Poems

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For Nicole and her Kitty Girl

April 13, 2010 | No comments

For Nicole and her Kitty Girl who died today

BonnyDoon_to_Brigadoon (c)Denise Schultz 2010I am so sorry Kitty Girl,
that you had to die,
so young, so sud­denly
and I’m so grate­ful that I got to spend your dying moments with you
and some more time as you were in spirit while we said good­bye
to your still so beau­ti­ful
and still warm body.

Your beauty was mag­nif­i­cent,
so present,
even in death.

And Nicole was so present,
alive to her grief and her love for you,
deny­ing noth­ing, crush­ing noth­ing,
so alive to the whole­ness of love
even in the midst of los­ing you.

She will be such a good nurse,
such a good woman, a cat mother and mother
She is such a good per­son right now, already.

She is so open to her core
to what is real and true
to love and life
and death.

Her ques­tions about spir­i­tu­al­ity,
her doubts,
all are part of the grow­ing whorl of leaves
that leads out from her cen­ter,
Hon­est doubts.

But she heard you purring
after you were gone,
and I said, “That’s real.“
That’s not just a mem­ory.
That is your Kitty Girl com­ing to you
to tell you she is alright now,
and she loves you, loves you, loves you,
as you love her.

Thank you so much,
for the chance to be with you both today,
to be blessed by your purity of spirit,
and the love in your heart,
in your mind, in your being.
Thank you.

© Denise Schultz 2010

Dona­tions and con­nec­tions from the many to each other,
in even a tiny way, can cre­ate big shifts.
So please share Con­sider This …
with any­one else whom you want to con­sider these con­nec­tions and insights.

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JR">Ode to JR

November 2, 2009 | 1 comment

Your Father didn’t have no heart!
 When he lost his wife
  His heart became a knife
   It cut a hole in his chest
    ’til the day that he died.

Your mother, oh she of great works,
 has a sword for a spine
  She cuts through obsta­cles
   with power and pre­ci­sion
Never let it be said that she
 lacks the power of decision

So you’re the son 
 of a knife and a sword
  Of course you’re a critic
   With that honed an edge
    What else comes forward?

As for love in your life
 Of course you’re done sooner
  A knife and a sword
   Cut through the half-empty glass
    Before a woman can say
     ‘Go to hell’
      and knock you on your ass.

Or you’ll say no first –
 A pre-emptive strike
  and end up with a life
   that you didn’t like.

Time to beat your swords into plow­shares
 And put down your gun
  What prize of the heart
   Has your crit­i­cism won?

The safest place for your heart
 in all this?
  Could you be redeemed
   By a woman’s kiss?

A kiss that saves worlds
 and lights up the sky
  That bathes your heart
   in soft tunes
    ’til you stop ask­ing why

She won’t call at your door
 or beckon your call
  You won’t find her at all
   ’til you stop look­ing
    or take a class in French cooking

Some­where, there’s strength in your heart
 That keeps seek­ing
  What gives time mean­ing
As life keeps glean­ing
 These moments of love
  of insight and lust
   ’til it’s ashes to ashes
    and dust to dust.

© Denise Schultz 2009 

Dona­tions and con­nec­tions from the many to each other,
in even a tiny way, can cre­ate big shifts.   
So please share Con­sider This …
with any­one else whom you want to con­sider these con­nec­tions and insights.

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Requiem for Joel

October 25, 2009 | No comments

I knew your father when he ran
He ran so hard and he ran so far
I wished he could out­run the death of his heart
But now I hear, even he had to depart
He tried harder then, than most any­body I knew
To cre­ate the world he wanted to live in,
but even on vaca­tion he packed his run­ning shoes
and some weird glue gun to patch their soles
when it was his soul that was leak­ing
Even the great and un-great in this world
may die squeak­ing,
but the heart, the heart
sets up a holler
Find­ing the depth of life in its end,
it doesn’t mat­ter, the color of your collar.

© Denise Schultz 2009

Dona­tions and con­nec­tions from the many to each other,
in even a tiny way, can cre­ate big shifts.  
 So please share Con­sider This …
with any­one else whom you want to con­sider these con­nec­tions and insights.

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Always Here

September 10, 2009 | No comments

Grandmother Goat_5.8.10I meet myself again
all the times we (all my ‘I’s)
have walked these paths,

tramp­ing down the vel­vety dust of ages.
My fif­teen years here
is mocked
by fif­teen mil­lion years of rock.

The trees laugh
and dig deeper for water.

The wind, as ephemeral as I am,
rushes through dis­tant peaks,
and brushes closer pines,
and finally whis­pers past my cheek.

Pip’ Pip’ Pip’
one lone bird
flies between the pines.

All the ‘me’s that have ever been here
are cross­ing paths with me-now,
and those to come.
The hills are laced thick with my footsteps.

My tears and laugh­ter,
the piney, acrid smell of my camp­fires,
the shin­ing grasses and sparkling stars,
the rain, the creeks,
the rocks and moun­tains,
flow­ers, songs, hum­ming­birds,
bees and breezes,
sur­round me now.

We are always here
some part of all those ‘me’s
always here.

soft

Text © 1997 Denise Schultz
Photo © 2010 Annette Deyhle - Denise with Grand­mother Goat

soft

This poem is my favorite, even still.  It is about my favorite place on the planet, which I hope to see in about a month, after not hav­ing seen it for over ten years.

I’ll post pic­tures as they become available.

[Update 5.28.10 — well it took me 8 months, and it had been 13 years, but I made it!

Oh!  Joy!  As when the world was new! ]

Dona­tions and con­nec­tions from the many to each other,
in even a tiny way, can cre­ate big shifts.

So please share Con­sider This …
with any­one else whom you want to con­sider these con­nec­tions and insights.
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Van Morrison: Happy Birthday, Van!

August 31, 2009 | No comments

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

Astral Weeks Live at the Hol­ly­wood Bowl

 “Sweet Thing”

Van’s elo­quent vocal scrawl through dis­tant lyrics, winds ’round
His rum­bling, strong rhythm gui­tar
As it punc­tu­ates the melody like his famil­iar growl.

He con­ducts with it — with pre­ci­sion of dynamic vol­ume, rhythm, and power
   While Tony Fitzgib­bon weaves like a big boxer, danc­ing with his ecsta­tic vio­lin,
      climb­ing heights of bliss

And Van leads us to the moun­tain­top
   with his intri­cate melodic poetic chant­ing
      along­side Richie Buckley’s ring­ing, bell-like flute
         and Roger Kellaway’s river­ine piano.

We shall walk and talk in gar­dens
Misty wet, misty wet with rain
Dar­lin’ and I shall never grow so old again …

Jay Berliner rocks the cra­dle of melody, coun­ter­point, and rhythm on lead gui­tar,
Until Van guides us out of the gar­den and into good­bye
With his chug­ging, train-growling har­mon­ica chants ―
    … sugar baby, sugar baby …

Happy Birth­day Van,
may you live long and strong
and your music last forever.

A thou­sand years from now,
   hoboes round a camp­fire
      and mas­ters in their dimen­sions
will be remem­ber­ing you
   and yearn­ing to re-create
      this Heaven on Earth.

Your music does not ever leave us!
We will never for­get you.

Lyrics © Van Mor­ri­son                   text © Denise Schultz 2009

(seek­ing a bet­ter credit line for his copy­right,
try www.vanmorrison.com, www.amazon.com  to buy this DVD or album of a life­time, and look for his upcom­ing doc­u­men­tary, To Be Born Again, to be released in early 2010)

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