Christine Salkin Davis (Focail do a Chara)

The leaf floats to the ground
and resists the free-falling
stomach-rolling sensation of fear.
The landing is surprisingly soft
but the gentle rain covers her and
she lies in the carpet of needles,

unable to move and missing the breeze
that used to blow her gently as she hung.
"I will die here," she thinks,
imagining herself as a crunch under foot.

She rests and the droplets caress her
and the sun shines prisms of light on her purple veins.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

You know where the threshold leads;
the destination calls to you in your dreams.
Yet you want reassurances
and life doesn't play that game.
You will survive the free-falling
stomach-rolling sensation
and land exactly where you are meant to be.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Be the yellow buttercup in a field of clover,
among the purple flowers, yellow ones, which
creep and blend, and infuse the stone
with their natural beauty.
They don't wait to be invited --
their seed was invitation enough.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Rain falls in its time,
cool mist on my face,
awakening tingling sensations,
surprisingly refreshing
pinpricks of cold and wet
on my warm cheek,
wrinkled and soft.
Savor the caress.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

I am the rain, relentlessly falling,
unbound and unable to resist the downward momentum.

I am the leaf, blown adrift by winds of change.
I am alone and far from home.

I am the raindrops and I will cover you,
caress you, and keep you company.

I am the thicket, I offer protection,
a new home for you to lie until the drops evaporate and you join the carpet of leaves under me.

Nature protects the fallen, shelters the beaten down. Sunlight is there if you look around.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

I am the cool mist of rain on your face,
awakening tingling sensations,
surprisingly refreshing and pinpricks of cold and wet.
I feel your face, warm, moist,
wrinkles and soft, and I caress,
savor, your cheek.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

I am raindrops on a leaf,
resting from recent efforts of free-falling,
blown about and below,
nourishing beauty,
sun reflecting prisms of light on the green palette.
Watercolor wash.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

I am the twig teepee, deep in the clearing of the rhododendron thicket.
Hidden and secret, a refuge for those brave enough to cross the nettle sentries.
I see the purple blossoms, stems,
backstage view of tangled vines and leafy limbs.
Blue sky glimpses through the canopy and sun speckles on the shadowed earth.
I am built by hands but at home in the forest;
open and ready for the weary soul.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Rhododendron thicket, mysterious and dark.
The opening calls me under her canopy. Purple petals strewn from the storm lie on the ground as if on a lover's bed. Pine cone invitation and a teepee of sticks -- apocalyptic protection draws me near and I rest in its cover. Rows of nettle guard the path and the red hen looks for grubs.
© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

The storm debris strews about like an impressionist painting
or peanut shells left to show me the way.
Feel the sun on your face.
You are a work of art.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

There is plenty of room to soar right where you are,
and there are blue skies and white clouds overhead.
Flying does not require planning -- simply take off.
My flight pattern is not yours. There is room in the sky for both of us.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Bird songs follow the rain.
Sing your song--your own wisdom arises.
Withered limbs feed new life
and sunlight creates mosaics of light on the forest floor.
Unexpected paths emerge when you open your eyes.
Look around.
A strong foundation canopies much beauty.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Secret spaces.
Periwinkle flowers peer over the stone wall,
resolute against the howling wind,
and unconcerned with their hair
or loneliness or ache.
Icy fingers thaw in the sun
and random raindrops turn my poem into watercolor beauty.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Winds blow and rain stings my cheek;
leaves decay at my fingertips and tickle my nose.
Sunlights speckles above and the greening
canopy covers my head, limbs smooth
and strong, tangle of vines my refuge.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Lavender sweetness,
soft as sleep,
touch my heart,
lead to my center of love,
life enriching,
blossoms and fragrance,
breath of nature,
nourish me.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Reach for unselfconscious excellence and unspeakable joy.
The birdsong is in perfect pitch.

Love is the core survivor,
listen, love, laugh now;
sort it out later.

Bombings and hate,
fear and foreboding,
value judgements on cleanliness and skin.
Your body is not who you are, yet it is all you are.

Privilege prickles the soul;
idols of power, possessions.

You know the secrets, let them pour over you.
Make art with washes of words.

To the gods we are one,
both sides of the fence;
we are killing ourselves and humanity loses her humanness.
See the eyes of the children and weep.

The rain clouds part, catch a vision of light.

