Christa Lubanick

Go Slowly
I tread softly on the earth –

turn my back
against tumult and clamor
hectic goal-filled days
and the urge to conquer 
the formidable mountain
and then, the next,
the next.

The years to savor have arrived -

I smell pungent pine
the faint fragrance
of tawny bark 
inhale the heady scent
of green grass at my feet.
Breathe into my very soul
red swaying poppies
and white daisy petals
with yolk-yellow hearts.

Go slowly with me
on the soft path along the creek,
spring rain flowing into summer


No Strangers

May I welcome every arrival -

A pleasure
A despair
A cruelty
A pack of violent urges
            curled up in a reed-basket
Disgrace and kindness 
            standing together at my door. 

May I invite them in
look into their eyes
call them by name
They are not strangers,                           
            they hold the lamp that lights my way  


If I would write a poem

My words would
flutter from my lips
on colorful prayer flags
with the wisdom
of the world.

Words that arouse
you to soar unburdened
to white peaks
and teaming oceans
guide you through the roar
of dark jungles
teach you to survive
the heat
of desert wilderness
hold your hand on the path
that leads
to the dusty road sign
to the four corners
of your own life


Christa Lubanick mmigrated to the US at age 15.  She believes writing has served her well on both sides of the pond.  She is most recently published in the Patterson Literary Review.