25 Saturday Apr 2020
A full circle closed today,
from expectation to loss,
from pedestal to the fall..
A journey made time and time
again.
Bound to a nature of its own making,
the question of when the final turn
arrives being that eerie shimmer
at the horizon.
With delusion’s slap in the face
what you do with the broken fantasy
remains the treasure
at the end.
What shall be created from the rubble
and bruises?
Can you be what fed you?
Could you embody what your heart was sure
you couldn’t live without?
24 Friday Apr 2020
When the worst in you climbs out
pale and slick from a basement of your own making
do you cower and freeze?
Do you move fast as distraction will whip you
toward anything,
anything at all but that?
Do you block the acquaintance with projects-type
fast, cheap, ugly construction,
forcing it into another, though now above ground,
prison?
Who are you in your fullness?
What do you do with the wretched creature who is, also,
you?
What if you stop your steps away from the intolerable,
turn in your terror,
and place a crown on that wretched head?
Even if, at first, it is made of paper
and sags a little.
Because one of gold has yet to be forged.
What would the welcoming of one forced down,
forced out and away,
move like?
At the start,
even a whispered hello
will do.
Until you can both bow
to the darkness in light and soften
toward light
in the dark.
Free.
18 Saturday Apr 2020
A cat has moved in next door.
Tuxedo.
White whiskers and a spot at the window.
Lace curtains always closed now stay pinned aside,
for his sleeping and watching perch depends
upon the ever-changing sight of visiting creatures
for peanuts.
To the railings and porch boards come jay and squirrel
and crow, large as the cat zeroed in
with green eyes shining in face of black fur.
And lucky for me, this virus-induced foster
and I visit with eyes watching
through two panes of glass.
Provided, of course, no wildlife prevails.
In the new quiet of town,
sound of the bells reaches the house every quarter hour.
The big trees, strange as it seems, have yet to leaf out
like a reminder of the sickness slowing life down
even though spring
is in full swing.
12 Sunday Apr 2020
They’ve opened up the moon to mining.
We have opened the moon to be mined.
The news rakes my insides raw.
Somehow it, amid the chaos of now,
pushes so far beyond the line
I can barely stand.
Yet
this is where we are.
And what tiny thread appears for me to follow,
thin as for sewing on a button,
is in total,
Love it while it’s here.
Love it while it’s here.
And, really, might that truly be
our utmost in the end:
Love it, whatever it is, while it’s here.
04 Saturday Apr 2020
A man walks beneath black umbrella,
Calla lilies bloom in the rain;
A woman stands at the kitchen window
staring out with soapy hands and sponge,
singing,
“And you look at yourself,
pacing the cage…”
The playground is taped off in yellow tape,
A child speeds home on scooter with no cars in sight,
“All the spells I could sing, it’s as if the thing is written
in the constitution of the age…”
Grass is greening, lungs ache,
and hearts are breaking,
“Sometimes the best map will not guide you…”
Stay strong and bend, be well
We are in this together together together
We are all pacing the cage–
Not alone not alone
As we walk thin line between birth and death
Now and here
Now and here
Together
Not alone
Hold that thin line dear,
Dear,
Hold it dear.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 