sunday morning haiku
softness of an infant’s head
the scent of amber
a Mariachi band plays!
softness of an infant’s head
the scent of amber
a Mariachi band plays!
Let my life not be measured by gold or productivity or towers built for someone to later knock down Instead, let it be measured by the number of kisses on my neck, my forehead, my lips (and elsewhere). Let my life be measured by the number of times I have heard or spoken the words…
I once had a funny conversation with a friend. She was talking about two men in her life: One that worked at a holistic center for something or other and one who was a smoking, drinking band member-type. She seemed to feel pulled between these two polarities. I said, “It’s like one is a clean…
the scent of amber rose petals sprinkled on your chest and beyond heartsong offered with daily gifts of poetry or love stirred into two cups with one spoon once you sang to me and i quivered once
“If you can pinpoint the exact words you’ve wanted to hear your entire life that no one has ever shared with you, and give yourself permission to openly share those words as innocent gifts of contribution with everyone you encounter, the simplicity of life purpose is effortlessly revealed.” ~ Matt Kahn There are a few…
“Look at the beautiful, green buds!” she exclaimed. “I worry for them. It’s only February,” he replied. Now, it’s nearly April and the leaves are unfurling and stretching to the sun. He’s not here to see that and yet it’s happening all the same. Faith trumps worry.
You need to become a pen in the Sun’s hand. We need for the earth to sing Through our pores and eyes. The body will again become restless Until your soul paints all its beauty Upon the sky. ~Hafiz Paint it today, lovely one. I want to see it.