What if your promised land is another's hell?
If it's not heaven for all, it's not heaven for any.
Open your eyes, the God of love does not ordain annihilation.
The angels despair at what we have become.

Your fist tightly grasping our desired end is a fist of violence.
Open your hand and let the light reach down.
The God of hope offers life to all.


© Christi…

The opposite of
worry is gratitude; lose
yourself in the flow.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Worry is fear
turned inward. Courage is standing
toe to toe with fear.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Sudden realization
and terrors of the night.
Hold on to the rock,
solid and smooth in your hand,
let it weight you to the ground.

Is this the beginning of the end,
or is it beginning again?
Pondering possibillites and dreaming of what might be.

Love is stronger than I realized,
so is pain.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Love your body,
delicious curves,
vulnerable skin,
unkempt curls,
courageous nature,
beloved--birthed in love,
the body as a conduit to the spirit.



© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Symphony of birds songs, four-part harmony,
greens on greens on greens, ivy clinging
and gray skies beyond. Holy wildness,
a clear path, roots in the way and poison
oak underfoot. Bridge over stream,
overgrowth, treacherous trail but nature
calls me to return. Honeysuckle and berries,
gifts for me. Stillness, bird sounds, and beauty
shines through if you persevere.



© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Tiny crawling bugs interrupt my garden meditation
and I am reminded that life is wild,
transgressive, and sometimes tickles my senses.

Exploring confidently under my shirt,
the gnat seeks softness and warmth,
close to my heart.

See the life -- weeds --
grow through gravel and stone,
beauty in their scalloped edges,
delicate leaves reaching out.

How often do we reject beauty underfoot because it is too easily grown?
Floating milkweed drops to earth.
Learn to love what you are given.

If you can love the bugs and weeds and pollen,
you are beginning to see.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Searching for home,
for the space in which love is birthed.
Look past the dive bombing bees,
remember there are butterflies nearby,
and they are all necessary for life.
Perhaps the bullies pollinate kindness and community in response.
Just remember to keep your head down,
toward your heart.

Heaven and hell are realities created by us, moment by moment, in what we attend to.



© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Tackle the what if's
in the here and now. They aren't
so frightening that way.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Walk the path you are
on. The future will unfold
most gloriously.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Everything good must come to an end,
overcoming dispiriting moments,
everything changes.
We were made for love;
the heart knows where to look.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Holy source of love,
the world has lost her humanity, forgetting
the community, generosity of heart,
divine overcomer, miracle-maker, and one who unites,
remind us,
bless us, transform the lost kindnesses,
missing truths,
turn hatred into holiness;
lift up the left out, those laying down, sitting down, standing down.
Let righteous indignation act courageously,
create a just world.
Show us a win, hope into action.
We speak for the voiceless.
May the overcomer of death overcome death again
in our lifetime.




© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Always begin again -- it is ever too late?
Wherever you are -- whenever you arrive,
lifelong traffic distractions and companion muttering,
sore in hip, knot in gut, tired,
swollen fingers and ache behind the eyes.
Bless my body in its border crossing,
unfamiliar face in the mirror,
lament of lost youth, liminal decades,
slowing down but very much alive,
feet planted but moving forward still,
grounded and green. Forgive your body for aging,
sprouting wrinkles and fat, gray hair,
missing person poster for my younger
self. Throw the clods of dirt on your
buried body and begin again.



© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Opened her home,
opened her heart,
remain open to the yes that enters,
that wants to sit with you,
be with you.

Open to the possibility of what is,
the foreign,
different,
people resistant and cold,
hurried and harassing,
right-brain thinkers and minds of reason.

Open the home of your heart
to embrace the Marthas in your self.
Love the do-be parts of you,
the needy parts uncomfortable with sitting still.

Every face here is part of me,
love them all.
Embrace us with wonder of how perfect all our parts are.
Embrace the importance of seeing, resting, loving,
all of yourself
in the world.

Sit still.
You might hear the voice of God speaking through the stranger in your midst,
the stranger within.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Water flowing, flame inspiring, life
reclaiming, birdsounds and laughter, friendly face,
soaring birds, spirit everywhere.
Greening power of life, abundant, lush
into death, cycled rebirth, air and sun,
invitation, spirit within, communal
bonds, now and ever.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Worry resides in
the future. Hold on to the
here and now. Grateful.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018