Tell Me Your Stories

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Tell me your spring stories
flourishing inside of you
after long ferment,
it has been quiet, hasn’t it,
but here we are, now,
every last piece of us
budding new under bright sun,
and not once did you leave
as everything else
stripped away, slowly,
and there was the agony
of standing by for the laying bare,
not once did your love wander,
did you seek too much,
and how this soothed me
in places sadness once grew.
The growth of things now rising,
framing us from earth to sky,
and maybe the stories
are not ripe just yet,
are still learning their worth.
Take my hand,
and I will hold yours,
and as we stay,
let us bear witness
to the wonders that will unfold.
 
– tammy takahashi
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Spring, Our Beautiful Perfection

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On a diffuse grey morning,
late winter surveys the barren landscapes
of hardened essence and wisdom in retreat,
holding on, but loosening its arthritic grip,
allowing soft rain to gather, fall, in snow’s stead.
The buds have not sprouted,
but the plum blossoms, which thrive
in the dance between cold and warm,
herald the wonderland of life to come,
like a promise, like a dream,
like nothing other than the beauty of what it is.
What will the spring bring?
Will we emulate nature and come forth,
with no hesitation at all,
on the side of creation?
Will we be soft on our struggles,
tender with our pain,
and grow into our full and vibrant potential?
Will we reclaim the intuitions
buried golden and deep for millennia,
long submerged by our own wintry confusions,
and play with what nourishes us?
Will we laugh, touch the earth,
look each other deep in the eye?
Will we celebrate the new season
and the new beginnings it offers,
in the way of the quiet lands around us,
that call for silence, which is reverence,
and a stilling of our heart’s great stirrings,
as the perfection of life once again emerges?
Will we heed of the extraordinary peace
and cooperation it takes to rebuild the world?
 
– tt

The Path to Spring

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These are restless, porous days,
when what has been dried out
and hollowed in the living of
our darkened, wintry existence
 
Gives way, as moon to sun, to
the watering of spring, the juicy
filling out of aching joints, the
shadows of heart awaiting light
 
The long ache of cracking through
of stepping out, of tentative steps
to sun-drenched emergence, finding
the will to enter our rightful place
 
Come to the tree, then; she has been
through this hundreds, thousands
of times, has seen cold, barren land
quiver, and then zealously come to life
 
Feel her wholeness, her towering
solidity, and feel also the light, the
upward trajectory, ground to sky
the roots of her ever generating.
 
Wrap your arms around her and
remember, because you always
knew, that when mind surrenders
to heart, the movement is true. – TS

The Space Between Us

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There is nothing more
I’d like on this cold and
clouded wintry morning,
than to sit in the warmth
that is only one of the
day’s many blessings,
and lay bare our
stories, through
our silence too,
hands wrapped around
mugs as we watch the
steam rise in the space
between us,
which is no space
at all, and grow
our hearts so big
that they can shelter
everyone in the
world who needs it. – TS

Thanksgiving Love

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The circle of gratitude
that makes a world
to be thankful for
and a person flush
with joy
at the bounty
she has made.
In thanks for autumn
blessings
the reminder of every
single colour of life
and of fading away,
and for the coming
winter
a white-washed time
for reflection
and making angels
in the snow.
Thank you to all
the ones who love,
are loved
and create this
ocean where we all
swim in love
together. – TS

Under the Sky {Poem}

Hello! I’m delighted to have been published in the new and amazing The Tattooed Buddha, which you can read about and find great stuff here. I wrote this poem after being inspired by a walk I took post snowstorm – the only one of the season so far in otherwise snow-less Nagoya!

 

Tammy T. Stone

Tammy T. Stone

Under the Sky

Up—and
the sky and sun together
reveal a forever-dream,
inviting us to wonder what might happen
if we went soaring right through
the gauzy blue,
where we might land,
what will sink into our bones
along the way.

But I am still here,
on this side,
so I keep my gaze steady,
only looking up a little, and
under the cover of snow,
I see electrical wires and tree branches
hanging in close conference,
sharing secrets.
The snow has cloaked their differences
but they knew this all along.
They don’t ask, “Who am I?”
There are in full being,
they don’t need our questions.