Christine Salkin Davis (Focail do a Chara)

The muse hides behind fear;
resistance requires concrete thinking, yet
bird seed scattered and dive bombing bees,
Mother Nature's disarray.
Message in the wind,
floating leaves and bird caws.
You are safe here.
En-courage.
Imprint courageous acts.
The birds call out.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Body blows but not broken,
stress in the posterior lumbar region,
caregiver flu,
fears and rain sky day,
need a fresh air perspective,
bird songs,
robin resting on bare branches,
leaves floating down,
cool breeze on skin,
dog at my feet,
warm mug in hand.
Inhale health.
Sun emerges.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

When storms of life collide with
hurristorms,
your body knows.
Embodied remnants of stress even after
the sun reappears.
Hurts your eyes to see too much,
symphony of embodied aches
and unknowing, forgetting, what you know.
Dialectical messages of well, not well,
and push-pull of panic and trust.
Your pain in my body knows.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Lay the groundwork, looking for the light,
gray sky, rustling leaves, raindrops
on windowpanes portend yet another
storm blowing in. Debris upon
debris, clear away the clutter in your
mind, heart, soul; the eye within,
like the eye of the storm, peace.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

The doorway beckons,
open and dark, home again,
mystery teasing my mind,
heart of life and holding on
to eros, embodied experience,
desire to enter and know,
used by love.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Stand strong.
You can't see where the path leads,
but walk it anyway.
Stand strong.
Cloudless sky and hunter squirrels
and repercussions of failed attempts
don't deter us.
Stand strong.
Protect and preserve the liberation stories,
they stand, steadfast and firm.
Stand strong
on the round of millennia of sisters and brothers
buried under our feet.
Stand strong
on their strengths that could not be snuffed,
waiting for this moment of transcendence.
Stand strong
in portals of courage, thresholds between
goodness within and the pain of the world.
Stand strong
in infuriating injustice and holiness.
Stand strong in the pause,
stand strong in your heart.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Free-fall,
foggy-eyed vision,
witness to the silent sacred scary cries.

The bright light blinds,
silver glitter and spotlight white,
and when I search for answers
the black spots burn my eyes
and all I see is darkness,
pain and terror,
sound of mocking laughter,
power struggles.

I stumble in the inky blackness
and fall to the ground.
The landing is remarkably soft,
but violence seeps like steam.
Let your eyes adjust to the truth.
The light is there in the shadows,
and it burns off the darkness.
Rest in the body knowing,
blinded certainty.

Now is the time to
see and be seen.
You are standing on solid ground.

Psalm 34:5: Those who look to God are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Afraid to leave and
afraid to stay, liminal
fear states, the only

way out is through. Shake
the dust from your feet when you
walk by. Faith. Hope. Love.

Rage is the new faith.
Hiding behind the cross; he
is protected by

power. This body
built by shame. Layers of shame.
You told us if we

were good girls you would
protect us. You lied. I was
once erased; I will

no more be silent.
She waited until it was
safe; courageous voice.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Balance checkbook and life,
clear out current conceptions of being,
let the earth ground me in what is,
the sun clear my sight and warm my heart,
remind me of truth and justice.
Let love wash the cobwebs in my soul.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

It's hard to comprehend the
deliberate obfuscation and feigned ignorance,
mean-spirited christ huggers
and misogynistic men of god.

My cup of faith is empty
to the bone, flesh baring
vulnerability and I can't find
a foothold, foundational faltering.

I grope for answers in the haze,
caress the empty air, but find only
rebuilt nothingness,
steps of fog and walls of water,
fun house distortions
and runaway trains.

The North Mode points to the promise
and beyond my clouded vision
I search the sky for word.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Be the late summer sun shadows on the forest floor.
Be the bird singing in the silence,
the peacemaker in the war of words,
courageous conveyor of compassion in the face of cruelty,
lone leaf landing softly.

When the world devolves in chaos
into a newly primordial soup,
will the ravens still soar,
wings outstretched against the deep blue backdrop of sky,
sunlit clouds fading into nothing?
Will the lone bird still sing?

