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Yoga Poetry

We’re fortunate to have Kansas’s poet laureate on board as a regular blogger. These are her poems, either directly related to yoga practice, or related to yoga’s bigger purpose.
  • Yoga Poetry - Not Rare But Precious

    Precious Rest

    Yoga Poetry
    Not Rare But Precious
     

    Think of what’s not rare but precious.

    ~ Ruth Gendler

     

    The gift of light. Of dark.

    The squeaky swing set

    that’s really a blue jay

    searching for love and gravity.

    What tells you to lie down.

    Why standing back up

    each morning is precious

    as breath or clouds splintering

    into rain dissolving the drought.

    The horizontal day that turns

    into the vertical night,

    the stubble on the path

    between the...

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  • Yoga Poetry - Everything That Rises

    Yoga Poetry - Everything That Rises
    Rise up without fear

    to the coffee and daylight

    skimming the dark.

     

    Rise through the remnants of the dream

    where you are lost, all pay phones broken.

     

    Rise toward the piano you haven’t played

    for months, and place your hands

    on the keys of your memory.

     

    Play badly but loud, and let the ringing

    rise through your arms.

     

    Rise into the first slant of light breaking

    across the living room floor

    to coat the...

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  • Yoga Poetry - Almost Gone

    Yoga Poetry
    Almost Gone
    The sun calls one last word in its rusting voice,

    then leans to the west, sweetening its tune

    by forgetting the melody. The taste of light

    lingers in the sudden cooling of breath,

    the slim branch of a twisted tree over the horizon

    where one crow waits for the shadows

    the moon will throw over the brome field

    two turns of the wheel back in time.

     

    The stand of cedars wakes with a start.

    The dry ground loosens its new cracks

    and tilts rocks...

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  • Yoga Poetry - Body of Time

    Yoga Poetry - Body of Time
    What did you expect?, the knee asks.
    Just the way of the world, says the elbow.
    The wrinkles of the knuckles laugh harder,
    and the little toes on both feet turn out
    as if escape was possible. This body of time
    takes another breath, sends another valentine,
    ignores another blast of hatred even as it learns
    new tricks: ways to hang upside down in ropes
    at the yoga studio, or catch the melting ice cream
    before it escapes from cone to sidewalk.
    Since it became an I, it revels in being owned,
    in being...

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  • Yoga Poetry - What the Sky is Made Of

    Yoga Poetry - What the Sky Is Made Of
    The sky is made of soft rain and hard light,

    the old yearning to be held, the ancient fear of not

    having enough, and the fountain of wind that says,

    Something’s gone, something else is arriving.

     

    The sky is made of rocks shattered finer than

    the smallest atoms of human memory, air we call breath

    once we take it in and turn it to motion, anger, or song.

     

    The beating of hummingbird wings compose the sky,

    as well as...

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  • Yoga Poetry - Then It’s Over

    Yoga Poetry
    Then It’s Over
    The blue breaks through

    the setting clouds, an old fire,

    while the field lays down

    its colors for the night.

    Sky tumbles over itself

    day to night, tension to calm.

    What we think happened,

    and what no one but the wind saw--

    all lost to the first falling star.

    Nothing hurts for a moment.

    Those you love shine

    whether still here or long gone.

    A wide darkness envelopes

    the world, takes your hand,

    and shows you where to stop

    looking...

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  • Yoga Poetry - The Bridge

    Yoga Poetry - The Bridge

    White

    The bridge is made of weather. The bridge is made of time.

    Translucent, the color of water, it spans the world in sharp relief

    to lushness of green, western edge of blue, rain shadow in between.

     

    Five miles north, the cedars drink up the storm while the sky inhales

    old starlight, already dead when it lands, for rock and root,

    bowed thunderhead and nightfall, velocity and cricket song.

     

    The bridge is a slim path...

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  • Yoga Poetry - You Rise Up to Meet the Falling World

    Yoga Poetry
    You Rise Up to Meet the Falling World
    Whatever you lift to the sky, the sky covers:

    middle-of-the-night exaggerations dissolve

    to slivers of sadness on your pillow,

    middle-of-life jolts compress the heavens

    into one streak of sleet, thawing into softer ground.

    Like the rain cycle that obscures the view,

    you can lose your way on old ground or forget

    the innate blue light in everything, ready again.

    The surface of the tall grass spins in the breeze

    it swirls into existence. The present twists down

    to meet you...

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  • Finding the Moon

    Finding the Moon
    Did you stop now that you found the moon almost full,

    floating west across a small clearing between the clouds?

    Did you still yourself in the lawn chair on the deck, and give up

    waiting for one desire to name itself, or another to dissipate?

     

    Where have you been, the beautiful world asks.

    Wind furrows your hair. The moon folds under a cloud

    the size of a great lake. The light leaves in increments.

    Lightning bugs thread their stories through the cedars,

    which hold all seasons, whether...

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  • Yoga Poetry

    Yoga Poetry
    You Rise Up To Meet the Falling World
    Whatever you lift to the sky, the sky covers:

    middle-of-the-night exaggerations dissolve

    to slivers of sadness on your pillow,

    middle-of-life jolts that seem to compress

    the heavens into one streak of sleet

    thaw into softer ground. Like the rain cycle

    that hides the light and obscures the view,

    you can lose your way on old ground or forget

    the innate blue light in everything, ready again.

    The surface of the tall grass spins in the breeze

    it swirls into existence...

    read more

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