Monday, September 21, 2009


(With all that has been happening with my sister's health issues and my time being taken up with that and finding a comfortable place for her, I have not had time to write. Notes only. And keeping track of her money and expenses, meds, etc. have not left time or energy for much else. This is a poem my husband, Duncan, wrote while I was down in San Francisco with my sister. It speak to me of what she is going through, what we all go through. I think it is really good.)

In change
there is fear and hope.
In change there is discomfort.

Nothing grows without change,
thought, belief, or mercy.

In change,
life is in charge,
in change I am small.

All of good grows cold,
all of the bad gets older.

In change
I am caught in the middle,
in change I am waiting.

What comes is unexpected,
or worse, suspected.

I tried to keep change
from happening,
for once too much change threw me,
and trampled me, and left me in limbo.

But change has come,
in love, and work, and play.

The change I've accepted,
and the change I have fought.

In change, I've tried a measured dose,
a time or space just right,
in change there has been overflowing,
and sometimes the running dry.

I've been a rock, a stick,
but change has flowed around me,
and I've reached out,
in rare times.

In change, I've found fulfillment,
where I expected little,
change I've tried myself,
before change was laid on me.

In change,
I've seen there is no escaping.
Just acceptance,
of all I am and all I'm not.

And yet, in change,
I am thankful,
for all the surprise
and curiosity of what's next.

In change,
I am different despite myself,
in change I have lived my life.

Duncan McGeary

Wednesday, August 5, 2009


Once upon a time there were two Princesses,
Princess Rachel and Princess Riley.
They went out to play one day
and a most unusual thing happened...

They met another Princess.
She was see-through,
with wisps of cloud and sunlight for hair,
shining every color of the rainbow,
her dress a silver green swirl
of leaves from the Silver Oak.

She was Princess Breeze,
and she asked them to play with her.
Princess Breeze picked them up,
and whisked them away
from the Summer Lands in the southeast,
and carried them all the way to the lefthand coast.
All the way up, to the high, dry desert,
and down to the Giant Redwoods,
and beyond.

Princess Breeze carried them to cousins,
aunts and uncles,
family dogs and cats,
pet spiders,
(to which they said yuck, because they were on the walls and not in cages)
and a little secret room with candles
and an abalone shell for burning sage and sweet grass.

They saw big cities,
and open country, rivers, the ocean
and clouds,(Princess Breeze's cousins).
They climbed high mountain peaks,
then rushing whitewater they rafted,
with Breeze close behind.
Lava Buttes and chipmunk snoots
where all on the agenda.
But all to soon, Breeze's Mother, the Moon,
called her home from the west.

She carried them back,
Princess Rachel and Princess Riley,
to the land where the sun shines hot,
where the turtle hides
and the alligator glides
and pink flamingos dance.

Yes, she carried them home,
their bag of memories held tight
never to be forgotten.
They slept that night and day,
for it was hard play,
waking with smiles and laughter.

(c) 8.4.09
Linda McGeary
The Princesses Aunt

Monday, August 3, 2009


Conscious to be, to redeem,
find my peace, my place.

Living the Hero's dream,
feeling love shine on my face.

The release of creative flow,
finding riches within,

connect, merge, know
Divine, kith and kin.

Inner work Ocean Deep,
fearlessness out to the world.

Mansion rooms of Seashell Treasures, to keep
and give away. Peace, strength, magic swirled

together within one thing, a tether,
facing all fires, all fears.

Rising on the tide of heat, like a feather,
cresting the current of the years.

Linda McGeary

Friday, July 17, 2009


We are a flicker
of God-Fire,
never leaving
the Source -

But having
fallen asleep
we dream a
of separation
and despair.

That ... is the lie.

The truth is
and always
will be...

The Flicker is one
with the Flame.

(c) 1998

Wednesday, July 15, 2009


The only way out...
is in.

The only way up...
is down.

The only way
through life

is to be as
with your pain
as you are
with your

(c) 1998

Tuesday, July 14, 2009


As the wave
is one with
the ocean,

As the ring
is one with
the gold,

As the beam
is one with
the sunshine,

So, you are
one with

(c) 1998

Friday, July 10, 2009


How do we speak of the infinite?

The void where God-Mind is all - without limit.

The center of flame beyond bright,
both void and light together.

The all and the nothing.

(c) 1998

Friday, June 26, 2009


Sometimes the Earth
wears a sadness.

A grey trembling.
A weeping whisper
of what could be...

Something I'm aware of
only once in a while.

Then my heart is heavy.

I feel responsible.
What is it...I'm not being?

Have you noticed...

Our Mother

(c) 7.4.01

Wednesday, June 10, 2009


I was a child born to dream
on long summer days while
sun sizzled on round river rock.
The glinting golden green waters
slithering between high walls,
down to the slowed pace
of a snake sunning itself on black sand.

Black sand's golden glimmer
off wet footprints.
A wandering track to under
the Willow that is my hide-away.

In green sunlit shadowed hide-away
I hold my breath the better to hear
high-pitched Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz,
then click, click, click overlaid
in a symphony of insects and it all
blends into One Perfect Whole.
Soft wind in Willow wands,
brightness of air, heat on sand,
coolness of river, Bzzzzzzzzzzzz.
All into one language only IT and I know.

IT and I know all things are possible
in this sizzling heat. In this shaded cool.
In this quiet buzzing intensity of life.
And I was born to dream.

(c) 6.1.96


Grey skies hid the summer sun
muffled quiet stilled the day
until thunder whispered far away.

Lightly the rain began to sing
as lightening cracked the sky
and darkness rumbled with a sigh.

Thumb sized pumpkin drops faster fell
dancing, leaping in joy they shook
hazing the ground with a velvet look.

Crash flash blinding light
blood pulsing to the beat
of kettledrum and splashing feet.