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Headline hating overwhelming sadness,
search for beauty,
aesthetic therapy,
wounded words on paper,
ink stains dark heart,
holding back moving forward,
poisoned root emerging sun,
endless inertia and blackout memories.
Spark of blue hold on
for the birdsongs.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Horrible headlines begin my day.
Lies and smears and angry men
deplete, distress, and stress my soul.
I seek solace, air to breathe,
some calm, some beauty, comfort, space.

I seek the source of playful birds
who fly to soar and sing for joy,
flower blossoms lush and full,
caressing sun and flirting wind,
sparkling drops of rain and love,
inspiration shining on
ordinary life, aesthetic
muse, sun and shadows both
create the pictures of the heart.

Release. Regroup. Rebel. Regain.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

God of the liturgy,
same, still, light my way to you.

If all things point to the holy mystery,
do you watch in horror, saddened
and surrendered by the hope
fragile, bleeding, wounded,
conscience stinging, depth
of fury, unleashed privilege,
fear of monsters in the dark?

We are fighting nighttime overtaking,
late day sun,
God of fire and flame
that threatens and burns,
show your face of love.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

The countdown begins and I am unable to summon
excitement, moving through stages of ripening, rotted fruit fears, embrace, forgive,  where is the line between emptying yourself and being empty? The answer is light as air.
© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

The courage to love,
to be open to the sure loss
that will inevitably arrive,
always much, much too soon.

The courage to love
in the minute to minute moments
when love is not there,
when answers are scarce
and questions yield more questions,
when confusion abounds
and it feels as if your heart is opened,
bleeding, for all to see.

The courage to recite truths,
and calm,
and hold on to the dignity
buried in the memories
of shame and heartache.

The courage to love yourself
in a lost and broken life.
This is truly courage.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Trigger memories of
scary days,
secrets pulling at my heart,
waves of shame and danger,
body memory of
twelve
hours
of
terror,
fear I taste on my tongue
even today.
I recoil at the relentless wear on my soul
as nausea cramps the back of my throat and silences my voice.
I search for foundational portals of courage,
whispers of love in the present moment that pull me out of the darkness of my past,
strengthen me.
I reconsider who I am and attempt to revise my narrative even as I live it.
I awaken all the parts of me,
welcome them all,
even the terrified teen hiding out in the corner of my mind.
I know that worthiness emerges from the ground of beingness
and at this moment I am simply capable of comforting the girl I used to be.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

It's hard to focus with all the me-toos and why-nows and didn't-tells and don't-believing going on.

Grabbing and catcalls
weigh you down, not a cat, not
yours, hear and react,

resist,
news obsessed,
bad news breaking,
harvesting
fears paralyze,
raining,
crashing,

shelter within, peace
washing, love counting, safety
now; you are here, calm,

secure in numbers,
sunlight,
strength.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Missed opportunities and thwarted adventures;
are they the story of your life?
Maybe you are right where you need to be,
what would you do
if you were happy
where you are?
Holy within reaches, presence,
purifies maybe
it's time to forgive,
let go,
of your presumed future and imagined past.
The droning motor sounds.
Rebuild.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

(upon the anniversary of my dad's death)

Afternoon shadows deepen
and anniversary memories trigger the saddest day of my life.
Twenty-seven years of loss feels like yesterday
and I struggle to remember
your voice,
your smile,
your laughing eyes,
dry sense of humor inherited.

I learned,
but under-appreciated
your stoic sense of responsibility and self-control, commitment, and incapsulated joy,
respect,
and I just want you to know,
I appreciate you
now.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

The flowers smile after last night's rain
and the first autumn leaves are in free fall.
Season's turn, fingers suddenly cold,
silver mist sky and the breeze blows;
contented sleeping dog at my feet.
Savor the pause between invitations.
The momentary silence
and the sun shining through the trees
is a morning gift that makes me smile.
Holy disruptions and cleansing power of peace.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Aching neck and tired eyes
and five day countdown to the end.
Life is a journey
and my calves are feeling the climb.

Home again, helps,
so does feeling the breeze on my face,
sun on my skin, scent of smoke and woods,
warm friendship voices in my ear.

