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Wednesday, February 7, 2018

Allow

The voice is soft,
whispering:

‘if you want to be
happy, gaze up to skies
where seahorses float
and abide, go to the park
near a lake where your mother
loved gathering, sit on top 
of a picnic table next
to your friend with short hair,

or look out the living
room window away
from this i-phone
and thrill as one crow
soars suddenly towards
you through free open air.

I promise you dear friends,

breathe elemental earth,

be taken by her creatures,

allow wonder and tenderness
time to find home in your body,

and your unending thirst,
I vow, shall be slaked.’

Monday, February 5, 2018

         After Snow

Memories avalanche down
Steep slopes of his mind….
Crashing and seeping
Through once sturdy stones
Now bruised blue, as walls

Of protection built rock by rock
For decades collapse like a mosaic
Of bones whose mortar dissolves
Under mountains of betrayal,
Many wrenching good-byes.

A small boy stands at a crevasse,
He’s numb and alone under
Blankets of ice, overwhelmed
By what cannot be said

Nor known in his world
Of mute sirens--this unrelenting
Monster of snow as he waits

For someone to find him half-frozen
Near death under piled debris and
Reach down through this chaos,
Link hands, and with sure grip,

Help him return to an opening
That leads homeward to life,

To roses, laughter, a warming
Fire up at the surface.

Tuesday, January 30, 2018

    What Was His Name, Where Did We Eat?

Lately, an old white guy’s ponytail,
that puny afterthought dangling in a wisp
of longing for the old days from a 65 year-old
cerebellum, hirsute ornament born from nostalgia’s
waning thrusts of vanity, an old nag’s ragged mane
worried about being put out to pasture
is what my memory feels like, so thin just blowing
in the wind from thought to thought searching
for that author’s name or where we ate pasta in Chicago,
like the famous song by an artist I can’t quite recall
in an era that us oldsters were rebellious children of,
when pony tails shone robustly and thankfully much thicker,
more and more a time well hidden from me these days,
an amnesia nascent somewhere down inside last century’s 
brain still blowin’ in that breeze like wishful threads of gray hair 
hanging limply in the air are the words and names I search for,
gyrating all night long on the dance floor of tongue’s elusive tip
where I’ve lost my contact lens, my girlfriend, even my ancient 
ponytail clip.

Wednesday, January 24, 2018

I settle into my easy chair
like silvery motes
of sifting dust,

like snowflakes
drifting onto earth

(as they must)

seeping slowly
like an attuned
masseuse

as shimmering fingers
ease beneath

life's patient
woven crust.

Monday, January 1, 2018

                    Blessing of the New Year

May a sheen of tenderness sift through any shards of travail
and stones of disappointment as you travel your roads this year.

May a mysterious force of kindness sustain and nourish you
in ways that surprise, soften, and replenish you often in body,
mind and soul.

May you come to know the joy and freedom of relinquishment
when you see clearly what no longer serves you, and when
the time arrives to let it go, you allow something deep
within to let go.

May you be seized often by the power and spirit of playfulness
in the large and small moments of your living, doing and breathing
with all the creatures that you meet.

May the days of your being and nights of your becoming
know goodness and hope that flow from a well of strength
into the marrow of your bones this year and throughout
all your life long.

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

         Smoldering

Some mornings torpidly plod
through fields and sod
of a green and emptied mind.

But what fertile thoughts,
I wondered, would start to smolder
within tiny clods of dirt

if midwives toiled
birthing seeds from soil
buried deep,

while sprouting unseen
changes budding
underneath?
BLOSSOMS FROM MIST

the waterfall tumbles,
        sprays and refreshes
a gaggle of oldsters
who chatter like mystics

stumbling with grit
as they blossom
from mist.
        
         replenished by this curtain
         of friendship and moisture,
      
         they spread well-seasoned wisdom,
         mischievous grins,
         broad wings of inclusion

across a base of granite and schist.
while the rest of us, wet ears alert,

enter quietly
to learn and to listen.