15 Tuesday May 2018
A kitten knocks at the door.
In truth, a word behaving like a kitten,
soft, sweet, riled
from chasing a baby squirrel along the avenue.
Baby tore across the asphalt, tail barking,
no visible sign of what gave chase.
Course, words are like that,
and now one has followed me home.
A fur-lined nook between the armrest and my hip
awaits her.
Curious what mischief we can achieve today.
But first,
a short nap.
08 Tuesday May 2018
What name can be given
to soul hunger for nature,
for bodily starvation of slow rhythms ancient
and known?
Waking, sleeping, sunrise, moonset,
yes
even in the most stricken times we can find ourselves there
part of the ever-larger cosmos,
not pinned tight to trivia and misbehaviors.
But
skin suffers thirst for soil-
this hard concrete place rebounding with noise
can’t feed what does not eat the civilized.
Sit down with me, here,
let’s break sidewalk together,
chip away until earth smiles again at sky-
silent seeds await their patient growth into trees.
17 Tuesday Apr 2018
A hurt grows
of missing meaning
and nothing but letting it
will answer the call
until I know what she’s asking.
Waiting
in longing
discomfort
may last
through spring,
a windy season punctuated by screaming gulls,
rotating buzz saws of this coastal spit.
15 Sunday Apr 2018
Beauty is
bird suspended, waves breaking one
in to another,
hills woven of shoulders, hips, toes,
clouds sliding across blue..
It is not the
must possess, perfect, expensive, mechanical conquest
mine,
but
connection, relationship, tangle of bouncing language, laughter song around the twilighted corner, and
being followed softly home.
How did we confuse it with a thing to buy,
an object to have,
a keeping to be kept by?
She tells her own story,
never upon command, and
if meaning vanishes the crease between our brow,
planting our feet more firmly on this earth,
we are in her Presence, an arrival of moments
passing by at any hour.
07 Wednesday Mar 2018
A frog in the front garden,
between snow storms,
has much to say:
First, forget the plans-
they were a ruse anyway.
Second, recall sunrise
and the songbirds’ melodious chittering.
Third, fourth, fifth,
forget the numbers,
holding on is holding back.
And then he busts into chorus
the whole warm night through
and a memory of what’s to come
sands a path deep into sleep,
wishing a good slumber
to one and to all~
25 Thursday Jan 2018
Constellations on the ground,
stars underfoot,
snow falling in dark morning
on upturned face,
waiting hair, open palms.
Greeting a wide universe in winter-
its hush and hibernation beckoning on
hidden animals waiting
waiting
for a silent moment to show themselves
as weather weaves a way.
09 Tuesday Jan 2018
Gnarls and knots-
twistings of difficulty and experience
train the tree toward ancient mastery.
R i n g s
spread in stilled ripples-
water’s character in wood.
Toes wrap in dark, salted earth below,
fingers stretch through blue air above.
In storm, drought and calm
echo countless ancestral voices
from forests long ago gone.
06 Saturday Jan 2018
At a beginning,
with the closest solitary prayer being
“I don’t know,”
my hips work to keep the rest of me in the saddle.
Movements in the sky-
valley fog, and clouds weaving high through the hills-
live their nature in waves, currents, and vanishings,
grand teachings of the cycles of continual change.
Sometimes, I wish I knew.
But, unintentionally, artfully, that greatest illusion
has been set on the shelf-
a furry trickster friend
who flashes me a smile, and snaps his tail
at the most wicked, and absurd times.
I don’t know becomes
a delicate, gritty daily worship.
07 Thursday Dec 2017
Posted in abundance, adventure, change, discomfort, dreams, light, nature, poems, poetry, transition
A lopsided egg of a moon
invited me into sleep
even after shutting the curtain against her light.
She stirred wakefulness,
and a sloshing fancy of dreams,
dreams of time travel and remembered people,
an upsurge of unknown futures and staccatos of history.
New land, an unwritten life, and no one to catch me
disturbs digestion,
but moments come when slow, long-distance swell
breaks overhead,
washing my shoulders, sucking at my ankles,
shifting immense vulnerability to a salty, and fresh excitement.
23 Thursday Nov 2017
If you need more time
for the new birds to find you,
take more walks with your awkward, fledgling self.
Squawking and flight, a generous song now and again,
will always surround you.
Being the only of a kind in a place
opens more relationships than you might think, while
flavor of faith develops
with your stronger listening ears.
It is needed as you continue, seeing ahead
and noticing the talon prints you’ve left behind.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 