If a pickpocket sees a saint he only sees his pockets
If a saint sees a pickpocket he sees only his soul
Wise man sees soul and covers pockets
Awareness
Category: Personal Growth
Circles
Dante’s 9th Inning Stretch
150th Birthday Limerick
In October 2007 a number of Voice Dialogue teachers and friends gathered in Boulder to celebrate Hal’s 80th birthday and Sidra’s 70th birthday. I was honoured to be asked to write a theme poem, then Larry said, “But not a Limerick”. (Hal and Sidra Stone are the developers of Voice Dialogue, the psychology of selves VoiceDialogue.org) 
New Tribes
Neil and Dorsey are part of the Imago Relationships International Peace Project, and have helped to develop a model of safe sharing in groups called Communologue.
In 2007 they were part of a weekend gathering of three generations of Palestinian and Israeli families at a Kibbutz on the Mediterranean south of Haifa, co-led by their friend and associate Orli Wahrman. Many of the second and third generation had never met one of the ‘other’. By the end of the weekend there were no ‘others’.
The Therapist Practices Her Art
In celebration of World Mental Health Day – wishing everyone healing, peace and joy.
DOING THE WORK
DOING THE WORK
Dark nights of the soul may come again
This time I will have more candles
RAISING THE TITANIC
RAISING THE TITANIC
with gratitude to Dr. Joe
Remember when we were old
and used to spend all of our gold
on lotions and potions and medics galore
and every new fad at the health food store
Tar for the seams of a sinking ship
thinking we were near the end of the trip
But if time
is but a wrinkle in thought
just think of all that we’ve got
THE TURKEY SHOOT
THE TURKEY SHOOT
Small town Saskatchewan
raising money for the curling rink
Targets fifty feet away
and old bent-sight 22’s to shoot
The trick to bringing a turkey home
was not how well at the bullseye shot
but how fast you learned that life
is sometimes three inches down
and two to the left of where you aim
November 22, 2017
THE ALBATROSS OF THE PLAINS
Beavers’ teeth never stop growing so they chew on wood to keep them at a manageable length. If they didn’t maintain them their teeth would eventually grow into their brains.
I shot a beaver in my youth
who cursed me with this curse
My teeth
will be your poems now
remembering our gift unused
grows fatal to the brain