“T R U E   N O R T H”

WHAT OR WHERE IS YOUR TRUE NORTH?

THE UNIVERSE PULLS YOU IN AND YOU PULL IN RETURN

HOW DO YOU THRIVE AND THROUGH WHOM OR WHAT YOU SEEK INSPIRATION?

TALK TO THE MOUNTAINS, TALK TO THE TREES

SIT BY RIVERS FROZEN AND WILD

RUN YOUR HANDS THROUGH THE DRYEST OF SANDS IN SAHARA

READ A BOOK IN THE STACKS OF YOUR HOMETOWN LIBRARY

EXPLORE YOUR SOUL, EXPLORE YOUR WORLD

IGNORE NOTHING, ACCEPT EVERYTHING WITH OPEN ARMS

YOU’RE ON THE WAY TO TRUE NORTH

FORGIVE YOURSELF AND YOUR PAST, LEAN INTO THE PRESENCE

FIND THAT FLAKE OF SNOW, A THROW OF DUST, PINE CONE OR A SEA SHELL, LET IT ADORN YOUR HAND FOR A MOMENT, BUDDHA STYLE

RECALL AND IGNITE ALL THAT WAS IS EVER GONE, AND CREATION LOOMS

YOU AND YOUR TRUE NORTH LIE IN WAIT LIKE THE EVENING STAR

YOUR ENERGY IS GIFT TO THE UNIVERSE

YOU’RE ON THE WAY TO YOUR TRUE NORTH WITH EACH BRUSH OF AIR

THIS DAY AND NOW, THROUGHOUT EVERY MOMENT, EVERY TEAR AND SMILE.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND BRAND NEW YOU AND YEAR!

WITH LOVE, LIGHT AND INSPIRATION FOR YOUR SOULS

LUCIE T.

2017

Field Of Red Poppies

Growing up in the old country it was just this usual thing

To walk by and find red poppies anywhere and everywhere

To eat poppy deserts and or to see a child play with the dried up flower

Which turned into a really popular toy, a divine noisemaker of sorts

There isn’t anything like it, but to see a sea of red torches ahead

To watch the sun glaze over them, having their own light and fire to add

If you are passing it by on foot you will find a way to spend an hour, or two

Walking through it, touching the heads, wondering if the tenderness

Of your finders can convey your love for these flowers, and your understanding

Of their nature, their ultimate want, to grow and be touched,

As we all do, in one way or another yearn to be and want to be known

For decades I have searched this new land I reside in

As a child I was brought to and learned to love in ways I didn’t know

Still this particular piece was missing, something like a phantom leg

Removed yet, I still felt it present, thought of it endlessly and wished

To place sights on it again, even if just for a moment

Out of a moving train, bus or car – lean in, and out

Often I declared that the man who shall bring me to field of red poppies

I will not hesitate and pair my life with his, for as long as possible

In no haste, in such a way, as the red painted on the earth and sky

I would explicitly crave this man’s presence, without any harness

Should there ever be one, which allowed me to seek out the field

This isn’t a warning of any kind; it is a sublime vision for you and I

If it ever was one that unveiled the silk from your eyes

The feather that tickles you while you sleep, and the breeze that comes

Through the window as you seek the morning light

Listening to the bird’s orchestra, and know that the fields of red poppies

Is what started it all, and may always be, the moment of truth

A beautiful personal ceremony

No one knows it but the two birds on wire that sit

Each morning, hoping to gaze over the sea of red

Close together, quiet and present with hearts open and free.

For Willing Wilder 5.31.2016

TALE-TELL (Tell a Tale)

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I think we all know the scene of the locomotive pulled train and the hissing

When it’s pulling into the station

Ripping through the thick white fog as arrives on the platform

Waiting impatiently to roar into the distance,

And if not from personal recollection, perhaps from a film, or a cartoon

Let’s induce us with this vision, sit and be still for a moment,

Watching it roll in.

The train stops in a little village, the fresh snow is still covering the ground though it has warmed up

I hold my grandfather’s hand as he lifts me into the cabin, and follows

We choose seats in the second suite and sit by the window, so we can see the countryside that will roll by, seated across from one another

The long planes of freshly grown grass are starting to move and become one single lime green line

I wait patiently until my grandfather puts his crossword puzzle down, always filing it out in pen, realizing just the right moment to inject a story

My ears, if they could, would perk up as if a dog is listening to the sound of the wild.

The moving train car is the perfect place to conduct a “tale-tell”

And if you knew my grandfather, it unfolds effortlessly, like melted butter onto a toast

By now I have forgotten how nervous I was at first boarding the train,

Now only paying attention to the deep steady voice that’s leading me into far away lands

Into a place where its people invented paper,

I sit on the edges of the pyramids, breathless,

I am seeing Cairo through my grandfather’s eyes

Effortlessly in love with life, and all it takes is a “tale-tell”

The words unroll as if a film was shown on a big bright wall in front of me

My grandfather, with each pause, touching his beard, as if the rest of the story,

Was embedded between the hair strands, and with each touch more of it was released.

