Deb
Reader, Thinker, Writer, Lover.
Poetry
September 27, 2016

A Fig

Written by Posted in Horse Magic, Poetry Comments 6
potato

I call myself a Teacher

but today,

the horse called me

Observer.

~~

It said, stand back.

Watch how I gather

unruly energy

and place it,

quiet, but white hot

in their bellies.

~~

Watch how I pluck

unintelligible words from the air

and make them clear.

~~

Opaque hearts,

now transparent.

Inscrutable eyes,

open.

~~

Observe, teacher,

how I take the shy

the loner

the heartbroken

the sad

and lean into them –

filling the dark holes,

demanding presence.

~~

Making them forget for a moment

their cuts

their violence

their hunger.

~~

And so, today, I am not a teacher.

Like Amos,

I am not a prophet,

nor am I the son of a prophet,

but I am a herdsman,

plucking wild figs.”

~~

I’m gathering their stories.

Hold out your hand -

I’m giving them to you.

September 2, 2016

Woman.

Written by Posted in Poetry Comments 0
WWW.JURAJBOHUNICKY.EU

Hard lines, curves.

Circles bringing you

back around,

spiraling in and out

of the heart.

Broken pieces

hidden under strength,

color peeking from

behind black and white

and black oozing

from the inner sanctuary.

And abstraction,

An Actuality –

housed in the same body.

Mindful

distracted

Holding on

looking away.

Shapes and dribbles

held up by borders

of another’s design

struggling to break

Free.

Voice lodged in the throat

head down

bent low

walking forward

Bridges in and out of

the heart

Leading to here

and to heaven

and to hell.

________________________________________

**inspired by the abstract expressionist painting  “Woman” by Judith Godwin – 1954.

April 23, 2016

Written by Posted in Poetry Comments 1
photo-1416230789844-1998de481fdc

In the space 

between winter sunrises

and summer sunsets

lies a brief moment 

of Technicolor green.

~~

It pours over my eyelids

satiating the thirst.

I blink

and squint

and blink again,

wondering if this is a dream 

or a wish

I’ll wake up from.

~~

It heats up my corneas 

and burns my retinas.

I close my eyes

and still, I see it – 

emerald

jade

blades and leaves 

shouting their birth,

their significance 

in the order of things.

~~

I’m drunk

I’m dizzy.

I swim in the briefness

the gaiety

the reverie

of spring.

March 9, 2016

Written by Posted in Horse Magic, Poetry Comments 1
sunrise

Sometimes I catch her gazing at the sunrise.

She faces east

and looks up, staring

as she chews her hay.

~~

She seems to be contemplating;

but, what? Read more…

sun

My thoughts have exploded into a million pieces and are floating flotsam above my head. I try to reach up and catch them and piece them back together, but they turn to dust on my fingertips. I let go and look up and they’ve formed back into broken bits of gravel, irritating my mind.

 

I arrive and sit on the mat, placed in my favorite spot where the sunlight filters through the window; and I begin to rein in my breath.

 

Read more…

December 8, 2015

Written by Posted in Blog Posts, Prose Comments 8
kiss

Reach In: to your own heart. Reach in and wait patiently until you find the light. Reach in and meditate, levitate, wrap your arms around your humanness. Reach in and center.

 Reach Out: to a friend. Reach out to someone in need. Reach out and hug a furry creature. Reach out to your mom or your grandma. Reach out and connect with real people.

 

Turn Off: social media. Turn off the news. Turn off the voices around you that are negative and biting. Turn off materialism.

 Turn On: your goodness. Turn on a teapot or a stove to cook a good meal. Turn on a funny Christmas movie. Turn on your partner.

 

Sit Out: of arguments. Sit out of parties you don’t want to go to. Sit out of self-judgement. Sit out of the obligation to send cards or buy gifts.

 Sit In: on a sunrise or a moon set. Sit in on a good TED talk. Sit in on your family dinner. Sit in silence until your brain stops buzzing. Sit in on the inner workings of your heart.

 

Put Down: resentment and jealousy. Put down your credit card. Put down that rock before you throw it.

 Pick Up: the perfect pear at the supermarket. Pick up your favorite book. Pick up the laundry on your bedroom floor. Pick up an olive branch and hand it to your enemy.

 

 Make a good cup of coffee. Make up with someone. Make out with someone.

 

Sow goodness and mercy.

Reap goodness and mercy.

December 1, 2015

Hello, Stranger

Written by Posted in Blog Posts, Prose Comments 2
stranger

I see you, eyes cast down at your phone, and I patiently wait to catch your attention.

I give you an open hearted smile, inviting you to share something with me.

 

We’re both here, we both have a lot on our minds.

We’re both waiting in endless lines and have many more endless lines to travel.

We’re both late. And busy. And a little lost in the holiday jumble.

 

We bump into each other in the Christmas aisle;

I smile at you like we both understand.

 

We jockey for position in the Starbucks line;

I open my heart and look in your eyes, and grin my most charming grin.

I try to smile like my tail is wagging.

You smile back; haltingly at first, then fully.

 

I want you to be noticed for a moment.

I want you to feel like maybe I think you’re beautiful.

I want you to wonder if maybe it was worth it to put on that lipstick after all.

I want you to feel like someone’s best secret.

I want you to feel not so alone,

not so rushed,

not so invisible.

 

You’re not one of the masses, stranger.

You’re you.

Some moments you have silver hair and are holding a cane.

Some moments you are a teen with a faux hawk.

Some moments you are a little girl with some pretty fancy glittery tights.

Some moments you’re a middle aged mom.

And stranger, I think you’re human. And I think you’re beautiful.

sunrise

I love mornings.

 

I begin getting excited about them the night before, while setting my coffee pot.

 

I love the way my feet are the first thing in the house to touch the ground. I love the cold chill that runs down my body as I leave the warmth of the comforter.

 

I love how I can smell the coffee wafting back to my bedroom and the deafening quiet and how my books of poetry wait dutifully by my chair.

Read more…

trail

My head is a glass jar

full to brimming with voices

and expectations,

fighting each other

for their survival.

~~

I sling my pack over my shoulder

and cinch it tight

around my belly

to hold in my anger,

to hold in my rest.

Read more…

October 21, 2015

Written by Posted in Poetry Comments 2
aspen

Each morning

begins a little slower

than the last.

 ~

I wander outside,

early,

which is my custom.

Orion’s Belt hangs above me,

lazy,

in no hurry to head west.

 ~

The sun takes its time rising,

pacing itself for the long journey south.

 ~

As the day slowly heats up

the smell of sage and leaves

fills the air

and I make my way around –

setting things in order

for the coming cold.

And the geese,

sure signs of change…

I hear them calling

far to the east, near the sunrise

~

I stand still,

struck quite dumb

as they move west over my head

honking,

their wings stirring up the atmosphere above me

 ~

They’re hurrying,

always hurrying

to some important destination.