Poetic Yogini in Repose

Poetic Yogini

If scars were words, she would have poetry scattered in clusters all over her body. 

A small little girl once wore these scars with pride because it made her look strong. 

Poems that rhymed across her legs said ‘see my knees, won’t you please, don’t you tease me now, I sting like bees!’

But one day she grew older and poetry slammed into her cheek written with embarrassing shame because some boy dropped her on accident and she didn’t feel pretty.  

All the scars she wore became a little less easy to share and it was as if she had to keep it wrapped up, 

Covered, locked, and sealed. 

Some more visible and harder to dress,

some more internal she  covered with the a smile at her best. 

And then she grew older, and her belly expanded and scarred as if a tiger gnashed and snarled at it. 

But the poetry produced was beautiful!

And slowly she began undressing herself and felt like that little child showing proudly the cuts. 

Proud to wear her scars because they said, 

‘Women, mother, healer, creator, seeker, lover, feeler, seer.”

And she shared her poems as they began to unravel and heal her. 

Some poems, she laughed and delighted with play,

Where others she cried because the wounds would seep blood

The crimson bright reminders of battles long fought. 

Each poem recited peeled each bandage with grace

Stringing together each cluster in one long sung masterpiece. 


My grandma sang songs each waking day till the moon loomed over our house. 

And she  danced to her own rhythm 

Each morning I would hear her chirp her melody as if it was spring all year round in our house. 

But one spring she grew quiet and  forgot who I was, and forgot who she was, and her magic seemed to fade and I would always take a deep breath before going to see her and leave feeling guilty for not wanting to stay. 

She stayed silent a lot longer than anyone expected her to, 

But she was waiting for people to come and sing to her. 

And when they did, she cried tears that had dried up years ago 

And her skin turned white and she  flew away to her love like a dove at dusk. 

Now I only see her when I lift the veil to that place where only the moon shines, but she’s still dancing and singing and telling me to sing my song too!

Dedicated to Halmuhnee 

Bend Like Fish 

Bend the beat 

Bend the beat 

Bend the beat 

That pumps the heat 

Bend the beat 

That sounds of weep

Bend it into something sweet


Feel the sweep 

Radiate from head to feet 

Seeping past the dermis sheet


Letting go of toxic pasts 

Foresee no more than minutes past


Coming back 

Send the beat 

Back to your heart 

Coming back into your art. 

Crescent Moon

Crescent Moon

Before coming into full realization

Into the full feminine power,

Into the full masculine strength,

Into the season of autumn,

We delight in the sprites of spring,

Who are like the silvery smile in the night sky that little fingers draw from crayons boxes. 

And we show them how to sustain. 

We plant seeds,

And we tend the garden,

And we grow and pluck the fruit and harvest and cycle day after day, year after year,

Until we are face to face with the familiar faces of our childhood,

Except the silvery moon has touched our head with silvery strands and each full moon comes sooner. 

Still every time I look to the night sky to greet the crescent moon smiling down like the Cheshire Cat,

I feel like that same soft warm spring nestled in my arms drifting off too sleep. 

Wild Thing 

Wild Thing

So many saw her fire and wanted to capture it, to contain it, and tame her,

And she wanted so badly to be loved so she let herself be caught. 

But her fire was what kept her alive and she would start to lose her light,

And they resented her for it. 

Until she finally met the one who could hold her whilst the fire was still ablaze 

And she blossomed intensely,

And his cold heart began to glow from the heat,

…..and they lived happily ever after. 

The Wall

There was a time I proposed to death

At the front of the wheel looking through darkness, from hopeless darkness. 

My consorts stacked beside me

Plath, Poe, and Proust 

and I imagined it would be beautiful irony to meet my soon to be betrothed at the wall of an abandoned asylum. 

But he did not come easy and with no shining white light. 

He abandoned me and I stood staring into a red light that would not flip the switch to green and my cries dwindled before I decided I just needed to go home. 

Looking back, I know it was Devine intervention. I imagine it was my two mischievous boys who had different intentions for me and knowingly tied up mr Grimm laughing all the way through the prank, 

But I am grateful almost two decades later,

And the illusory wall a reminder at how flawed and naive my soul can be,

Because I forgot and could easily have given up all this beauty unraveling like spools of gold before me towards a land of yellow brick roads, emerald bejeweled cities, and a place where a monkey like me can fly. 




I ran with children today. 

Around and around like a merry go round and time slowed down.

Adjacent to the track is a school garden and young girls run around with butterfly nets visually weaving through the sunflower stalks. 

A girl yells through the fence, “he says he likes you!” 

I, a bystander, witness the little brunette look down pretending to admire the flowers with a suppressed smile and a look that passes the objects in between the thought. 

Ah yes, I know that one. 

That feeling when you pretend like you didn’t hear and look at something else, but the words “he likes you” echoes through the head and that night will be a happy one at home. 

No one notices, 

Except for me who is no longer a child, but watching her is nostalgia and so I remember the familiarity of the head bowed down with an uncontrollable upward lift of the lips. 

The warm flutters in the belly,

And the feeling of being loved,

Though it may be decades before she accepts it openly. 

Open Heart 

Lying still in bed after a long moment of silence with my Love, 

“Hey I was thinking that there are a few people living into there 120’s.”


“So who knows how long we could live by the time we are older.”

Silent contemplation 

“We could very well spend at least a hundred years together.”

“That would be good.”

“Yes I would like that very much.”



The feeling that comes back to you,

Like you’re making love to her, in her, on her earth. 

Each time your flesh presses into that rich loving body,


She recompenses me

My spirit every time I feel I’ve lost it. 

She gives it to me gratuitously,

And it’s only my bad I forget to come for it. 

But when I do come to receive,

She whispers thank you and The tears flow and nourish her soil. 

We Undulate with each other’s flow synchronistically, 

So that we can dance in each other’s rhythm until I remember my spirit 

wholly, holi, holy.


Come to the place that rests at the center of the universe,

It lies in between the beginning and the end,

It exists between the id and the super,

It dwells between the root and crown,

It is that moment you feel like your standing at the edge of a cliff but instead of closing your eyes,

You decide to look over the cliff,

And feel your heart race at the sight of the landscape that expands beneath you,

And though you still feel the fear of falling over,

You do not fear it because your perspective has flipped. 

Come meet me at the place where the heart beats on and on and on…  

Then shhhhh,

Feel that?