forgive me

forgive me
if i seem
obsessed

with silences
and forests
and snowy limbs….

entranced by visions
of trees
overarching….

forgive me if
grief and joy live side by side
in this altar, my heart….

forgive me if i forget
momentarily that mistletoe
festoons dying branches….

adorns them
with evergreenery
and white berries….

forgive me if i yearn
with all my heart
for this snowy silence….

for midnight
in the forest—
and i don’t know where the moon is….

•

though icy storms whistle
sometimes, through
night and forest --

every sparkling dawn
silence reigns,
powerful….

snow wraps the trees
in secret delight:
they dance invisibly….

here, the soul of
the world, unavoidable –
here, our insignificance….

here, our equality
with grub, with fallen log, with bear….
with eagle, with quivering leaf, with frozen stream….

here, powerless, hairless, weaponless,
the silence invites
our grief, fear --

welcome friend, to infinity….
to vastness unimaginable….
to love unmatchable….

this is the place
where god whispers….
and where i realize

that the answer
to all of my problems
is thank you….

•

forgive me friend,
if i go on about joy --
it’s all i can do
to keep dancing…..

________________
©2011
beth anne boardman





(header photo courtesy and ©2011 micheal gertje)

(footer photo ©2011 beth anne boardman)

juniper dreaming

scent of juniper
on the night wind –

velvet elk in the
near shadows….

rolling voices
distant

jingle of bells,
crack of gourds

grey dawn
on ceremony day….

•

juniper on my pillow
at the black

of midnight –
reawakening

reviving
retying me

to the past
the future….

messages crossing
time, distance, rocky bluffs….

•

recalling
scrub juniper

rocks and sand
my companions

mists and winds
my mantle –

•

never alone
with a lifetime

of miracles
memories

priests
shamans

poets
goddesses

children
ancestors

replete with images
adventures

alive
waiting….

juniper
calling….

i,
arriving….


___________________
© 2011
beth anne boardman

queen of the dark

i
am the queen
of darkness….


persephone’s thought
that first night in hades?

it must have been strange,
those first seasons….


i live forever
between the worlds….


married to the dark
honored and revered
as powerful and queenly
in the kingdom of the dead –

then months later
becoming the
daughter of earth again….


here
nor there
is my permanent home….


at her mother’s fertile side….
rolling in the sun,

unbelievably heavenly
perfumes
clamoring….


hermes
my trusted soulmate….
reunites me with those
i love


was midnight her favorite time
as it has become mine?

always en pointe
poised
between yesterday
and today?


oh
this mercurial spirit
this clever trickster
this herald of change

knows all of me


did she long
for his presence?

was he the one she told
of all her adventures,
above and below?


my light
and my shadow


of all the gods
they knew both worlds

saw loss and becoming,
the enlivened
the entombed….

each married to the cycle….


how i jump for joy
upon glimpsing his
wingéd feet…!


we ride this planet
as it whirls through space
spinning day to night
to day again….

certainly uncertain
season to season –


pain of parting
joy of love


our tenderly searching hearts
broken open
and closed
time and
again….


oh dear ones!
though you live in the between,
you are in divine territory!


perhaps
in our striving
we forget the unforgettable –

life contains all opposites
marries dark to light
dances and grieves


the only constant
is loss
and return….


we are the stone
and the light within the stone….
breaking and reforming
on the way to
ourselves….

___________________
© 2011
beth anne boardman

among the gratitudes

silence….

holy….

out in the yard
under a crystal sailing moon

under the silent
blast of starlight eons old….

black branches etch
the night

and call down the silence….

•

i stand amazed again
surprised
by this
ever available
presence

it waits
always patiently
for my notice….

•

perhaps
holding a spot
for silence within

serves the greater good….

amid the cacophony
of modern life

amid the chatter
of thoughts

amid the ten thousand
worries

among the gratitudes

between the gasping breaths
of laughter

a space of silence --

evocative

reverence
reception
reflection….

oh my heart,
my heart –

how i hold all i love
inside you….

and how i wrap you
all about

with this
most precious
silence….

