The Writer

Writing today, won’t be such a chore.
Well, after I do the tasks and run out the door.
I’ll go to the grocer, then AT&T,
Grab a quick coffee, or just some green tea,
Then zip across town to shop REI
(I need a new coat before winter snows fly.)
Now out to lunch with my partner and friend
Before I come home and try writing again
But first put in laundry and fill the crockpot,
Shampoo the dog and clean house a lot.
Unpack from travels and clean up my space
Pull out the laundry and fold it in haste.
Oh, must water the plants and let the dog out,
Run in circles and try not to shout!
By now it is dinner I’ve not written a word,
The time goes so fast that it’s really absurd!
I put on my jammies and crash by the TV
And tomorrow I’ll write, it’s a promise to me.

Baptism

The wind is my sea

Her waves wash through these pines for

Baptism by air

The Energy it Takes

Oh
The energy it takes to choose sides
To face a monster and then bless it as
Having no power
Over your lighted soul,
Requires,
Oh my heart,
My friend,
My beloved,
To simply remember
That the amnesia
Is the trick…
Not the war.
Remember!
Remember
Who and why you have always been a warrior
And rise up again
To take the day for
Good.

2013Vali Hawkins Mitchell

Collateral Hugs

Chaotic energies from the war-born children on the playground,
ranging from innocent Hello Kitty giggles to collateral damage violent ragings,
Whirl like speeding tricycle wheels around my ankles.
If you try to avoid the spins you can get caught up in the pain.
Or you can let it all
circle around you and upward toward your heart.
After it enters that holy chamber
let it all burst out through your opens arms
to
Embrace them
in one
Great hug.

(Strangely enough I was asked to spontaneously offer up a poem to a staff member on a playground yesterday. Here is what came out, for what it’s worth 9/28/12)

The Steam

The Steam

I envy the steam release from the cafe roof.
It bursts out with liberating heat like a child at recess,
then disappears as quickly to its next
classroom of ocean, river, raindrop, or tear.
I see the first hegira and the rest is seen by The Teachers.

©vali 4/2012

Do Overs

the wind blows my sweet-smelling laundry off the line
into the mud
my angry regrets
are followed by rewashing the worn flowered
cotton hankies
given me by
my beloved grandmother
and blessing the
wind for the
chance to vist them again

©vali 2012

Lisa’s Smile

Lisa’s Smile

Your smile is a shining light that works like a joy tattoo inside my mind.
If I think of it, the darkness disappears and the day becomes bright
Your smile is a shining light that works upon the world
Radiating peace and hope and inspiration and whimsy, whenever it forms on your sweet face.
I miss your smile, but never for very long.

Garden Ladies

Garden Ladies

Curious

That I notice this woman

In the salon

As if my eye catches one particular

Flower in a too filled garden I must stoop

To take in the perfume

Classy.

She has it going on.

She knows herself and shines it.

Like someone who is well read and well loved, she emits

A quiet light of graciousness

And weathered beauty that makes her stand out

from inside the designs of her own garden.

She is having some fun today and owns the room.

When layered rows of lilacs in massive purple blooms demand

I bend to breathe in the scent of one who represents all, I obey.

So I will overcome the social imperative to isolate and

Keep my own counsel and go speak to her.

Curious

That I notice this woman

In the salon

As if my eye catches one particular

Flower in a too filled garden I must stoop

To take in the perfume

Feeling my own withering spirit, I remember that all flowers bloom grace

Whether anyone stoops to breathe them in or not.

We are garden ladies and there is no need to prune our spirits.

Mirage

Think of a desert. It has been cold. It has been hot. Things scurry about on the sand. Other things crawl into the shade of rocks or below. Some predators. Some prey. All trying to survive the extremes of moment to moment. The rain comes and the smell is unique. A few green things try to sprout in their short lifespan. A small critter drowns in a wash. Something is born and scuttles away. A branch cracks half off a limb and hangs in the arid breeze like a signpost in a ghost town. Within a few hours the dry is once again Lord of all. The blue sky offers no relief. A cloud is a joke. The silence is deeper than the ocean. Climbing the hill gives way to openness that suggests there are no more hills to climb. But there always are. And the color, oh, the color is the thing. Stop moving. Listen to the color. See the soundlessness. Taste the dust. Breathe in the nothingness. Be the desert. Raw. Crisp. Paper-thin. Gone.

A sudden mirage floats toward me carrying a cup of sweet water. Who is she that dares walk at noon with a chalice? Who is this who is the turquoise river and the sparkle sea in the middle of the blazing day? Who is it that anoints me with the baptism mission of soul and entices me with an artesian holy grail? Did I fall asleep?

O parched lips open and take sweet drinks of hope one more time. One more time rise and say Yes. Shake the dust from your feet of clay and bathe in the life-giving presence of the still waters and drink deep from the communion of saints.

And Know this: it is the desert that is the mirage.

The Diagnosis

The Diagnosis

Projection is
The Reflection
Of your Imperfection
And self Protection
By using Rejection
Instead of Introspection
Thus avoiding Correction

Vali Hawkins Mitchell©2012