Sacred sounds of Summer Storm
fill thrill and spill the heart
into the action to take part.

Pounding emotion keeping pace
elemental passion wild treat
love affair with nature - complete.

(c) 7.1.95

Tuesday, June 9, 2009


June silence, lake blue as noon.
Valley, mountains, trees and loon.

Fields full of wild purple glory,
Bright giving, Mother Earth's story.

Clouds afloat like dreams,
Lazy drifting picture scenes.

Hazy horizons, horizontal bliss.
Soul feast of earth-sky kiss.

(c) 6.11.98

Saturday, June 6, 2009


Strong, straight-limbed, and confident.
Water was her element,
her comfort,
her first love, her last love and all those in between.
She was born floating in soft scented pools of light.
Lilac caressed her every move.
She was born pronoic, thinking all hands were there to help,
all eyes there to see for her.
For she was blind and lived through her other senses,
only perceiving shades of dark and light.

This never troubled her, for she couldn't say what she was missing.
she couldn't see.
She spent all her early years swimming in lilac pools
with frilly, friendly goldfish.
She came to know every rock and sandy verge.
Every cove and warm current.
Every bit of bank and reed.
As loved as her vast string of pools were to her
she became restless,
longing for more.
Some unknown something.
Then she began to hear tales of the wild waterways
and untamed seas.

The dangers of the deep.

Being blind she couldn't imagine the run
of rapid waters,
the ridges,
the rocky, sandless banks,
as they lowered her into
the scentless, frigid flow.
How could she calculate without sight?
For the first time she wished for the ability to deep see.
But there would be sighted helpers all along the way.
Wouldn't there?
She felt confidence going in.
Then the current caught her.

So fast...
So this is wild, she thought,
and was swept out,
away from anything

Past hearing the song of the goldfish.
Past the soft touch of lazy lilac sands, and helping hands.
She had thought she owned the world.
But this...
This was all unknown, fear filled and painful.
Banging, swirling against the jagged buffeting sandless banks.
Hope of knowing this wild water course dashed
upon cold stone.
How could they have let her in?

She owned the world.
She had insisted.

Now she understood what a child she was in her knowledge,
her understanding.
They had tried to tell her she might not be ready.
That she might be overconfident.
But she would not hear it in her joy of new explorations to come.
Now, in the tumble of rapids,
she bumped into
many silver flashes of large fish.
Only shadows of light compared to the lilac pools and the goldfish.
"Help me!" she bubbled, "Help me find a safe shore."
The Salmon replied with one voice,
"Oh, we are sorry, we cannot stop now.
We must renew ourselves in egg and sperm.
When we are new, we will come to you then,
we will find you in the wide sea."
Then they were gone and she was swept
down the rocky gullet of the screaming river.
Swallowed like a precious seed
to lodge in the heart of rage.

Long sinuous shapes
brushed against her, terrifying in their darkness.
How could the water which had held her gently as any beloved
bear her down to the rocky bottom?
Where were her sighted friends?
She sensed them not at all.

She was alone.
A single tear in dark danger.

She was brittle with fear.
Pummeled from every side.
Rock, churning water, shadowed shapes.

Time stood still, or went fast.
A year and a day.
A million.


She let go.

What good was fear?
It did not serve.
It didn't change things,
except to make them worse.

She let go.

Relaxed into the wild surge,
began to ride an exotic lullaby,
until she was exhausted with new experience.
She slept.

When she awoke
she was being rocked in a vast, gentle deep,
Back and forth,
back and forth.
A familiar rhythm.
Safe in the arms of the Beloved,
at the bottom of the wild sea.
Phosphorescent glimmer tickled the backs of her unused eyes.
Sea sting.
There from the comfort of the salty womb
sight was born.
Color, ripping her out into a new world.

Bright, neon fish,
green life
and blue.
White light from creatures lit up like underwater suns.
Orange crabs, red, yellow, purple.
Nuzzling sea cows and singing whales,
dolphin and seals, gamboling in happy play.
Swordfish, tiger sharks, narwhals, and chubs.
Names and colors of things
flowed like the rapids into her.

Then the silver glisten of new salmon
undulated around her.

Wisdom... cradled her in new knowing.

She, owned the world.

(c) 6.2.99

created from a water dream

Thursday, May 28, 2009


Dark sky blue shot cloud white,
scud along to wind song.

Quacking aspens lyric dance,
sighing embrace of indigo night.

(c) 10.10.97

Tuesday, May 26, 2009


Grandfather Raven sitting in that tree
Caw, caw, cawing. Laughing at me,
working for a living.

Stupid child.
Laugh, do what you want,
fly wind,
he says.

Food from claw to beak,
what more do you seek?
Shelter for tomorrow?
Knowledge of next week?

Rise above your troubles
fly upon the wings
of little joys, and beautiful things.
In this, peace doubles,
just ask hummingbird.

Come visit me when you have more sense,
you work too much, it makes me wince.
If you choice to be wise
and grow old like me
stop chasing the dollar
and live to be free.

(c) 8.31.98

I was a flagger for the county for 7 or 8 months this year. This was a poem inspired by a huge old raven on the last day of this job. The best thing about this job was seeing the animals and birds everyday. Spending time out doors. I kept a journal with all the animals I saw.

Friday, May 15, 2009


You came to earth, free authentic, Original Self,
fire bright, heart of gold, wild mind,
knowing soul. Eager. Playful. Curious.
Believing life Utopian, all of like kind.

Soon enough dark lightening struck.
By look or word or deed unmeant... or meant.
Cut, slash, slap, smash, indrawn breath of shock.
Small child's wounded Self shrinking into ego bent.

Stripped of glory you took up Cloak of Ash,
garment of Self forgetting, rainbows hidden in the grey,
lost to larger light and life, muffling song of joy,
fallible, falling, shattering, day by day.