________________
©2011
beth anne boardman

dancing in the otherworld

sometimes i remember
that on the other side of life
i am partnered....

sometimes as i sit
or lie alone

and when i get very still
and listen --

or when, sometimes,
i fall too far into aloneness....

i sense the otherworld
next to this one,

in all its magnificent wholeness....

a whole realm of otherness,
where aloneness is a choice,
and where others wait to embrace me....

in the otherworld,
there is always a partner for me --

and we dance,

and we dance,

and we dance....

_______________
©2011
beth anne boardman




*photo of author and
friends, by unknown....
blessings to him...!

wandering courage

so lately
i've been wondering
about courage....

i wonder if it's courage that makes
the small thrushes sing
in the grey of dawn,
after a fire....

or courage that keeps
the one tiny ember glowing,
unaccountably,
after a dousing....

is courage the persistence
to keep getting up,
after all hope of persistence
has gone?

maybe the waves show courage
when, after the thundering hurricane,
they show up all turquoise and glossy
the next day....

maybe the great horned owl shows courage
as it calls out softly from its high perch
into the deeply black silence
of the night forest....

•

soldiers tell me they don't feel courageous
as they rush forward into war....
yet they go --
and that must be courage....

i've cared for children
who, as they receive their chemotherapy,
exude streams of unknowing courage
from their very fingertips....

i wonder if sitting in the midst
of not knowing, of waiting
of learning to get up each day
forgoing hope --

i wonder if
the willingness to stand
in the chill wind of
the vast unknown --

if that is not courageous, too....

•

i feel a kinship
with all things crushable....

tiny spiders under my feet,
small lizards, lying exposed on my front steps,
delicate lavender petals floating down
from the jacaranda tree....

on this planet,
all are tiny,
fragile,
crushable.....

but like the white diamond stars,
we glow in pitchest black....

maybe just waking up
to this

is where courage lives....

__________________
©2011
beth anne boardman

it's like this:

what i'm trying to say is,
sometimes, life can seem like a long, hard march
through the darkness....

if not the actual darkness
of loss, illness, death,

then the imagined darkness
of loss, illness, death....

and sometimes there is no
respite, no ending, no light
at the end of the tunnel....

and no difference between
the real and the imagined....

and the only antidote to
wrenching times
is to allow your soul to be wrenched....

rent asunder, broken to bits....

only when you sit in shards
can you feel the essence that
you had bottled up in ideas
and wishes
and arguments
and dreams....

like the buddha under the bodhi tree,
when all is lost, and in the quiet of your emptied mind,
you can feel the fabric of the universe....

just waiting for you to notice,
just waiting for you to remember

that the only fools
are lonely fools....

and that your secret can be
your absolute delight
in the cacophony of leaves,
in standing naked under the moonbeams in your bedroom,
in feeling the angels surge around your struggling shoulders....

______________
©2011
beth anne boardman

nights of the red tide

in the distance,
a blood-red bloom
stains the gently heaving sea....

dark red,
like veinous blood --

yet this mass consumes,
like the consumers
whose effluvia feed it....

in so many ways
a toxic float --

forbidding, in its darkness,

foreboding, as it looms....

killing abalone and
sickening humans
who eat from its murk....

•

under clouded skies,
gazing,
in a
mood --

spirits can sink
into this blot,

this periodic blight....

and in the darkness
far beneath the vibrant world,

epic battles seethe --

the likes of which poets write
and bards sing....

whirlpools catch
weakened minds

in spirals of worry
regret
despair....

when the red tide comes,
no life vests can be found....

no dinghy waits topside,
no searchers line the shore....

deep
in the inky blackness --

a ballet of struggle....

•

yet a sea-magic gift awaits....

ah, just at twilight --

a strange iridescence
a phosphorescence?
a bioluminescence --

a trick of your eye, you think,
a wishing for light --

but ah, the rolling algae,
responding to friction

shout a spark as the crest
of a wave slaps down....

and within its roll, gathers a
blue-white glow....

how perfectly the universe has timed
the visitation of these crazy phytoplankton

to light up
the dark night
of your soul....

and if you can take a boat
father out to sea,
and dip in your hand --

you can trail stars from your fingertips....

oh
there is so much more than death
in darkness....