Secret tale drawers he must possess, in there I think,

Another touch, another magnificent unveiling of a detail,

Which brings me closer to invading reality

Of the land in mention,

When suddenly, the door of the car opens, and

The brisk air punches you in the face, almost alarmingly when you open the door and are greeted with white plains everywhere.

During this Holiday Season and every other time of the year

 May you also tell or hear a tale,

To or from a friend, to a loved one, to your family

Perhaps sitting around a fire pit, tell a tale.

Let the magic unfold, and never disappear.

It’s the season of the tale-tell.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS 2013

Peace, dry.

There is no other place like the desert to see the stars

There is no other place like the desert for burying thoughts

It encloses you in its vast dryness

Holds you closer than a mother holds a newborn

Just so it can show you it’s chameleon like powers

How quickly the hot sand becomes colder than ice,

Amazed you will stare, while it balances the extremes

I ride through it, over large enclaves, until my legs

Are redder than a lobster and attached to my bike

Only by habit, or they are frozen to it, depends the time of day

Still, I ride with a rush like no other

Weave a new map, for someone to follow, in hopes no one will

This way I remain alone amongst and with the giants

The desert knows my name, and I know its soul

For me there is no place I call home

Only places I ride

The two wheels

While tripping dust into circles above ground

My home is in the movement,

Through the redness of the morning and

The highlights of the evening

If a meteor shower surprised me there

I think I’d be ready to give up eternity

And stare like a kid mouth agape

Longing for nothing more than that moment to last

Those times in between in between dry pieces of peace

Those make a lesser man sweat with fear

Fear I sometimes wish I possessed

To you, beast of nature and with you

I can only climb until I remember

It’s been so long since I’ve seen free water

And a tall green mound and bolt to another side

Of this land, my land, the land that’s logged in my bones

So much peace, so much dry heat, I could never

Thank you enough.

September 13, 2013

CALL OF COLORADO

I remember, as it was yesterday


The quick draw of weather changes Colorado unleashes onto the un-expecting first time traveler


It was from sun to hail to rain to snow to sun all as if unveiling a painting at a gallery opening


Beautiful, quick to open the eyes wide; what to wear and when you ask? 


The rides you'll endeavor will always yet never truly respond


Be there and fully

Clothed in layers or unprepared at awe you will be

Do or do not -no matter the will


Encapsulated into the crystal clear water of its rivers you'll come

You'll yearn to scent the mountain fresh air before you'll have a chance to open your car door


In the north on all corners the Rockies will wave and smile


Their magnificence will draw you in year throughout


The horses and their pastures, everywhere and always around

In all seasons they carry glory and lust of the prairies of the Wild West

But the spring is what shall seal the envelope of desire.

You'll remain sorely present imagining how you can walk this land with not much in hand.

Long time to come

10-11-13

FREE-DOM

So you say you want to be free?

Somehow this reads as a line out of a song

Sung out of boredom, another Dom,

A few notes from a famous song

A smirk as you drive by a marketing slogan

On a horrifically yellow billboardA raise of an eyebrow, spitting sideways, under your breath

“Only if”.

If I were a Zen master I’d ask you

Do you know what free-dom is?

What it truly contains, how it exists, within you, us all?

Your rushed response would send me into perpetual silence.

Staring into the mountains wishing I never asked.

I am not a teacher or a guide; I am no one

But I know Freedom, always innately, and very intimately.

So instead I’ll put on a face you recognize

Beekeeper mask, hands dripping with honey

Licking my fingertips in joy, I say

Freedom is the ultimate flight

To freely roam the earth and collect sweet flower juice

That will constitute a honeycomb sooner or later.

You nod in agreement as you too,

Think freedom is about an unstoppable force

Choice of movement, and action even

I should finish this batch, I utter and

Walk away in my camouflage.

For a few minutes and through the buzz of the nest below

My hands, I recognize

My flaw, my inability to reach,

To patiently, share, perhaps show or guide

To shove aside the mist of your mind

I don’t note the silence around, as there isn’t any

I am no longer free of thought; I am deep in my aura.

They name towns and streets in the name of the free

But do you want to reside in Freedom town

Or do you want to be free?

What is free, and dom?

Kingdom, Stardom,

Mandela was ever free yet he couldn’t leave a room for a decade

To be free is to be not only free of attachment, attention, and habit

And of the Self and away from the Monkey mind. 

Walk this land heart and head, aligned

For there is no bigger feat for a man, when these two are at odds.

Freedom lurks on every corner, in every town, on every island

You bring it with you, wherever you are. 

8.13.13