Your bright way swallowed up in smoke
and ash of multi-faceted deceptions,
sleepwalking blind through heaven
holding tight to one view mispreceptions.

Clinging to those things by which you hide
from what you cannot face,
because you judge your naked truth
beyond any one's embrace.

Turn, face back the way you came...

Remember again, at your core, you are gold,
face the flame of fire's refining,
take up glory cloak with its golden lining
live life authentic, wild and free. Go Bold.

(c) 11.11.01

Sunday, May 10, 2009


Woman with feet planted
in the earth.
Solid, steady, dependably present.
Sheltering as a tree.
Refreshing as green, and brown
and Spirit blue.

Heart not bound to earth
for all its earthiness.
The essence of her like
a small brown sparrow,
clever and wise,
hiding in the feather's
of the Great Eagle,
riding higher than her
own strength could carry.

A soul longing for the heights
of its cobalt home. The wider
view of all to see, gazing
on the treasures of God.
Eyes feasting with joy
on the vision of the
simply elegant connection.

Twin homed.
Body - Earth. Spirit - God Heart.
Essence fully comfortable
to nest in self with
forgiving wholeness.
Knowing herself a treasure.
Peaceful compassion knowing
you a treasure, and me.

Her life's pain transforming
to larger meaning - over and over

Her completeness draws
me to renewal, in the face
of all mistakes, and fears.

Her love encourages to
hide myself in the feathers
of the Great Eagle,
and ride
the winds
of Heaven.

(c) 5.3.02
The first year after mother died, this was written as part of a Mother's Day celebration which I was a part of.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009


Little glass pagoda adorning the knoll,
four broad windows illuminating soul.

Vision waits on the crest of the hill,
a lovely spot, made for simply being still.

To look, to feel ...
remember what's real.

Loved ones,
blue sky's.
Loved ones,
hearts call.

Origin of Self, star-stuff, sea-foam,
breath of life, body-spirit home.

A sacred space to wonder from and intersect.
A making place to worship in, and to connect.

Four broad windows illuminating soul,
in a little glass pagoda built on a knoll.

(c) 3.22.00

Sunday, May 3, 2009


There's a play of light
in fall and spring...
Truly a most
magnificent thing...

Suddenly stillness falls
in midst of sound,
and longing calls
to a heart unbound.
And God present
moments arise,
touching spirit awake
to realize,
an awareness of humanity resting
in God heart,
a part...
of God
and me.

(c) 11.10.2000

Saturday, May 2, 2009


How many shades,
the joy of green?

How many textures,
to be felt and seen?

How many shapes,
singing gladsome refrain?

How many shades,
the joy of green?

(c) 5.1.92

Friday, May 1, 2009


Path so inviting,
calling to follow,
bask in its sun
cool in its shade,
breath in its scents,
of dust, sun and green,
drown in its sound
of bird song and breeze.

(c) 5.1.92

Sunday, April 26, 2009


Earth held Her breath.

Day's beauty so blessing,
so filling with a
quality of light,
soul touching.

Who guessing
how spirit moving,
ever stretching
forward to still light.

(c) 3.15.94

Saturday, April 25, 2009


The quality of light
on a day so bright
just on the cusp of spring.

Cool, quiet, and still
a day made to fill,
to dream and to dance and to sing.

Clear blue and breathless,
synchronistic light. Deathless.
Childhood memories taking wing.

Pure sensuous sight
is the quality of light
a day like this does bring.

A day made for friends,
beginnings and ends,
for winter to turn into spring.

To taste and to savor,
the quality of light's flavor,
a day to make the soul sing.

(c) 3.12.94

Wednesday, April 22, 2009


A word.
A doorway.
An absence.
It's an ending on one side,
an arrival home on the other.
A completion of life's circle.
Life coming from somewhere else
and life returning after sojourning here.

Some people fear it.
Others welcome it.
Many fight it.
Some make it.
Most won't talk about it,
as if denial will hold it at bay.
Not to take their loved ones.
Others, but never me, or mine.

Gift! Curse! Blessing! Sorrow!
In time. To soon. Painful. Peaceful.
It is the pendulum
that swings on us all.
How will we meet this
common human experience?
Will we resist the inevitable, or embrace it,
as we would the last chapter of a well loved book?

The best answer to it...
Is to live life well.
Be honest, open, helpful, giving,
supportive of friend and family, harming no one.
Smiling often. Ease of laughter.
In all things, calling your truest Self
into action every morning.
Always believing
death is not only an end,

but also a new beginning.
A new birth.

(c) 5.26.01

Sunday, April 12, 2009


We are walking, talking, Mom and I.
Rambling down a long straight row
in a huge old cherry orchard.
Trees, lush and full.
Patchwork shadows play
beneath the branches.

You can't see it from here,
but just beyond the orchard
is an older, larger vineyard.
This is a place of peace and plenty.

As we walk, I tell her of my plans
for Mothers Day weekend.
I tell her of my day at work.
I show her my scraped elbow
and recite how it happened,
tripping up the stairs.

She is loving and solicitous.
Sits me down in a straight back chair.
Holds my arm and dresses my wound.
When she is done I turn my arm to look at it.
It is laced with silver and gold.
It sparkles like the sea in sunlight.
And now it doesn't hurt at all.
In fact, she has made it beautiful.

When I wake I feel the glow
of gold and silver within me.

(c) 5.23.01

(From a dream 5.11.01 the morning I was leaving for Portland to visit the kids. I actually had fallen going up the stairs the night before, carrying film cans. It was a great dream.)

Saturday, April 11, 2009

DUSKEN DREAM "Just Visiting"

I stand at the hummingbird window
thinking of her.

I turn and there she is,
sitting in the white plastic lawn chair,
next to the couch where she
took her last sleep.

