A-Poetry Page

Words spoken out loud change us.  Listening changes us.  When we are children we listen especially.  Later, sometimes we hear what we want to hear or hear through our wounds; other times grace descends and our hearing is so new again that who we are really stands up and dances.  Words come not only from our tongues, but from our hearts, our muscles, the way we hold ourselves up in our bones.  The more we are conscious of where our words are coming from – the truths, trances, wounds and vitality – the more responsibly and essentially ourselves we can be.  I believe that is learning to rest in love, wisdom and creativity.  That is how wars end and everybody gets supper.  It’s a perfectly imperfect process – delightful, tragic, the stuff of art and dreams and daily bread.

Join me in the exploration of this extravagant life through my poetry!
Just click this link to go directly to the collection of my poetry and lyrics illustrated with photos I’ve taken, offered with love!

A-Poetry Page


I want to tell you
that you are okay

I want to be
the flower for you
the small diamond water
of the fountain
with the mossy stones
the clear song of the bird
that breaks your heart
so that you begin
to remember
it’s okay to be alive

I know how hard it is
I have the scars, too
from the jagged monster
who chews its children
and leaves them
tense-boned and
the monster of breaking
who fills small bodies
with knowledge so unspeakable
that the most golden of bells
can make no sound

but my love
if you keep hope
behind the wall
it is no good
no good
you have to walk out
into the open now
though every sinew
for bone and will
have done their work
they have brought you
but they are
useless creatures
when confronted
with kindness

what was given to you
long ago–
the sad old spasm
of protection–
with that you
can never know honey
you can never truly

oh, those old wars
they are over and gone
my warm hand is here
and I’ll tell you
over and over
with the eloquent language
of my fingers
my breath
my eyes that have seen
death and lived
I will tell you gladly
that we are home at last
alive most deeply
in our own dignity

though the hired warrior
has kept you walking
let him lay down
in the garden’s earth now
and sumptuously rot
kindly let him come apart in
worm and root
till his hollowness
has healed into
the soft den of an animal

you have always been
the untarnishable gold bell
and the crazy wild heart of its
star-made clapper
and it is time, my love
for you to
© Kathleen Dunbar

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