trap in openness and goodness

(nothing is true that comes so free and easy).

River and clouds are the rulers of this world

and they move on in their own time, unbidden.

Tune to a key that sings of endlessness, even though

no one here knows anything of that song.

For emotion is born from time and loss:

In timeless halls is no such thing.

No such thing but endless dance and bliss.


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Ben’s Ghost


The spirit
that graces me
with its passing
has no name.

And stems not
from thoughts and words
though it gathers them up as it flows
but from feeling.

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