____________
©2011
Beth Anne Boardman




photo ©2008
thomas lozinski

http://www.flickr.com/photos/manasquantom/3296435532/

the empty bowl

one night
i sat, it seemed,
at the bottom of
a great empty bowl….

the ground spread flatly
away from me….

the vast deep
translucent lavender sky
melted backwards
into space
above me….

all around me
a great hollowness
rose up to meet infinity….

the birds held their breath
the breeze settled

even my thoughts
quietly filed out

to gaze blankly, instead,
at that sunset-infused expanse….

between me and the next star:
nothing….

•

the quiet deepened,
the sky darkened slowly….

space unveiled itself
before my watching eyes….

i sat
awe-touched

witnessing
this great celestial
rolling and turning --

from darkness
back to darkness --

an unstoppable cycle
linking observers
across the eons --

i sensed
a silent fertility
held by the dark….

•

against this great
unfolding dance,

the glow
of firestones arose….

solid black hills revealed
their graceful upwelling curves
in silhouette….

trees and nightbirds
issued soft murmurings, rustlings,
quiet calls –-

wet earth exhaled
a freshly greened scent --

the empty bowl
rapidly filled

with
mystery
upon mystery….

•

behind me
i heard a voice say:

today i held the eagle feather
up to the sky….

i showed it to the east,
to the west,
the north
and the south…..

the voice faded,
and as the firelight
played,
(a tiny star)

i gave thanks

for eagle feathers
for sky
and for the
empty
fertile
dark….

__
________
©2011
Beth Anne Boardman

a waltz of owls

we walk in an infinite world --

at any moment
a thousand
golden ghosts

swirl
around us....

•

summers ago,
in my father's home,
sifting through the legacies
of my ancestors....

making off with sepia portraits
long coveted
long denied....

tossing away sticky
space-age plastics
from the fifties....

marveling at the aesthetics
of a curious,
yellow-and-white
art-deco
cocktail shaker....

the longings
and the dreams
of my ancestors
swept over me --

awash this incapable form....

•

oh grandmothers....
mother....

what would you have me do?

grandfathers,
father,

old ones....

what is it you want from
my wild and bounded life?

•

i drove away,
my u-haul packed with
viscous treasures....

simultaneously
relief and exhaustion
made themselves known....

tears and i poured
together
over the
state line....

at that moment,
i swear --

i felt the spirits of my grandmothers
fly to join me....

their forms
streamed off of my shoulders
like wings

you have done the sacred work
daughter....

all is well --
yes, horrific!

but all is well....

work....
love....
play....

this is your sacred waltz....

•

i am happy the owls own the night --
their quiet announcements shake me....

they are my secret call to order....

to inventory my dreams....
and requisition grace....

and remember
that i dance

with golden ghosts....


____________________
©2011
beth anne boardman

starlight and capes

~for joyce~

once
a white-haired man told me
to imagine
that
at any time of day
starlight showers down
over my head
like invisible
love....

(because we know,
he said,
even though sunlight
outshines the stars --
nevertheless
they twinkle on
in disguise
and behind....)

•

some mornings
i swing despair on
like a cape,
i realize,
or a robe....

sometimes it is the tablecloth i sit down to --

sometimes
resolutely
i hang it back
in the closet
with the old clothes --

the ones
i really need
to give away....

i take out hope
shake the dust out of its folds
and try it on
awkwardly....

•

right now,
it seems,
neither one fits!

so i take them both off, and
they lie in small heaps on the floor --

i stare at them,
mystified....

how do you live without one
or the other?

yesterday
in the blazing heat
a (wise) young man said:

true peace happens
when you give up
both hope
and despair....

•

tonight
i walk out into the quiet
warm air --

the fireworks
have blown themselves out....

the revelers
have gone indoors....

and up on the hillside,
out from under the trees --
i hold my skirt with both hands
like a basin

for catching stars....