A rush of sweet shock holds me still.
A rush of deep love moves me to her.
Hugging, patting, kissing her cheek.
She looks so fresh. Alive. Ageless.
I can't stop touching her.

The question I want to ask
I don't.
The only words I have are,
"I love you Mom!"
Feeling utter joy to see her again.

A young man stands by the door.
He beckons me.
I worry he may blurt out the question I held back.
What if she doesn't realize?
Would it shock her?
Would I lose this precious moment?
Would she vanish away?

I go to him.
He pulls me outside.
"What's she doing here?"
he says,
"She's dead!"

"I know that!"
I say,
"But she might not."

Suddenly the racket of a well pump
goes off beneath out feet.
The porch where she sat
a thousand times to watch the day do by,

"I didn't know there was a well here."

The young man, in agitation, kicks it...
beats it.
It won't turn off.

"I don't think that's going to work."
I tell him.
The door opens,
Mom jumps lightly to the ground.
"This requires finesse."
She says, tapping it gently,
turning a small screw slightly.
"It's a matter of controlling the flow."
It shuts off.

I ponder this a moment, knowing there is a message...
A meaning.
I smile, no time now to think on it...
MOM is here!
The world is rain washed.
Wet grass jewel green.
Sky a dusken blue.
The sun fading.
I link arms with Mom
feeling incredibly tender,
We begin to walk.
The driveway is muddy.
She slips,
I catch her,
lift her to safety on the wet grass.

She is perturbed with me,
for not being open with her.
Then it dawns on me,
it's not she who needs protecting.
She is Home.
We talk.
She has never liked
being protected if it means
holding things back from her.
But I just can't say it.

"I know I'm dead."
she says,
"That doesn't mean I can't visit
now and then,
when I want to,
when you need me."
Then she smiles
and touches my face.

I wake up.
Amazement. Joy. Peace.
They stay with me.

I am ready for her next visit.

(c) 5.20.01
(This was from a dream a few weeks after Mom died)

Thursday, April 9, 2009


Mom and I
off adventuring
again last night.
She comes to me often
while I sleep.
We go exploring.

I can't really say
where we go,
or what we do,
the details fade too quickly.

The amber residue of dreams.
The feeling of her presence,
the echoes
of shared laughter
in my soul.

(c) 5.20.01

(two weeks of dreams the end of April in 2001 - One month since Mom's been gone.)

Thursday, April 2, 2009


Her spirit is strong and sure, but her body is failing.
Though loves are deep, the links with this earth weaken.
From a distance, the sweet sad train comes wailing.
Her longing for home, lights the way like a beacon,

down the bright path, guiding her feet to the station.
She stands, ready and eager on the platform, waiting.
Woooo, woooo, clackity-clack, joyous song of elation,

it pulls away from the station, going up over the hill
green visions of paradise, no tears, no age, no lack.
"Don't be sad," she said, "remember it is life's will.
I've sojourned long away from home, it's time I go back."

"From the windows of home I'll watch over you.
Like a golden tether cord, our love, the ties that bind,
and when you need me, I'll visit you a hundred times or two
in dreams and smiles and memories brought to mind."

The Train now gone to cloud, and passing out of sight,
carries off our loved one from our nomads tented dome
through the tunnel in mountain and cloud into brilliant light
She now resides in heart and heaven, she is happy, she is home.

(c) 4.16.01

Tuesday, March 31, 2009


Grandmother of our clan
you were the pinnacle of our mountain,
the high place,
the plateau upon which we rested.
You were one with vision,
and wisdom, seeing life's plan,
you shared it all with us,
your children.

your head was crowned with silver-white.
Your soft sweet face wore wrinkles,
and smiles,
and eyes that spoke, "I love you,"
and sparkled with delight.
You never choose favorites,
yet, we all thought we were.

spirit so gentle and meek,
yet, you abided with strength of a mountain,
the silent, sitting, steady, always there,
like air, strength.
Full willed and eager to seek
the answers to life,
and truth.

we honor you today,
and look deep within for the hidden gift
you left behind in flesh and bone,
heart, mind, and soul.
You said good-bye and have gone away...

strange, how you feel so close,
as if you're free to be with each of us, more fully.

(c) 4.14.01


You were the heart of us,
the part of us that gave us beginning.

You showed us what love is.
We glowed with it,

You gave us freedom to be Self.
In you we see how to be selfless.

For us, your children and grandchildren,
you were the first touch of God's hand.

(c) 4.7.01

Wednesday, March 25, 2009


Have you seen how pretty
broken glass is by sun or moonlight?

If only we could see
broken lives
by the same sparkling magic,
and realize
that beautiful mosaics
are made from broken bits.

New beauty can be created out of our
inevitable shatterings.

(c) 3.10.01

Monday, March 23, 2009


Sunset shine slides from the sky,
a golden dream, filling the eye.

A peaceful sigh from a work-a-day pace.
A heart piercing fire bathing cloud lace.

Parish blue to gunmetal gray, enfolding dark,
flights of fantasy preparing to embark.

The long cool arms of embracing night,
holding close till vermilion dawn light.

(c) 6.29.00

Friday, March 13, 2009


Layers of spring awake from dreaming
hill, meadow, and tree aglow in radiant gleaming,
call to the soul.

New buds burgeoning in sensual scent
perfuming sunlit breezes, shadows dim.

Seductive bird song's magic trill
blending with light, bending the will,
binding the heart.

Wrapped in fragrant luminous arms
hearing, seeing, sensing, soul to earth belongs.

Snowcapped mountains swept with light
invite communion's clear, deep sight,
one within the other.

(c) 4.5.96

Monday, March 9, 2009


Tears and bitter sweet
memories of past friends
other places other times

(c) 1994

Saturday, March 7, 2009


White Swan flight into the night,
moon glow dazzle on wide wings.

Glitter of gold around Swan neck so bold.
Soulful beauty in Swan voice sings.

