I entered the Silent Tomb; the Mosque felt devoid of Presence. We wandered through a myriad of glorious arched rooms, ornately carved woodwork – soft carpeted floors. Removing our shoes we spoke softly in deference to Something ineffable? Each tiled… Read More ›
She speaks a various language. Bound in the bardo bereft vaguely present, almost dead. For fucking shining aloud let me back in. Come again, sweet terror Carve my shadow on your cave walls Render me a soul, source me… Read More ›
Sometimes it whirls together, a superstorm of pain and despair, and the shittiness of it all is just too damned much to bear girls and women beaten, raped, abused, and all you nice guys don’t care and my little daughter… Read More ›
Yesterday old eyes stung – fierce white heat – blurred vision. Singing love songs, I scattered seeds in furrows raked smooth, tucked tufts under stone… Imagining a Wildflower riot! Bittersweet orange, blue and gold winding through rice grass – sage… Read More ›
In the dream the elk’s antler was a tree made of bone. Silvery tines – tongues of flame hummed at dawn. “Embodied Light.” I would use these words, if asked to describe my young friend’s personality. But words fall short… Read More ›
Dear World. You are On fire. Why Do you condone Time And time Again The guns The hate The greed The violence The oppression. Why do you not speak For all.
Departure. I stood deep in a toad hole slinging mud at twilight when the sky turned lemon and gold. They arced over my head in pairs, loose aggregations – it seemed like thousands crying out, crossing the river. Ensouled. Spirits… Read More ›
Happy Valentine’s Day! I know, I know… so many of us do not like this holiday. It’s too commercialized, we say. We don’t need card-makers or florists to tell us how or when to show affection. Some of us don’t… Read More ›
There are things that ask to be remembered or, is it that I ask to remember? The everyday enchantments of our living words forming slices of memory. A white squirrel watching from a sycamore tree the sounds of black crows… Read More ›
This is a poem I published almost ten years ago. It is as if I wrote it yesterday. The image is more or less of the same sentiment as the poem. I publish these again here in memory of my father. ~~~~… Read More ›
The poems below are excerpted from my new (I hope forthcoming) collection, Tell Me the Story Again. Ancient dreamer’s voice is one among many voices including sorrow singer, temple sweeper, sword woman, morose fool, merry drunk, grey cat and mouse,… Read More ›
During the last year I have been struggling with the catastrophic effects of Climate Change like never before as I witness the continuation of a drought that is withering plants, starving tree roots, shriveling our wildflowers and wild grasses, leaving… Read More ›
Last month I looked back over six years of postings I have done for FAR. In November, I noticed that I usually during that month tend to review the year and find something to be grateful for. I decided this month… Read More ›
Once she believed that it was her fault they came on to her, that she owed them something… They owned her? Secretly the girl was pleased because any kind of attention was better than none, or being so “different” –… Read More ›
You Can Make Your Own Rose by Andrea Nicki is a collection of poems infused with the spirit of feminist sensibility, social justice and activism. The poems offer more than mere therapeutic comfort while depicting shamanic-inspired healing rituals and magical… Read More ›
I need the grandmothers to help me re-member my rage. Cross stitch. Double knot. I sew it back on. The raggedy parts I let fly loose when I thought it was OK to not be “so angry.” “Boys will be… Read More ›
My walk to the river is a joyful entrance into the eternal Now. The water flowing, crushed fresh mint, trilling bird song desert air so sweet my body vibrates drumming with all that is… Returning under the bowing… Read More ›
For about a year and a half, I have been working on a collection of poetry that I feel is worth something. I have been writing poetry since I scribed pages hidden between my math textbook when I was 9,… Read More ›
One of my undergraduate professors was (and still is) a haiku enthusiast. When I took his Zen Buddhism course, students were required to write haiku throughout the semester. He encouraged us to focus on the natural world as we struggled… Read More ›
Five years ago, I moved to Texas from California. In that time, my spiritual practice and my feminist and womanist worldview has grown through contemplative practices. It’s ironic. “Everything’s bigger in Texas!” the saying goes, but in the presence of… Read More ›
“It’s a wild snail festival out here!” —Tanner (age 3) This spring we took a family mini vacation to Table Rock Lake, about three hours away from home. At its best, working and schooling from home with our family of… Read More ›
It seems to me to be appropriate that since I’ve received so many ideas to consider, wondrous gifts, and thought-provoking insights from many of the essays, poems, and stories in the Feminism and Religion blogs, I should also give something… Read More ›
Aurora’s autobiographical narrative is a passionate paean to poets as the “only truth-tellers, now left to God”; she celebrates them as agents for personal and social transformation. As we come to the end of this National Poetry Month in the U.S., where truth is under siege, it’s worth recalling Aurora Leigh and its daring exploration of poetry, gender, divinity, and social justice.
Forty years ago, I abandoned my own inner quest to establish myself as a writer/translator, discouraged by the voices of publishers who told me the book was unmarketable, worried about making a living and reassuring my family (whom I had broken from when I was seventeen) that I was “okay.” I chose the relatively safer path of becoming an English professor, and I worked for more than thirty years helping others to find their voices. I do not regret taking that path. It has led me here.
I am privileged to live near a wood where I can walk with my family, my dog, or alone – when I have the courage. I fear the woods, see; not because of physical danger from humans or wild animals,… Read More ›
Yesterday I “paused” my post and left you with words from a dear friend Edyka Chilomé, a powerful “artivist” invested in the healing of our world. And our world is in need of healing indeed. Today was another tough day… Read More ›
Memory Beneath the Coptic Roof The past two years, I’ve been trying to channel the spirits my of ancestors. Connecting them to hymns of history and litanies of theory. Searching for rootedness. But I didn’t find a sense of rootedness… Read More ›
She studies, and disputes, and teaches, and thus she serves her Faith; for how could God, who gave her reason, want her ignorant? —Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, Villancico, or, “Carol”, in celebration of St. Catherine of Alexandria (1692)… Read More ›
Last week, I listened to an episode of Krista Tippett’s series On Being that featured an interview with poet Marilyn Nelson. I am not very knowledgeable about the world of modern poetry, but I am familiar with Nelson’s work. A… Read More ›
The warrior spirit is not only the coherent ability to resist circumstances outside of one’s making; but the ability to fight the war within all of us thus managing discomfort and chaos with the force of authenticity. Recently an enlightened… Read More ›