The holy whole in my atoms and cells
manifests in my knotted muscles;
but they, too, are holy.

Message from the God within:
I am human formed and holy freed.
God in the heaven and earth
and all the liminal spaces in between.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

I am my ancestor DNA,
body memory of
brown earth dirt
and fresh mown hay,
trees that reach down to greet me,
ground that lays out a carpet to support me,
breeze that caresses my face,
sun that warms my skin.
I am migrating memory
moving to safety,
searching for home,
courage in persecution,
longing for familiarity.
I am explorer,
adventurer,
searcher,
wonderer.
I am the earth and the universe,
the atoms and cellular memory
of primordial love.
I am the smallest element to the largest,
the vastness of the universe,
I am a drop in the ocean,
and I am the ocean.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Summer lush and green and a
tangled thicket cool and dark,
and a momentary pause,
completion appreciation and gratitude.
Herculean effort -- first fruits--
and harvest yields.
Growth comes from sun and storm.

Stop and see how far you've come.
Wear your hail pocks proudly like beauty marks,
stand tall,
stand up,
stand out.
Take your bow.
The silence smiles in satisfaction.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Poem as prayer,
lift love into the wind,
scatter and spread,
across, throughout,
life-giving seeds
sprout joy,
heart-filled words
from mine to yours.
Fill me with love.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

We ride by Alpine aspen trees and listen to the hum of the bus;
a back beat to the tour guide’s Spanish, English, German, spiel.

Napoleon’s defeat,
Ilba—18-year old daughter of the Austrian Emperor had a forced marriage to Napoleon. History lesson:
peace treaty,
return home.
cuatro años.

Today,
highway and roadside industry, farmland,
concrete and asphalt and corns and grasses,
clear sky.

Cold skin against unfamiliar air conditioning,
benedictine monastery.

Vamos.

Romantic valley of the Wachauw:
apricot trees and vineyards,
sound of horse hooves on cobblestone streets, kayakers and motorboats pass our tourist barge and 
across the aisle, the George Clooney lookalike  — if George Clooney had been an accountant instead of an actor —  smiles at a woman in the next seat.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

The clothes waiting to be mended sit in a pile in front of the sewing machine.
The half finished jigsaw puzzle lays next to me.
Journals and poetry - always in progress - strew about.
Music and bird songs, matches for candles, and essential oils ready to drop.
This is my room of possibility.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Bad news bearing morning;
the body fades;
buried sparks of life.
Sadness seasons,
endings at inconvenient interludes.
Alternative ways of knowing and honoring families,
friendships,
colliding atoms floating through space.
Memory energy,
aliveness voiced and set,
marks of a life well lived.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

What if you knew today was your last day on earth
alive?
Would you get up early to view one final sunrise,
the reds and yellows all the more sweet with unlimited knowledge of limited time?
Would you look up at the sky,
deep blue expanse,
and wonder at the vastness of the universe?
Would you let the breeze caress your skin
and the sun burn warm on your face?

Would you eat the cinnamon roll and chocolate truffle
and savor the sticky sweetness on your tongue,
saliva drips in the corners of your lips,
coffee, bitter, creamy, hot, sweet--
have the sugar! Let your last day be
saturated with sweetness.

Would you be your best self?
Would you scream your secrets to the world?
To the one who holds them in his heart?

Would you search for one last kiss,
smell the scent of honeysuckle and lavender,
cuddle the dog,
pet the cat,
read the book,
watch re-runs of Friends,
watch the sun make dappled sun-shadows on the graveled ground?

Will you take your numbered days and
paint a paint-by-number landscap…

For this I came,
to care and laugh and
warm my back against your body
in my deep dreams of sleep;
to be a bit of peace for the broken --
righteous anger at intemperate times --
to shine beauty in the light of the sun;
to savor the sweet satisfaction of you.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Plans on paper and blueprint for life.
Trust the journey;
it is all you have to hold on to.

Seekers seeking, and poems unfinished,
leave space for serendipities, surprises.
There is no self-correction here,
just support and appreciation,
much, much gratitude.

Sometimes,
you have to let loose of the safety harness
before you can take your leap.
It is your turn;
the future is beckoning.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018