Vision of Swan shimmers, then gone.
Lost in darkness concealing.

A gift to the heart, the deeper part
and a call to the head appealing.

A death and a birth, Otherworld and Earth
come together in the kiss of wisdom.

Made new everyday to live in Love's Way,
reconciling the heart and heads kingdom.

(c) 11.2.95

I once read the Bards of old, when they preformed in palaces, before kings or villages before pauper's, they would wear a cloak of swan feathers to give their tongues flight. It was the sign of a truly great Bard to have such a cloak. I began to think of the Swan as the muse of poetry and story.

Sunday, March 1, 2009


He sat at the table alone.
A cup of steaming coffee in his hand.

Still... Serious.

His sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
The thick white blonde hair on his arms
like moving water over stone,
shiny alive with its own
look of going somewhere fast.

A contradiction to his statue pose.

The thinker - with a frown.

Linda McGeary
(c) 10.4.93

Our second son, born under an earth sign. He followed his brother to the big city and is still there. This was from one of my visits to see him when he was just beginning to 'Chef'. Man, can this kid cook. His brother had moved to Ashland to finish college down there.

Saturday, February 28, 2009


Fire Boy leapt, flamed away from home goal
in search of new sources of fuel for his soul.

New places to taste - conversations to blaze.
New thoughts to have, to span the mind maze.

Experience burns high as the currents forge deep,
kinetic excitement shared with Fire Boy sweep.

Home fires happy to see him so bright,
flame on, flame on, into the night.

Linda McGeary
(c) 10.1.89

Our oldest son. Born under the fire sign. His first year away from home, off to college and work in the big city. He's our world traveler. Loves to experience a place from the back roads. Taste new foods. See how other people live, he loves people.

Thursday, February 26, 2009


I have woven magic into the bones of my children.

Each answer I gave was a magic thread laid down
to form an aspect of their personality.

Each experience, good or otherwise, given or allowed,
was a thread woven into the magic of emerging personhood.

What enchantments and spells are with them still?

Do they struggle against some binding line
thoughtlessly laid upon growing shoulders?

Perhaps, and I hope, most of the magic threads woven together
have been elastic enough to be reformed by them
to fit their needs and hold them in safety and comfort of being.

We parents, (Wizards and Sorceresses,) are weavers of magic,
laying our spells and enchantments deep in the bone
by nature and nurture.

May the blessing upon us be sight and wisdom
that the magic we can't help but give,
that what we have woven and weave,
will work to the highest good of them our spells touch.

Linda McGeary
(c) 9.12.95

Saturday, February 21, 2009


"What did you see in the middle of the night?"
an underwater muse bubbled with delight.

"Follow the willowisp."
She said, swimming a dream stream.

Catching the twinkle tail
of a maze dazed whale,

I rode the charmed currents with my large friend.
Finding the way out in the end...

Or was it... the way in?

Linda McGeary
(c) 6.17.99

Wednesday, February 18, 2009


Free money! Free money!
Get it while it's hot!
Use it all, lose it all
whether it's 28% or not.


What a marvel of modern science.
Even Einstein was amazed.
For the few to control the many
we make cash the impossible reliance.

We only have them for emergencies,
we lie to ourselves, out of control,
as we use them on every urgency.
Then panic begins to tighten
with an income change or loss.
The world begins to frighten
with minimum wage, high cost.
No full time, long term security,
only the American Way.
Their offering another credit card,
let's accept it with alacrity.
Ten is not enough,
stuff our wallets and our purses
while we're at it folks.

Let's pretend we're rich!

Never thinking... Pay-back's a Bitch!
Hide our heads in the sand.
Don't answer the phone
it might be a creditor,
another wage slave drone.

If you haven't been train to plastic,
for your sake don't start now.
Keep your self free
of the American Way.

Pay cash... and feel fantastic.

Linda McGeary
(c) 10.10.98

Saturday, February 14, 2009


We share a love as deep as a wellspring,
and as fresh.

Kept alive and connected
by countless times loving and giving our best.

Sunday drive in our new car, we talk as landscapes slide by,
square tabletop mountains harmonizing with sky.

"It's so beautiful here." A contented smile upon your face.

We uphold each others freedoms,
to be, not to be,
to business, to read, to write, to spend
or not.

Back home, awaiting a favorite TV show,
we breath in our connectedness.
Your warmth mingles with mine in a hug,
sending endorphins jetting along pleasure pathways.

We breath, deep remembering... why we love.
We breath deep, appreciation why it is so easy.

Linda McGeary
(c) 2.13.95

Friday, February 13, 2009


Life is a kaleidoscope song of Joy and Sorrow,
of dreams and visions of how it should be.
But how many times the colors shatter
and the dream illusions fall into the sea.

Linda McGeary
(c) May 1982

Thursday, February 12, 2009


Solitary walk in natures glade for healing,
traversing bridges between the surfaces of life,
the depths of the inner world revealing.

Keeping Self intact, full and nourished with all
painful moments and pleasure revisited,
creative imagination, life's prolific call.

Feeding the soul on memory and melancholy
like letters from home, gifts from the heart,
touches of gold, of silver... sacred, holy.

Recollection and reflection of family and friends,
the virtues of soul; Frankness, simplicity,
humor and wit, with life's deepest sweetness blends.

Linda McGeary
(c) 3.19.96

Wednesday, February 11, 2009


Pine trees black sunset silhouette

cast in rosepinkpurpleblue

breeze fresh

night bird calls to stillness

beauty's burgeoning joy

profound song in glorious hue

change to deepest indigo


whispers the first star of night

Linda McGeary
(c) 7.25.97

Monday, February 9, 2009


Water way lazing West,
sun dappled golden, rippling quest.

Search for Ocean, fine the Sea.
Nothing to hinder what will be.

