Fast fly the days
And years
Of youth
First tooth
And discovery of sound . . .

Around furniture and feet
Are sweet spots
Where standing becomes walking
And dogs give the best bath of all

BIG somehow seems like
The best thing to be
Although little can cuddle
And ride
On shoulders or wagons
Or fly through the sky
On the swing
And sing as loud as it likes
At the table
And is able to crawl into laps
For naps in the late afternoon

Yet all of the small somehow
Falls by the way
And the day comes when play
Must wait
Until grown-up debate
Over work vs. fun
Has run out of words
And the sun and the birds
Have gone home to roost
For the night

Still . . .
Those difficult days seem so far away
When raspberry kisses
Near misses and scrapes
And deep belly laughs
Make life
Taste like rainbow ice cream

Wendy E.

I stood inside a rainbow
A mist of flaming vapor
Kissed by sun and cloud
Descending all around me

Some say that cannot happen
One must be far away to see
But I know
At magic moments
Like noon
In the mist
In the mountains
Rainbows fall straight
To the ground

I stood there
In that sacred place
With fire falling all around
And for one shining moment
I was golden

Wendy E.

This story was told to me in a dream one night, where I was simultaneously the
old gypsy storyteller, one of the children at her feet and the young dancer
whose story was being told. It actually woke me up and insisted I write it. It
was almost like it was being channeled or something, except that I had to figure
out how to make it all rhyme... lol.



Dance Gypsy



The full moon has come to the gypsy encampment
The horses at rest and the bonfire laid
A blanket of stars settles down o’er the wagons
And out of the night steps a bold gypsy maid

Crimson and gold is the cloth which adorns her
Flashing dark eyes and black flowing hair
Slim as a reed she stands by the fire
With one supple arm flung into the air

Sweetly at first come the instruments voices
Violins passed on for hundreds of years
Witness to all of a gypsy’s great passion
Polished with many a wanderer’s tears

Ever so slowly the gypsy maid dances
And circles the fire with sparks in her eyes
Then leaping and bending and whirling faster
She dances her joy for the stars in the skies

Around and about the maid spins enchantment
And even old souls are stirred by the sight
Passions run high in the heart of the gypsy
For every man here knows what happens tonight

A night of all nights is this, to be sure
When a young gypsy maid, unwooed and unwed
Loosens the braids of her childhood years
And takes for herself a lover to bed

Skillful and sure are the steps of the maiden
Instinctively knowing with all of her heart
The path she must take and the obstacles there
That keep a young girl and her lover apart

Then suddenly everything ceases to move
The violins gone from the quiet night air
To the grass, like a stone, drops the maid by the fire
And offers her hand to the man who stands there

For this is the man she has chosen to marry
The one who has stolen the heart from her breast
A laughing dark gypsy, both gently and strong
A loving companion on life’s gypsy quest

He leads her now gently deep into the forest
Where, soft with rose petals, the marriage bed stands
The symbol of joining throughout all the ages
Prepared by her husband with strong loving hands

As the young maidens cry of surrender goes out
Those in the camp will hear not a sound
For the feasting’s begun and the revels will last
‘Til the full gypsy moon sinks into the ground

Wine will flow swiftly as blood through the veins
As wild hearts sing and cry out to each other
Laughter and dancing and sweet violins
And every man here calls every man brother

So dance, gypsy, laugh, be merry and sing
Rejoice in the love found by two of our own
For tomorrow we go where the stars have decreed
But this night has seen two who shall not go alone



Wendy E.
1991

she's three now ...
dances like a dream
and knows the words
to all the songs

wants to be so big
but likes to sit curled
in the crook of Grandma's arm
late, when the blue light flickers
and the "mean people" play
their grown up games
she doesn't understand ...

but Barbies know the rules
and kiss and kill for fun
when she plays the story out
with other friends

who knew that they would listen
or even comprehend
all the drama and the madness
in the air

has the damage all been done
am I too late to say -
"Come, sweetheart,
no more T.V. tonight."...?