______________
©2011
beth anne boardman

feather rain

some wounds
would take the whole earth
to heal....

last night
rain danced softly,
like feathers

through my open window....

delicate drops stirred still air,
drawing my attention
to their sweet secrets....

quietly,
like shimmers
through a web,

i heard whispers
of comfort,
reassurance....

i remembered how once
i had heard
the great one
speaking to me
through desert rocks....

i had leaned my tired head
against their warmth--

they radiated a whole day's worth
of desert sun
into my fearful heart....

listen:
i have been here since the beginning.
i've seen everything there is to see.
you are no worse
and no better
than anyone....
keep going....

some wounds we carry our whole lives,
like amputations....

what was torn out
exists only in the other world....
in ashes,
in dream....

i listen and remember--
this soft gentle rain
falls on everyone,
everyone....

if i turn my face up to it
and stay very quiet
and listen very deeply,
i can feel love
seeping right down into
this suffering heart....

everyone
everyone
is worthy of this
deep and private love....


________________
©2011
beth anne boardman

reconciling grey

sometimes all the beauty
in the world

seems to vanish
in one whoosh....

death bookends life

fate turns on its dime

and rugs shift
under our feet....

poems, words, colors, disappear
metaphor leaves....

shall we hope for no more happiness
if gifts come
on the sharp edge
of a knife?

•

perhaps i have fought the grey too long....
perhaps grey needs to be my new favorite color....

do i lose color?
do i merely note loss?

do i thank god for
this opportunity to
find myself alone in the dark?

to reach out to something
more powerful than my own humanity?

i don't know:

everything i think i know
is really everything i can't ever understand....

•

this morning

i stood on my front steps
and this foreign wind
played in my hair,

ran all around my face
and made me dizzy

birds sang confusingly
of nests and mates
and territories....

the sun shone strangely
springlike

and i brought in the laundry....



_____________
© 2011
beth anne boardman

einstein and rumi are laughing

one day
i saw myself through another's eyes....

....and paris lay before me....

sparkling like a thousand diamonds
alive with a thousand breaths

vibrant with history
shaped by love, and death, and joy....

oh, this world, this world....

how can every day not be a celebration of the
great rite of trees?

of the amazing birth of new grass?

of babies, of passion,
of death and tears?

we are alive at a wondrous time --

learning to see
through mists of illusion
into the universe
of the mere twenty amino acids we all share....

science and love are merging....

einstein and rumi are laughing....

that we can even entertain the thought
that we are anything other
than diamonds....


______________
©2011
beth anne boardman

piano

life whirls --

blowing in
through open windows
and doors....

in the puff of air against my face,
i am sometimes halted --

i sense a cadence
within the rush
and routine
of daily living

a sort of miraculous rhythm
of comings and goings

haves and haven'ts

old age and death

uncomfortable pregnancies
delirious births

iridescent joy
rending grief....

pausing at the threshold,
i become aware of life's notes --

running and chasing and loving
each other across
the keys of a distant piano....

despite despair
abreast of beauty

i stand enwrapped
by eternity....

•

once,
on the way up into
an indelibly still
exquisitely soft
grey whispery dawn....

up, from deep
peaceful
midnight blue
dreams --

i heard the river rushing by me again....

it was like waking
to god....

or to a lover's touch....

i and the river
--and the wind
and the sound--

and

the air
the light
the dark
the depth

we lay blended into
one moment....

i couldn't tell if i were the river --
or was i by the river?

when the night-current
softly buoyed me up
to full wakefulness,
the lovesong of the river merged

into whooshing tires
on a distant motorway....

i lay bereaved....

oh my river....
what incandescent cruelty
in this life

turned you into

a highway?

•

yet inside me these things dwell:

the silence the river the dawn
the darkness the light....

and now and then

singularity

re-expresses itself

through a puff of breeze
across a sunny expanse of pavement....

through voices joined in friendship
wafting up from sidewalks below....

through a single piano note
wandering through the air --

dropped delicately

like a curtsey

upon my delighted ear....