Gentle breeze carry gull cry.
White caps glisten, stretch out, die.

Soft roaring song, flat glare of light.
Fading colors, misting the night.

Inlet to share, treasure by the Sea...
I draw you close, into the heart of me.

Linda McGeary
(c) 7.1.93

Saturday, February 7, 2009


Positive energy - Thought is deed.
Negative energy - Destructive seed.

Imagination has the power to kill,
the power to crush, to cripple at will.

Or it can bring joy and celebration,
blessing others without limitation.

A choice between two magnetic poles,
positive or negative, like to like souls.

The laws of the spirit glow duel in nature.
What's inside comes outside with every creature.

The desire of the heart, thoughts of the mind,
guard as more precious than treasure of any kind.

Laws of spirit manifest in the flesh,
choose between two, with one you will mesh.

Positive or negative. By one you will live.
Negative or positive. Which one will you give?

Linda McGeary
(c) 3.8.94

Friday, February 6, 2009


Feathered calligraphy,
flying cursive
across slate blue air.

Wing-tip to wing-tip.
Dip, dive,
dance of perfect timing.


Falter - Question mark?
Recovery - Exclamation point!

Such joy of poetic motion.

Soon they will calligraphy South.
Snow will erase
their gentle cursive,
replacing it with
its own signature upon
the slate blue air.

Linda McGeary
(c) 10.29.99

(This was a large flock of small birds flying in formation. It is really a Fall poem, but I'm posting it for Kelly, who loves birds.)

Thursday, February 5, 2009


We are intimates
with mystery and paradox.

We are double beings.
Alchemy of flesh and spirit.

We are star-born nature
and the beast in the maze.

We dance the web of life
like spiders with spiky feet.

We are a piece of the sky
and a chunk of the earth.

Linda McGeary
(c) 9.27.95

Tuesday, February 3, 2009


Oh! I am a fickle mistress.
I can not stay long with one thought.
Always another creeps in
to embrace and woo me.
I flit from one thought to the next.
Loving them all for the moment.
But alas! Not for long.
Soon a new thought comes slipping in
to bed my mind,
snuggle awhile before it is nudged
out into fading memory.

Oh! To live faithful,
at least to the present thought.
Alive and awake and fully in it.

Linda McGeary
(c) 2.3.95

Sunday, February 1, 2009


Winter's breathless dark whisper still
Hill and home covered in winter's will

Diamonds sliding down moonbeams
Quiet slumbering earth dreams

Crystal frosted naked trees
Silent graceful dance of praise

Embracing cold powder dry
White rainbow glitter swirling by

Passionate snowflakes melting kiss
Winter's last flurry lovers bliss

Linda McGeary
(c) 3.15.96

(My poetry Muse challenged me to write a love poem to each of the seasons.
This was the winter.)

Saturday, January 31, 2009


Jabber, jabber, jabber talk. Incessant noise,
they drive me crazy, these little boys.

Hours to spend, twenty cents on their mind.
I tell myself. "Be patient. Be kind!"

Talk, talk, talk, jabber. Nonsense a-mile-a-minute,
"Uh, that box over there, what'd ya say was in it?"

Freckled noses wrinkle, rolling brown eyes,
then they blurt. "Are you in for a BIG surprise!"

They jabber, jabber, jabber in villianish squeals.
"We love to make deals! Yea, we love to make deals!"

From hip and shirt pockets, ratty NEW cards. "Give it a shake?"
I groan, "I looked at these yesterday, give me a break."

Then the high whining pitch is wound up for more,
and out comes the question. "Now, how much is the Score?"

I sigh, dab my eyes, and turn my face away.
"That's the hundredth time you've ask... Today!"

They look at each other, with fiendish intent
spread over their faces, they'll not relent.

I begin to lose my grip, I feel myself slip.
The strain is wearing, and I'm about to flip.

They open their mouths. Jabber, jabber, jabber, psych.
"Enough already, you guys take a hike!"

"Out of my store, I say out, get out right now!"

They go.

But indignant.

"Gees Lady, don't have a cow!"

Linda McGeary
(c) 1990

Thursday, January 29, 2009


From a glitter glass coffin
she watches green spring burgeon.

Sun glazed soft sky, blue-white.
Clouds prick the mind with sharp light.

People rushing to and fro,
all with a mystery place to go.

But trapped in death trance,
moon eyes alone join life dance.

All winter long content with just being,
watching, feeling, dreaming, seeing.

But spring comes shouting... DO!
Hot spice action lancing through

the misty, magic dark quiet sleep,
stirring blood from deaths keep.

Sun Fairies lift the lid and kiss a - twinkle
the sleeping Princess, Miss Van Winkle.

Linda McGeary
(c) 5.31.2000

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


Sometimes I long for change.

Real change...
Not just small stuff,
like rearranged schedule,
or a new movie in town.

Big Change...
like a move to a new city.
An adventure of getting to know
discover delightful quirks,
streets, works,
landscapes, people.

I hunger for new experience.
New out goings.
New in comings.

New roads.


But like Candide, is the change I
seek in my own back yard?
closer still?
Within me?
Is that the difference I long for?

From my back door
the sky is beautiful tonight,
with its rose faded colors,
night blue deepening to velvet.

I am the door to new roads.
Change is a star studded sky
within me.

Linda McGeary
(c) 8.27.99

Monday, January 26, 2009


When You built blue-green earth,
laying foundations of wide ocean floor,
framing highest mountain peak,
hiding smallest beauties for us to seek
deep in secret recesses of stone,
along with marvels in blood and bone.
Animal kind and human mind...and so much more.
Did you laugh with joy,
seeing every aspect fit with great worth?

When You stretched out the immensity of space,
counting stars, moons, and black holes,
burying mysteries millenniums deep,
inventing such things as dreams and sleep.
Forming the child within the womb,
weaving humanity on loves loom,
the artists beauty in human souls.
Did You shout for joy,
seeing all made clothed in Your grace?