Wendy E.
2004

This poem was written about my friend Homeless John, as he was called at the time, but it's also written about the outcast in all of us.


Child of the shadow
On the fringe
Running
When it gets too close
Too... tight
The massive hand of humanity
Closing on your throat
Houses, concrete, fences, bars
They’re all afraid of you

You...
With the crystal eyes and shining soul
Of a hero in a book
And so, with sadness, anger, suspicion
You run
Shadow dancing down the road
And into the arms of the Mother
Where timeless mountain meadows
Laced with shaded, icy streams
Offer Life
And Spirit food
Here you stand erect
Face the sun
And bow only to the Universe
Whose endless spinning wheel of stars
Guards your sleep and eases your dreams
Here you drink Peace
Like wine
And quiet binds your wounds
And heals your soul
Child of the Mother
The birds sing your name
And the deer have your scent
They see you as you are
And they are not afraid

Rest
Restore yourself
Renew your strength of Spirit
For the battles yet to come
Unwilling Warrior
You hear the siren song of Chaos
And you cannot stay for long
Gently
With hope, regret, frustration
You pick up your life
Turn away
And step
Softly
Into the shadow
Perhaps, when you come this way again
There will be no need to leave


Wendy E.

Perhaps elusive liberty
Is only found in dying
Or could it be related to
An accident of birth

Shall I trade one raving despot
For the yoke of foreign freedom
Which in turn will surely rob me
Of my culture and my soul

Will our children fail to flourish
Lacking milk and meat and knowledge
Or will this blind invasion
Crush their lives into the dust

Where can a mother run to
If the roads are blocked with mines
And the hills are full of fire
Where the desert drinks your life

Do I trust my fate to Allah
Or embrace the infidel
Where is God when peace is broken
Who will save us from ourselves

Is there nothing in this world
Full of politics and pain
That will make them stop the killing
And release us from this fear

Must we live in endless sorrow
As we bury all our dead
In the field that used to feed us
When our family was whole

When this war of theirs is over
And the bombs have ceased to fall
Will anyone remember
Who was right and who was wrong?

Wendy E.
2004

Have you ever heard the flute that nature plays
with the sounds of wind on stormy days,
can you feel the drums when thunder rolls
the drums that echo in our frightened souls?

Have you ever watched the falling leaves
that dance the tune of an autumn breeze,
or the flames that burn in lover's eyes
and dance the music that fills their lives?

It's the same pure song that the birds all sing
when they feel the magic breath of spring,
it's the song that's sung by mountain streams
and the hymn that haunts musicians' dreams.

Even ancient myths of the Sun and Moon
all dance with the stars to this timeless tune,
the whole creation sings in harmony
that's the wonder of nature's symphony.

We heard this song in ancient times
and adorned its tune with sacred rhymes,
it sprang from stone age temple caves
and swept the world like tidal waves.

It inspired art and guided kings
and planted thoughts in poet's dreams,
where this song was sung in ancient lands
cities bloomed like flowers in desert sands.

Then we developed new technologies
tamed the winds and crossed the seas,
but soon we forgot how to dance and sing
and praise the wonder of our wakening.

Then the music faded and the magic died
our reason ruled and the spirit cried,
and now today when the thunder rolls
it echos in the silence of our empty souls.

Everything that lives sings in harmony
with this song of nature's symphony,
except thoughts we think and then we weave
into theories of truth which we believe.

And these stubbon beliefs have made us blind
to the sacred wonders within our minds,
for that's the place where magic dwells
and the music flows from boundless wells.

Where thoughts are simply tiny streams
cascading through canyons of myth and dreams,
and the symbols carved on these canyon walls
lead to the cave where the spirit calls.

Deep in the caves are the ancient tomb
where spirits dance and visions bloom,
where dreams are formed with fire and thunder
and our souls are filled with sacred wonder.


source unknown