C.M. Rivers
~Now Flowing~
Tag: Poetry
Stone Lion
The face of the stone lion has turned white due to weather and time, two things I understand very little of, being neither meteorologist nor physicist. I only know that he reminds me of a Celtic warrior about to pick a fight, milky streaks… Continue Reading “Stone Lion”
High Road
Once you have traveled in the four directions, along the main thoroughfare, and spent a good deal of time on back roads and side roads, putting one foot in front of the other until you reach a… Continue Reading “High Road”
Beginner’s Mind
Beginner’s Mind Spirit of breath and practice, holy mystery of movement and stillness, grant me the discipline to just sit here, though the old fires still burn in me. Grant me the wisdom to remain plainspoken at the doorstep of the mind’s entanglements. Let… Continue Reading “Beginner’s Mind”
The Good News
Excerpt from The Good News, a poem from my collection How To Carry Soup (Homebound Publications, 2020).
Refuge
By day, a daydream ponderer who never gets her fill – by night, a barefoot wanderer who’s wandering still. With the bamboo wind and a golden rain-tree, what a lucky pilgrim she shall be.
These Particular Blues
It was one of those days when the movie of your life should have won an Academy award for best screenplay. The twists and turns knocked everyone out, the plot was as tight as high-end waterproof luggage, and the soundtrack matched how everyone felt… Continue Reading “These Particular Blues”
Dear Diary
You must not complain about dust. Dust becomes cloud becomes rain becomes forest becomes life, so you must not complain about dust as you wipe it from a table, books, shelves. May there be an empty space in the palm of my hand, where… Continue Reading “Dear Diary”
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“If every 8-year-old in the world is taught meditation, we will eliminate violence from the world within one generation.” – Dalai Lama
“May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe. Tiny, but useful.” – Mary Oliver
“Who has not felt the urge to throw a loaf of bread and a pound of tea in an old sack and jump over the back fence.” John Muir
