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The Tourist
Why do I wake while morning is still night? I grope along endless caverns, it seems, descending many fathoms deep into memories of the past, and dreams of the future, my hand outstretched, a flickering candle in the curl of my fingers. Journeys that – in the present light of day – I struggle to… Continue reading
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Just Know
Just know that you are the master of the singing bowl, the viscous ripples in the air, the temple in the clouds and mist. Know you are the heart that leads the way, the swan who dives, the moon in May. Just know you are the artist, the canvas, the muse. Know you are the… Continue reading
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Omphalos
My fires are so thirsty, the hunger drinks itself. Transcendent wheel turning, at once groaning and soundless. I speak the language of rounded stones, spoken at the navel of the world. At times I cannot even reach you. At times I scoop you up to ride across the world in the cups of my… Continue reading
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From Rilke’s Book of Hours
I love the dark hours of my being. My mind deepens into them. There I can find, as in old letters, the days of my life, already lived, and held like a legend, and understood. Then the knowing comes: I can open to another life that’s wide and timeless. So I am sometimes like a… Continue reading
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Cooking Poetry
There is poetry in cooking, and there is cooking in writing poetry. Both require science, art, observation. Both require an approach that is – to some extent – a combination of military thinking and creative thinking. A sense of when to obey the laws, bend the laws, break them, rewrite them, be served by them.… Continue reading
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I Want
I want to ponder the radius of the earth as if it was yet to be discovered. I want to burst through doorways with a clear voice singing, intoxicated with life. I want fistfuls of cloud spilling out of my pockets. A poet is hungry, a poet is very thirsty. A poet dies every day,… Continue reading
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Towards The Fire
When things unravel with such fury, we conclude that something should be held responsible. We look for a place to lay our blame, though the source of our pain often has the power to be a catalyst for growth, a facilitator of movement in stagnant waters. If we can un-stick ourselves from the quicksand of… Continue reading
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Reception
Friends, I toss myself aside for you. I become available for you. I eat, drink, mumble, run hands through hair for you, scramble down the gulch for you, carry wood, fold socks, scrub pots, ever-fearless, requiring nothing. These are not the days of time’s inhalation pulling way up under the world’s collarbones, stitching together the… Continue reading
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Light My Way
May my heart light my way. May it come into a place not unlike the narrow line that exists between water and fire, a pocket of stillness where both forces are within reach. Then I could learn their ways, how to call on them, how to let them enter me, how to recognize which one… Continue reading
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C.M. Rivers 