10 Wednesday Oct 2018
She lays in bed, sheet lightly covering.
Out the window clouds of rain draw near,
without hurry or menace.
Slow jazz fills the room, no one else close
to breathe the same thick, gentle October morning
in her nest above the street.
Pumpkin pie awaiting baking,
lamb thawing on white tiled counter,
and the low-lit day opens towards everything
she loves.
06 Saturday Oct 2018
A phoebe sings now
from the next rooftop,
pumpkins are stacked upon hay bales,
and sunrise lights the sky in spreading fires.
At last, moments between tourists lengthen
and first drops of rain rise earth scents up,
up, around, and beyond.
Sleeping things wake, traveling ones return,
the cold sneaks back in cover of night.
More stars will be visiting
with the approaching new moon.
30 Sunday Sep 2018
Across the bay
mountains rise soft,
cutouts against slant of morning light.
Blue gives to blue-lavender gives to blue-grey.
Atop brick chimney between here
and that far there,
this spring’s jay baby, narrow and tall, checks
the street’s goings-on.
He bobs and bolts, whisks himself
down
and away
toward wide opening of day.
29 Saturday Sep 2018
Dawn met night over the water
long stretched, iridescent and calm,
between the two.
Flying above the waves, sips small and lapping,
flushed a morning smile to lips
already turned up at the sweetness of fall.
09 Sunday Sep 2018
A new life begins
and the old one decides to throw a tantrum
pulling pans, mid-bubble, off the stove,
pitching a canister of oats across the tile
unscrewing the cap on the honey just enough
to guarantee a disaster the moment it’s needed.
You’re in the muck of it,
the stuck of it,
and an evil grin blooms slightly on your old life’s face
who sits nearly out of sight
helping you to forget its presence
until
you shake your head, bounce dust out of ears,
and spot it there.
No sir! This game, while it has been fun,
is no more.
With a step, a bit of a jig, you leave not only the kitchen
but the house
leaving whatever sticky puddle behind
for the ants to clean up.
06 Thursday Sep 2018
Where salt meets sweet,
I sing to the waters.
Where sand holds wave, pelicans slap
great wings,
and solitary duck pops up from below
in a stilled bowl
waiting for winter,
I sing
and Wind joins in,
riffling the surface, ripples reaching
in patterns hypnotic and old.
Sing to the waters,
their reply waits for your greeting among reeds,
rushes, fishes and stone.
01 Saturday Sep 2018
Where are the Grandmothers?
With family torn, history unknown, stories never uttered,
lineage not spoken,
where are we?
We become dangling dolls, feet like bell clappers,
swaying this way and that with no ground
beneath us.
So utter.
Utter.
Utter your questions and longings to the Grandmothers,
the Grandfathers, the Sisters and Brothers who couldn’t grow up,
the sharers and protectors from the other side where
viewing carries a different, sideways, deeper,
beyond kind of knowing.
Stir the waters you can not see,
the current carrying you, and ask.
Ask.
Ask and the formations for you to hold and gaze at
reminding you of the support in the surround
can shape, at last, in the wet red clay
held by your praying hands-
Grandmothers, Come to me…
28 Tuesday Aug 2018
In the cross-hatch seat of the chair
wooden, dusted in time and use,
a cat
curled
and sleeping.
Looking over at her, floor boards below and sun
reaching through a far window,
doubt can not waver the sweetness
of a morning with feline, coffee, a book
and silence rising from the woods outside.
26 Sunday Aug 2018
If a push,
somewhere a pull.
Where taken,
pray it has been given.
The Western sense of community..
in itself a paradox?
We’re part–everyone–of centuries of history
cycling, tumbling, molasses-thick onward
with nanosecond “advances.”
No mystery that you, and you, and I
can not seem to catch our breath.
Faster is not forward,
as bigger not better, nor more money success.
Where lies the soul stuff making life
Life?
08 Wednesday Aug 2018
August,
the light casts red.
Dry season wilt and crunch, yellow
becoming brown,
and hungry fires chew acres
to miles
of hillside and range.
Fire’s satiation point moves further out
each passing year
as our own deafness to species and spaces
beyond our own grows.
Dim the constant noise of phone, computer,
bottom line, app and sale-
play a role smarter than consumer-
and how life continues from here may
be more inclusive, open, mindful
and naturally sweet.
The fires have much to say.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 