At Bottom 

And we shall dip hands

and drink from the blue river

flowing like wind

through the Grand Canyon

of our dreams..

bathing….

the day beautiful and blue 

like an egg of gladness,

a flying seahorse,

a smoky rainbow of desire....

where everything's replenished, bathing

in ageless light….

 

Offering 

Day’s light spices

each second

with scent of

cinnamon, burnt 

sugar, blood

oranges, subtle

taste 

juicy

fragrance of

longing.  

 Some mornings rumble through

A weary mountain..a kind of train

Made from foreign steel and smokestacks 

Laced somehow with hope.

Roses emerging in the first whispers

Of dawn lean out like hungry

Lovers on the porch, they are

Fragrant as a first crush, as cautiously

Curious as pickpockets in a crowd.

You slowly hear yourself say that Neruda

Was right that ‘poetry is pure white’;

Yet you clamber back on the train,

Eyes closing as you and unseen others,

This motley adventurous flock,

Thrust further, deep, deeper into layers

Of impenetrable rock.  

   Sunday 

Today I’m following 

Mary Oliver’s example,

She’s a mentor and fine poet 

After all. 

So I’m taking each moment 

As it arrives, strolling slowly 

Along a quiet path,

Attentiveness 

My curious companion. 

Smoothness of this page

As I write across its welcoming

Surface. Downward tilt 

Of my head, feel

Of slender pen in hand.  

Not much now to be said

Except that..

Like an unseen animal

Slurping from a forest 

Pool, the coffee

Pot’s rhythmic brewing 

Drip-drips 

Into my perked-up ears 

While I sit

In this tobacco-hued 

Easy chair, butt slumping 

On the cushion collapsed

As ancient springs 

Sing out of tune

In their burrow

Underneath.

   Corazon Haiku

Mute heart stills, unquenched,

tangled in Autumn’s grapevines

thrusts towards a foothold..

 

 Another Wish for You

may you be 

frequently ambushed,

thoroughly boonswoggled,

by a season of meandering joy, 

a Mississippi of mischievous adventure,

a benign typhoon of good trouble,

redolent of favorite times 

with people and

animals, places as well,

that sparkle you

with aliveness,

as you in turn

in your unbridled romping

transfigure

and effervesce all

with whom you’ve wandered

along muddy

cattailed riverbanks

bursting forth fat

blackberries,

sizzling dragonflies and 

cottages shaded

by sycamores 

serene as plump cats

lazing in sun, glistening 

wonder like wildflowers 

listening to rain.

   St Petersburg Blues

The River Neva swims like an epic tale

Towards the zinc-gray Baltic. 

And you speaking Russian

To a woman on the bridge,

Blonde hair wisping in wind,

Are radiant and remote. And I

For once not failing to know it,

Spit down into a funneling whirlpool 

And long to be home where I, sipping

Strong American coffee,

Can finally long alone. 

 Sanity Haiku

Immigrants are safe!

Predatory ICE melting 

America returns!

 Summerday Haiku

Cars humming along street

kayaks kiss cloudy blue lake

swoosh of cool water

 Truth Haiku

water satisfies

thirst, cannot quench this desire

for a happy heart..

 Reality Haiku 

no space within her

for fighting, no house a home

where hurt’s now healed. 

  Backyard Haiku

from his bench he sees

birds in cool water splashing

within sky’s fresh breeze.  

 Yardmate Haiku

White cat on table

lounging like she owns the joint 

black coffee hot, not.

 Prayer Haiku

closing blue eyes

Brother Matt greets wild dreams

thanks god of delight!

 Equal Before The Law Haiku

president not king

why immune from consequence 

of many misdeeds?

 Critter Haiku

Solo ant on my arm

crawls then tickles awareness

flick him/her goodbye 

 Weather Haiku

A basket of light

floats high above oak tree twigs 

as rainfall begins..

 Somehow

a poem sometimes

somehow writes

itself onto a cool

white page,

unfurling tentatively 

like this small turtle 

emerging somehow

from a thicket

next to a bubbling 

current,

inching up

the paved pathway

into a green hillside 

of garden

where her tiny

head pokes forth

to nibble tender

leaves and be

secretly nourished

somehow

here in the hidden

shade

of afternoon’s

edible basket

of light.  

 Quietly Standing 

There is a cliff. 

There is an ocean sprawling 

below.

A beach of pebbles and

an occasional body

lounging on a towel

made of colors. 

There are sky-birds

winging underneath clouds

punctuating the blue

dome, this same blue

dome we breathe

into pink lungs, offering

spark and freshness 

to our days.  

There is a cliff.  

There is the sea

rambling out 

before us

like a mythic tale

of warriors searching

for home, like a promise

freely given again 

and again.

We are soaking 

it all up.

There is a cliff. 

There is quiet.  

There is thanks.