_____________
© 2011
beth anne boardman

singing the spring

lately i have noticed
the frogs
singing springtime
out of mystery....

so busy!
so admirable, how devoted they are
to their nightly work....

i wonder
a little
whether spring might not come
if they stopped....

but then i see it's a group effort --

because the geese also fly it back in
out of deepest south....

trailing it on their wings
like wordsworth's
clouds of glory....

the lizards tug it gently out from under
the rocks where
they've been wrapped in it --
snuggled
right up against it
all winter long....

oh sometimes it seems so long
that we must journey through
the dark
alone
forlorn
brave and
hopeless....

sometimes it seems we drift
in a vacuum
of space and time --

our souls ashiver....

but beating hearts
seem to continue....

feet seem
to keep
inching
forward
to the next step --

then

unsuspected

a flash of
the green!

oh those shy tips!
how they peer and peek
out of the mud....

but doesn't their green
delight you?

and then
somehow
the air softens....

and our scrappy hearts
expand
with our
evolving breath....

i have noticed that
though frozen,

we also
soften
in the dark....

and when we are all soft enough,
the frogs begin
to chant....

slowly
slowly
their singing
turns the earth
back toward the burning sun....

stirring us gently
out of the fertile mystery....

are you ready to ripen?

to blossom with
the star-flowered plum?

to linger in sun-warmed disguise
under sheltering leaves,
and transform?

are you ready to burst with
your juicy life?

oh my friend!
imagine the frogs' delight!

___________________
©2011
Beth Anne Boardman

coalescence

lately i sense
something building
out in the ethers --

an extraordinary
jumbling of
improbably gorgeous
clouds....

a net of diamonds
coalescing
in the night sky....

a knitting together
of unspoken hopes
and spoken dreams....

it's happening in the silence
that infuses
acceptance
gratitude

confusion....

it's happening in the
mistakes i make....

the clumsy words that
spill out....

in my deepest unknowing....

•

what is required of me now
is no more
(and no less)
than to continue
living
exactly
as
i
am....

devoted
and sentenced
to learning --

to the irredeemable pain
and joy (like a mist)
that crowd each
conscious moment....

to stumbling through
my truth

and finding a way
to turn stumbling
into
dance

•

a gathering of guides
and angels
meet

to discuss our cases
when we are asleep,
exhausted from our efforts....

for a long time they
must watch us
sending only
dustings of
compassion

to drift over our saddened souls
and soften life's suffering turns....

and as we
hesitantly embark

across that sea
that both buoys us
and threatens our very keels....

as we learn to catch
the breath of love

in our own sails....

steering our lives by it,
allowing it to penetrate
the veils over our hearts....

as we feel ourselves stirred
and wakened
by the great
energies

the uncontrollable
motions
around
and under us....

as we give our lives over
to something we can't understand

and surrender gracefully to its lead --

as we travel bravely on into
the chill, unpromising wind,

the angels take note....

and begin kindling
our next
fire....


__________________

©2011
Beth Anne Boardman

under the western sky

on nights when life seems vast --

filled with space
and chilly

when a frisson of fright
hovers at the edge of
consciousness

like a wraith....

like a held breath....

when i am assailed
with wonder

but not the good kind --

on those nights

words whispered
long ago
well up

through depths of
memory:

walk to the window, daughter --
stand and gaze out
softly
into the
darkness....

you are all that you see
and all that you don't....

warmth suffuses
the silence:

stars and chemistry
are shared....

we are all
passengers
in this darkness

•

sometimes
on our rare
starry nights,

i pad quietly out

lift my face and heart up

to those silent
bluewhite
sparks

and feel the secret we share between us --

we burn
all alone

yet ensouled....

our very cells
atomic furnaces

knocking around in a vast microcosm....

i and the stars
differ not at all really --

sailing together
through infinity....

and that western star that always draws me --
lures my eyes upward and into
endless liquid
twilit depths....

into that elegant, embarrassing profusion
of starry riches....

we wink
and reassure each other....

•

here under the lights of the city

and the loft of the atmosphere

and the crazy zinging of microwaves
that net over my head --

i offer up my attention

to diamond barques in a velvet sea

silently signalling

here we all are --
together....

•

turning away,
a smile widens within....

a resilient glimmer
plays at the edge of my vision --

how those stars dance
down into the western sky!


_____________________
©2011
Beth Anne Boardman

the rose and the pearl

the instructions were:

you will be given a heart --
inside that heart is a rose --
within that rose
lies a pearl

visible only

with your
blossoming....

•

for this to happen,
you must plant your feet firmly
into rich earth....

open your arms
to the caressing sun....

breathe deeply
when the winds race to meet you....

bathe daily
in the warm salty water
of your own tears and sweat....

•

in this way
will you grow enough

and grow
strong enough

to
unfurl....

to discover the pearl
that is only yours
yet not
for you....


