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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.
  • Possession

    Possession   Have the sun right there in the west on its own time, ready to fall away exactly when it should.   Have the cello late at night between your legs, your right arm aching as you try to press one note into another.   Have the waltz in your mind.  Have the orange in the large grey bowl, your fingers holding its scent of new light and promise.   Have the walls clean for a day after painting before the kids come with their expressive hands. Have yourself stretching low, washcloth in hand.   Have the paper, blank...

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  • Yoga Poetry - The Slant of Everything

    Yoga Poetry - The Slant of Everything Always just to your right, an angle at sunset or slashing down from the pilot light of the clouds, the slant of everything. Sometimes, no danger, just heat lightning and crickets to echo the humidity. Sometimes everything lifted on one sudden breeze, surprisingly cold as it slants through the summer opening between day and night. The golden west calls past the horizon ahead. The shimmering east loses its heat and stillness. The moment transparent, the air thin so that what you know and don’t know, those you’ve lost and those you’ve yet to...

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  • Yoga Poetry: Speaking to the Wind

    Yoga Poetry Speaking to the Wind Where are you now, wind, when you’re everywhere? Jack rabbit of shadow, rustle of dry grass. Then it’s night, and you sweep through the center of tree or field, your hands too in love with what their wrists do when dancing.   What unfolds its wet wings in the shimmer only to be dried into flight by you? What climbs a happy slope of light then the walls of the sky start, clanging happy fast down to the earth where a dragonfly holds tight to the paltry underside of leaf.   Up or down. ...

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  • Yoga Poetry: Finding the Question

    Finding the Question Is it the wind from the cedars brushing the wet ground, the nests of the wrens tucked into the rock’s eve? Is it the storm over the horizon willing the dark night to lighten with change? Is it the old love unrequited still burning underground, the bitterness of what I wish I didn’t say or lose threading through branches in winter? from the branches in winter? Is it the land across the open ocean where blues blends blue? Is it the slim river I dream of, remembering finding it just east of this nighttime house as if...

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  • In Gratitude

    In Gratitude The wind thanks you, unfurling over the worn horizon so it can billow into night. The stars too, whether talismans of light dying or just being born, behind the small birds arriving or staying behind, who balance gratefully on thin branches of the coming winter. The squirrel in the field, the hidden fox, the mammals under and over ground, find a way out of no way. The world is composed, is composing itself, anew even in a narrow time: flashes of red on a gray day just before the red-winged blackbird folds back in silhouette. Whatever act of...

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  • Yoga Poetry - Do You Know Where You’re From?

    Yoga Poetry Do You Know Where You’re From? Blue falling off its ledge the expanse collapsing into pale rain or nothing but sun. Do you know where you’re from?   The sea-shaped gullies break or gap. The herd lost in the woods that should be in the field. The scalloped rises formed by wind or its absence. Do you know where the motion originates in a field of big bluestem, the single point where the fire began?   All along the interstate belting the hills flat, lined with trucks that read “Navajo,” billboard promising comfort or salvation, while the barest...

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  • Spring Yoga - A Poem by Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg

    Spring Yoga - A Poem by Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg Pre-Vernal Yoga Class Look at the tips of branches: green buds almost ready The grass newly shaggy. Bundles of miniature hands, pale purple, just opening their palms into lilac.   The damp sky wants to evaporate itself pure blue. The four women in this mid-day yoga class want to soar into strong arrows and subtle warriors   but it’s still pre-vernal: everything, everyone just on the edge of bursting out of the narrow shoots of winter’s sharp metal to become bodies again.   Each breath, another space before space is filled...

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  • Step Out of Your Own Way

    Step Out of Your Own Way So easy to forget how to walk through your thoughts, to let the weather in your head erase the weather threading itself, right now, through the trap lines of the wind, the tunnels of quiet between the rushing grasslands. So simple to stop seeing what time wants to show you. On the edge of the train’s calling, a whistle half lost in the merciful sweetness of the wind, you can hear the stories of sky as large as your heart, or what your heart can learn once you start walking this blonde-gray day...

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  • Yoga Poetry for Spring

    Yoga Poetry for Spring Welcome You come through the gate, and your life on earth begins: green wavering into the hue of early spring, the growing heat pouring leaf into form just as you did, are doing, will do with lack, rain, rivers, kisses, wind, and horizons that come each turning. You stand up in your dream, lean on the fence, look wide toward the lights spilled across the black expanse that carries the world. The next destination pours toward you as you walk. A thunderhead powers upward, spends itself over the past, behind you to your left. You turn...

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  • Yoga Poetry: Who I Didn’t Know I Was

    Yoga Poetry: Who I Didn’t Know I Was I didn’t know I was a runner, even in one-minute spurts between long walks on uneven sidewalks. I didn’t know I could balance upside down in the middle of the day, sometimes without the friendly wall to help me. I didn’t know I could reach beyond the aching hamstrings to hold the lonely foot in my happy hand. I didn’t imagine the sun would spread across my lap like an old family member who remembered home when I exhaled. I couldn’t believe my shoulders could fly back to me, and relax...

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