When You whispered love to wind and sea,
embracing miracle moments of living,
imbuing Self in foam, coral and sand,
molding the fish tail and human hand.
Interconnecting circles, spinning, complete,
heartbeat rhythm of drumming feet.
All of All, the All Giving.
Did you dance with joy,
seeing life perfect and love free?

Linda McGeary

Friday, January 23, 2009


Mid-night treasure hunt, stony path to the quarry led.
Dancing lights rimed the wild sea, Spirit fed.

Senses heightened, salt scent, wind wet face
magical, mystical moment filled with wild grace.

The night was star dark, with moon silver shine.
Then a mystery of the deep arose, luminous, divine.

Just above the ocean froth, it hovered there,
water streaming, gleaming, glorious black Sea Bear.

Crowned with moving spikes of Northern light,
encircling, spinning rings, star sparked radiant might.

A still point moment of excitement and awe,
knowing to my core, this was primal law.

The Power that sent out and drew in,
Face to face, knowing Spirit kin.

Held entranced, I longed for, yet felt fright.
The great Sea Bear hung there, an instant, then flight,

straight toward me, with the speed of thought.
Who would have guessed, so wonderfully caught,
that I was the treasure
which Sea Bear sought.

Linda McGeary

Wednesday, January 21, 2009


My eyes were open but I couldn't see
what it meant to want what You want for me.

To know who I am and from where I have come,
to understand what I am, the total sum.

To believe in my brilliance, light living within.
To let go of smallness, and what I have been.

My eyes are open, and I begin to see
what it is to want what You want for me.

To live life more conscious of self and of You.
To acknowledge, though physical, I am spiritual too.

To accept new experience without looking back,
count the lessons, taste the joy, forget what I lack.

In my prayer I whisper, "Now I see it clear!"
And the echoes of Everlast in my quiet self I hear.

"Live to others, give yourself, like a river to the sea.
Love, Living Love, is what I made you to be!"

Linda McGeary
(c) 1.11.94

Tuesday, January 20, 2009


Stone word came down, from head to feet.
"We want ours - plus - yours - won't be so sweet.

Rock bottom line,' said CEO, "Lay chisel to stone.
Payrolls too high. Cut to the bone!"

Front line manager sucks in the gut - tightens the belt,
does what's unfair, no matter what's felt.

"It's me or you - My job's on the line.
It's gonna be yours. Sure as hell won't be mine!"

Deaf ears turned from pleas for more hours.
The powerless can't grant to those with no powers.

Now the over fed giant stands a head taller,
crushing the little people, grinding them smaller.

Steel corporate castle gates slam resoundingly shut,
fortifying the Haves with their four-hundred percent glut.

Win. Win. Show no mercy. Take the biggest part.
Smile, and pretend, Stone Giant has a heart.

Fancy cars, bigger mansions, more money to spend.
Fine art, expensive clothes, and at 28%, money to lend.

Ever more, ever bigger success is the goal.
The Almighty Oligarchy pretending to have soul.

Linda McGeary
(c) 3.1.00

Monday, January 19, 2009


A rich man on a moonless street
hoarding his soul's treasure
letting ever so little slip away
in small acts of compassion.
"The world is a hard place." he said,
"I need to save this for myself."

From his hidden wealth
he could afford to give...a little.
Pushing the larger part deeper
into a secret pocket.

He forgot what he once knew.
Some things can't be saved by hoarding.
Like a half eaten apple,
soul kept hidden only withers.

Like luminous diamond dust stored
in a sack with a hole it it.
Glistening in the dark
on the street behind him,
the essence of soul leaking away.

Diamond dust twinkle
reflecting in the eyes of a poor child.
Wonderment and joy lighting her face.

In some dim time the man will awaken,
feeling for his soul and wonder in hunger
where it has gone.

Linda McGeary
(c) 10.10.95

Friday, January 16, 2009



The night is cool and silver white.
Soft velvet purring.
A box of old rage in the broom closet,
the nursery bed.
A shaft of moonlight through the open door
pools in the box on the closet floor.
The glitter of experienced golden eyes
as the last of four comes
sliding down the chute of life.
The loving rasp of a mother's tongue
dries the little thing in tri-colored fur,
with her tail curled wetly tight,
shinning like some dark self protective centipede.
With the instincts of a mouth on feet,
she mounts her wobbly legs
and goes foraging for a teat
in a forest of fur.
Finding her prey she feeds in the moonlight,
nestled with brother and sisters she is warm,
but the night is cool and silver white.

Linda McGeary
(c) 3.12.01

Thursday, January 15, 2009


Night curtain, crimson laced,
drops down on western hills,
the last rosegold glow
kisses the horizon.

Dark folds of soft scented velvet
douse the lantern of sky pilgrim.

Linda McGeary
(c) 10.1. 99

Wednesday, January 14, 2009


I am myself.

I am also you.

I know this because


I feel you in my face,

my smile, my voice,

laugh, walk.

You have left your


on my skin, in my bone,

mind, soul.

Just as I am in you.

We touch...and rub off on each other,

the alchemy of permeability.

I am a complex of others.

I am myself.

Linda McGeary
(c) 4.23.99

Monday, January 12, 2009



Tears and bitter sweet
Memories of past friends
Other places other times


Free upholding free
Exchanging bonds with no strings
I love you love me.


Snow sun glittering spark
Fresh and new no steps yet
Like a page waiting to receive

Linda McGeay
(c) 1994

Saturday, January 10, 2009


A world a-jumble in time and space.
A journey, a search, for a solid place
to stand, and understand.

To see and see through.
Mirror image reflecting back,
looking within, looking within.