__________________
© 2011
Beth Anne Boardman

the golden web

when i was born,
i was given a cloak --
a cape --
knit of radiant feathers
and woven with cords of strongest silk....

at night
my mother wrapped me in this cape
like a blanket --
like the wing of an angel,
she said....

mornings, she folded it carefully away --
a secret protection....

as i grew
i told no one about
my special
feathered cape....

when i threw it around my shoulders,
i filled with clandestine joy....

on days when the
wind rode over the hills like wild horses,
i slipped out with my cape --
and ran to meet it....

running across the grassy fields,
the cape rippled and snapped
from my shoulders,
and i'm pretty sure --
on some level --
i flew....

climbing onto the lap of the earth --
warm round boulders
became the platform
for childish imagination....

but as life loomed and stretched
its looping fingers
around my throat....

and in the hustle
and rush
of saving and being saved --

i left it behind....

•••

the day i felt my daughter
prepare to make her appearance
on this earth,
i remembered that cape....

i imagined those mornings
and afternoons
enveloped in feathered radiance
laughing and leaping
from rocks too big....

and when i held her in my arms,
i saw that tucked in
with her blankets
lay a glowing cape
of her very own....

i wrapped her in it
that first night....

and thought no more of
my own....

•••

until one day she came to me
enrobed
all by herself --
resplendent....
dazzling....

piercing me with a glory of grief....

at that moment
i began the hunt --
to assemble the materials
to reknit my own....

and i did....

after many
many
years....

•••

i have it still....

i have danced with it
and traveled with it....

wrapped myself and
my loves in it....

i have been
to my mother's grave in it....

modeled it for my daughter
to remind her of hers
when she forgets....

and though i want desperately
to keep it --
to feel its soft airy feathers framing
my face and
throat forever....

i see that feather after feather
floats away
from grasping hands....

so i give it up....

the beauty and softness
the graceful blush of it
flow in a slow ebb
to the ones who come behind me....

i show them,
the little ones....
the young ones....
the ones who want to know....
how to weave the feathers
into their capes....

but i am not left empty-armed....

because though once i wept
at the loss of my pretty cape,
after all the hard work of
knitting it again....

i find that the silken cords
underneath
remain....

and those that do not wish
to know,
do not see --

that by moonlight and starlight
i glisten --

and dance

wrapped
in a golden web....

________________
© 2011
Beth Anne Boardman

another six months....

it's been shown to me that i must wait....
i must wait longer than i can even imagine waiting....

i am learning a new vocabulary of waiting....

i have been told that time is completely meaningless in the other world....
they dance and sing while we wait....
they forget what it's like to be human --
to feel the bindings of gravity....
the churnings of the hours and minutes....

by the time they finish their favorite song,
and take a breath,
and turn around,
six months have gone by, and
we are lying on the bottom of the valley of the shadow of death again....
to their great surprise....

just when our last ragged breath shatters our aching lungs,
they laugh and flow back in through golden threads....
scooping us up in their light, loving arms....
reassuring us of the simultaneity of perfection and imperfection....

while we writhe and moan, they hum and knit....

and another six months go by....

it's nice to know that there is dancing and singing in the other world,
while we flail around here with our plans and our will....

until we understand the grace of loving....
we can fight and fall down all we want....

the dancing and singing do not stop
just because we're caught in the webs of desire....

some days i skip down this sticky web, pausing, balancing,
massaging a sore toe, then skipping on....

equipoise.... for a while....

other days i find that sore toe has caught somewhere and
the more i struggle to extract myself,
the more intractably i am wrapped....

trapped, a fat fly in a gossamer coffin....

release comes when i cease those frantic efforts and become still....
dehydrated and red-faced, waiting....

silence descends....

and far too late, but absolutely on time,
angels come tripping in....

and another six months has gone by....

closer and closer to whatever's next,
i am learning to dance and sing....
to laugh,
to love radically,
and without explanation or excuse....

it's easier to do all this waiting
while in love with everyone....

anguishing....
languishing....
embracing....

another six months....

and once in a while,
in the silence....

laughter --

like golden bells through summer windows....

_________________
© 2011
Beth Anne Boardman