Tuesday, May 31, 2011

The Indigo Bunting

Photo: from Thundafunda

Listen now
to the perfumed voice of
the indigo bunting’s
“sweet, sweetie, sweet.”

How can all of Summer
fit itself into so
tiny a bird?

Here now is Dusk
to silence
the gent.

Oh, spare your tears
my Inner Beloved –

Do not forlorn.

At the first kiss of Dawn
his love notes
will find us.

Why else would we Awaken?

(c) 2011-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" (www.hiraethpress.com)

Monday, May 30, 2011

Tadpoles in Tire Rut

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Five hundred eighty seven
American toad tadpoles,
Anaxyrus americanus,
black as pupils,
swim the shallows
of a tire rut.

Not a single limb bud
promises an impending hop.

The Sun knows this.

I imagine many would scoff
at the foolishness
of the two pudgy, wart-covered
night lovers who swooned
and spawned here
under a naked Moon.


No. Not me.

I kneel, a student.

Only true masters
have the capacity to
put such faith
in the ephemeral.

© 2011-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" (www.hiraethpress.com)

Sunday, May 29, 2011


Photo: (C) Jamie K. Reaser, Japanese honeysuckle

Sixty minutes awake in
the meadow
reveals the Nature of things
someday pronounced discoveries
by those who have been
sleeping all the while.

When was the last time you
relished a sip of honeysuckle –
Really let the clear beads of nectar
languish on your taste buds

How many blues do you
know of the sky that has been
your companion
since birth?

The male cardinal, the wine berries,
and the box turtle’s eye
are cadmium red,
alizarin crimson,
and lust.

How glorious to know a sedge
from a grass
and to fervently listen
to their stories
for sixty minutes

As the goats forage.

© 2011-2014/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" (www.hiraethpress.com)

(Feel free to share. Poetry is meant to move.)

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Irrational Optimism

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser, fledgling eastern phoebe

I am a nestling eastern phoebe
perched upon the edge
of the moss-lined mud cup
that is the only home I’ve ever known.

Here, under the roof eves
of the tattered house,
sixteen days have passed
since my egg-tooth
sliced open a world of possibility.

I have grown large in my dreaming
and this womb-bowl too small –

Feted on juicy vain insects,
my plump pin-feathered siblings
and I hunger for

The sky is large and come-hither blue.

I know nothing of the experience
of flight,
but it consumes my definition
of self in entirety.

The distance between here
and the nearest tree is great.

The distance between here
and the rock-hard ground is great.

There are four cats below.
Three of them have been calculating.

I am on the edge.

I am the embodiment of
irrational optimism.


And I am flying.

© 2011-2015/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" and 
"Wild Life: New and Selected Poems" (www.hiraethpress.com)

Feel free to share

Monday, May 23, 2011


Photo: origin unknown

Not by birth, but by vow.

We stand in solidarity,
hands interwoven into
peace-filled fists of unity.

This is Sisterhood.

When we cry together,
when we laugh together,
birth miracles together…

This is Sisterhood.

Mooning synchronously
and bleeding for each other
from hearts ravaged by

This is Sisterhood.

Each time we face the mirror,
gazing lovingly into the tired eyes
of every other woman
in the world,

this is most definitely Sisterhood.

Sisterhood is what brought
us here –

to this time,

in this place.

We have found each other now,
because we need each other now.

We vowed –


To show up.

© 2011-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
From"Re-Union: Coming Home to Each Other" (a work in progress)

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Lady Toad

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Lady toad,
the color of Virginia red clay,
Buddha-squats in my driveway silently
inviting the sun-spent rain
coalescing in ever greater
stream flows
to rush under her pinking pelvic patch
and quench her newly emerged thirst.

I adore and admire her –
perfectly suited to expose herself
to these passionate elements
for long nights of meditative solitude
intermingled with moonlit love making
amidst equisetum stalks at pond edge.

Did my soul long to inhabit her form
but incarnate in the consolation prize?

© 2011-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" (www.hiraethpress.com)

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Storm Clouds

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

I’ve been watching these big black clouds
roll in and roll by.

“Storms coming,” they say.

The common gray treefrogs concur,
trilling their liquid welcome
to the opulent gods of thunder and lightening.

A tall pine might singe and smolder,
but in the largest puddle there will be amplexus
and whatever ecstasy frogs know.

Ancient ceremonies linger all around us
keeping the Earth turning on her axis.

The choreography takes you
into consideration.

Why don’t you dance?


Yesterday the cold spring rains pouring
off the front lip
of Thor’s double-headed hammer
caught me on the crest
of Lydia Mountain.

We walked miles together,
each asking questions of the other:

“Can I trust your touch against my skin?”

"Yes," I replied.

© 2011-2017/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved 
in Everyday Life; www.hiraethpress.com

Feel free to share

Saturday, May 7, 2011

A Tiny Plot of Land

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

There is a tiny plot of land I tend:
miniature daffodils,
bearded iris,
at the base of bluebird box
on post,
frequented by generations
of Carolina chickadees.

Thick layers of shredded cedar mulch
invite hemlocks to headstart.
It pains me to pull them.
Relocation attempts have thus far failed –
their roots run deep.
I make apologies by the season.

Sometimes I venture a few feet
or backward
or to the sides
and tend tiny plots of mown grass –
pick up sticks,
brush off leaves,
offer a neighborly “hello.”

But I always return
to my named plot –
sit for spell and ponder
or just sit.

Today, while planting a single-bloomed iris,
vein-trimmed in deep royal purple…

Today it occurred to me that
no matter where I live
this two by three spread
will be the one plot of land that
I nurture the longest in this lifetime,
and with the most gratitude.

The blue ceramic urn below
no doubt
cracked open long ago.

It’s been sixteen years.

Happy Mother’s Day.

© 2011-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life." (www.hiraethpress.com)