Mindscapes transformed by
rainbow treasures.
Assimilation, accommodation
of new ideas and thoughts,
the eyes of Mythic Spirit,
to save from literalized relationships,
rigidifed beliefs.

The thread of the path goes out
into open places
not at all solid,
but liquid with change.

Discovery! Paradox!
The solid thing is change.

The soul, an elastic crucible
of knowledge and experience.
Transduced impulses, image to symbol.
Internal plight converted to story.

Courage to creativity.
Follow the thread of the Hero-path,
to where there is room for things to be
and things to happen.

Linda McGeary

Friday, January 9, 2009


Upon her heart, the book lay open.
Not a living thing, but alive.
Not moving, but for the rise and
fall of her breathing...
The rise and fall of her thoughts.

Finished! Sad and satisfying.
Truth spoken within.
A shifting shadow, a shinning whisper
inserting itself into her day
with complaint of soul
or the flourish of festive dance.
Conflagrations of her spirit in ageless night.

The gathering of flammables comes to eternal fire -
or falls into ash - by her response.

She knew it was so!

Our natures match and join the burning...
or remain unmoved with eyes that see
only the residue left by the flames.

Linda McGeary
(c) 8.1.95

Wednesday, January 7, 2009


How big is a dream? How much does it weight?
What would it cost, and what might it say?

Could it be measured by inch or by mile?
Come, find out. Dream with me awhile.

Come dream with me a hundred years or so,
a life, a love, a precious thing, never to let go.

A dream adventure as small or as big as living.
Lived out together. Loving, receiving, giving.

A dream weighing less than a snowflake. More than gold.
Never to tarnish, fade or grow old.

A dream costing you, a dream costing me.
We are the price given, forever free.

The value of a dream is what it will say.
Forever love, a million years, and a day.

Linda McGeary
(c) 6.20.1983

Monday, January 5, 2009


I once knew a cat
named Panga Bat

Who sat all day by the window.

But when night came,
Panga Bat was not tame,

and went howling and prowling the borough.

At dawn he'd come in
wearing a grin

and sit by the window and ponder.

Then again night fall,
and the cats would call,

Panga Bat would go out to wander.

One moonlit night
he got into a fight,

his bat-like ears torn to a tatter.

He looked so forlorn,
the felines did mourn,

but assured him it did not matter.

"Your fine physique
is quite unique."

They did meow and purr to amuse.

But before long,
t'was a quarrelsome song,

with growls and spats of abuse.

Too much fun
for this one,

ruffled bat brown fur in a whirling.

At dawn he came in
wearing a grin,

tattered ears quite the evidence of quarreling.

Panga Bat didn't play.
He lay there all day.

He soaked up the sun by the window.

But once night came,
Panga Bat was not tame,

And went howling and prowling the borough.

Linda McGeary
(c) 10.18.93

(This Panga only lived in my imagination. A cholate brown, long and lanky, scrapy cat. Most opposit of his name sake, our own Duchess, who is a calico of much substance, and not at all scrapy.)

Sunday, January 4, 2009


The One, the Source, the Beginning.
Knowing alone.
Wild desire to create.
Life-force flowing out...diffusing Self into all forms.
And still there is In
And In is Am and In is Still.
Matter from thought.
It is Good.
Divine imagination into creation.

rising to the sweetness...
and terror,
of the many faces of the Wild God,
Began to catch, and fence, and tame,
their perceived facet of expression
of the One, the Source, the Beginning.

Beautiful Boxes...
Made to contain, to tame the Wild God.
To reassure the makers of boxes
that God is knowable,
that God is containable,
that God is controllable...
we only Do Life
in a certain Way.

My box exploded.
Splintering, shattering, shards of slow motion,
like fireworks of the soul.

Hands holding me...

And I fell.

A long, slow drop into the Wild Sea.
...Loose in the Wild Sea.
Bobbing on the swells, sometimes content just to be...
Sometimes fearful, thinking I would drown,
down, down, down in the Deep,
before realizing, remembering,
this Sea is Only God.
I could drown in God and still be all right.
Better than all right.

When I came to shore,
on Wild Earth,
and breathed in Wild Air,
I mourned the loss of my small god,
the comfort of my comfortable god,
the vanishment of my controllable god.

I was filled with terror...
and Excitement.
of this Untamable...
Wild God,
the One, the Source, the Beginning.

Linda McGeary
(c) 10.21.98

(If anyone out there can tell me how to make a poem center in its space in this blogisphere world, it would be greatly helpful to hear from you. Thanks)

Saturday, January 3, 2009


Gloaming time of day or night,
a gentle rising up, a quiet laying down.
A time of peace to be sweetly found
between the silent silhouette and shadow light,
of the tender embrace of Father Day and Mother Night.

Held, just so...within their dream,
I am renewed to life again,
bountiful goodness for me to twin.
Soul light, burn bright, spirit fires gleam
for I am a strand, and a part of the dream.

Come! Join the gloaming at the edge of day,
be wrapped in its soft velvet embrace,
which gives depth and strength to the race.
For now, breath deep, be still, let peace hold sway,
and bask in the arms of Mother Night and Father Day.

Linda McGeary
(c) 12.7.98

Thursday, January 1, 2009


When I was a child.

Mommy do you know...

How did the sea get salty?
How did the sky get blue?

How come I have blonde hair
and not black like you?

Where does glass come from?
Why is cotton candy pink?

Will I grow up to be as
tall as you, do you think?

Now that I am grown.

God can You tell me...

Why do people suffer?
Why can't You stop the pain?

Is it all left up to each of us
to make this world sane?

Where is the well of compassion
that we might go and drink?

Where are the words of wisdom?
What are we to do, be, think?

From my earliest days of memory
to my present form of thought,

I've been told God is the answer
to a world that is distraught.

Could it be that's only partly true?
The other me, and you.

Linda McGeary
(c) 9.10.97