Birthday Prayer

I want to live wildly serene

like spindrift flying off an ocean wave

sparkling in afternoon sunshine;

I want to live like the 10 year-old boy

dipping low to sneak a sniff of his grouchy

neighbor’s pink rose, savoring each inch

of smell that meets a happy nose;

I want to live like an old woman

sipping coffee in Autumn, wrapped

in her favorite sweater, remembering

her first love; I want to live like a waterfall

plunging at trail’s end down 100 feet

of granite onto a laughing man exulting

below, his tingling pink skin soaked

forever, like a cloud his upturned face

bows before his god; yes! I want to live

like Walt Whitman singing of himself

and everyone who has lived while he dances,

wrestling with his pals in the basement,

and those multitudes he contains.

    HOME

Joy lives here.

On a small hearth made of wood

And stone and time.

An alert ivory seahorse rests

On a black pedestal in the living

Room, a presence calm and lasting.

Above him, an ocean wave forever

Breaking onto a pebbled shore

And two neon hummingbirds exulting

In the company of a fat moon

And that bursting litany of stars….

        Precipice

 

The man’s body is tanned, taut and

Erect against the face of the cliff.

 

This cliff that lifts itself up and out

Past a shining moon.

 

Fingertips and toes scraped raw

Search for tiny outcrops of rock

To assist the ascent.

 

A conversation only they

Can hear between Stone and

Man ensues. He is agile:

 

Chest rests on her granite,

Infinities of space at his back,

Thoughts like light, unified

Simply precise on this

Precipice.

 

She : unforgivingly real, loves

His heart so close, a silence

Near dusk and as vast, washed

Chestnut brown.

After hours of grueling argument

Here on this blade of knife, the edge

Of life, they melt, dissolve into

Agreement that all is

 

Fragile, everything

Erodes, our dreams

Do sing, and

 

Every singer is ascending.

   While Loving 

Your feet are my pillow

Your hands, my bedspread 

Your voice, my sun

This resting in silence, our

Moonlight on water....

Hummingbird is a tiny muscle

of desire in love with her single

twig. This twig that every

morning patiently awaits

her frequent returns and

tolerates with the equanimity

only a tree can muster

her unpredictable, peripatetic

departures. Fluttering creature

steadfast perch, a haiku

of simple partnership. 

 

       Ardent Altar

 

The day you decided to live

Close to extravagance

 

And follow your heart’s

Reckless leaping into love’s

 

Ardent arroyo, that day

Your bare feet made an altar

On the bedroom carpet, yes

 

That day suddenly the smoke

Began to clear as the fire,

 

Contained and uncontained,

Moved far inside your life,

 

Became your very breath.

        Indefatigable 

The false self so damn obdurate,

Not only shows up at its own funeral,

      (alone, always alone)

But sits arms folded across a stony chest

Grinding teeth into clench-jawed

Memories of all those ill-gotten winnings,

those sneers, that turning away from Life,

Readied to toss the first shovelful 

Of dirt onto its descending casket

As it drools decades of spittle

Laced with unfelt regret

Onto grassy ground. 

 Dawn’s Exuberance 

Birds perch and twirl,

Dance and skim,

Swirling across

Space’s skin....

 A cluster of pine cones

At the tip of the tree-top

Pregnant in early morning’s

Soft fertile light—

Portals together 

Into pure possibility....

 

 Encouraged Heart

Staying in the body

Sitting, waiting,

Feeling feet on floor,

Belly, jaw and eyes,

Breathing, waiting,

Waiting longer, chest

Softening, opening

Slowly opening, as you

Learn to lean into

An acquiescence that surpasses 

And humbles, sometimes 

Surprises, beyond all understanding

And you may sense a cloud-like

Unknowing, this essence calling

You into your truest treasure,

Your hidden effervescence....

     Happy Dawn

A happenstance of hummingbird 

A cacophony of crow 

A wonderful of waterfall

A blooming from below....

 Prayer of Presence

A suddenness

of hummingbird 

enchants

the surprised

eye....

Light bathes

these trees

of pine,

yet who

can tell

us why?

We rest to move

and rest again,

then dip our wings

wholeheartedly 

in life’s unceasing 

stream. 

      Miracle

One weary leg at a time
Squirms into baggy trousers;

Afterwards he leaps out

From the ledge of August
Into Great-Giving’s Abyss.

Now embodied, half-clothed, emboldened
Somersaulting through space and Summer on this edge of chaos

To penetrate history’s marrow
Where the marriage of bone and tissue,
Departures/Arrivals,

      down
        down
          further
             down

Past childhood’s mischief
And middle-age divorce,

Past illness and death—

Mapless often lost, homewards
Wandering, floundering within
This infinite generosity

Where all belongs
Woven in stillness
Of ‘THANKS’ AND ‘YES’,

And now, here,
For all time

All shall persist.





awakeningbeauty.blogspot.com

      Where We Live

Perched atop the moment’s ledge,
She laughs into the Great Abyss

And befriends with dangling feet,
Clear eyes and open arms

(Sometimes shivering
Against life’s offering)

Galaxies of story uncreated,

Her embryonic uncertain fate.

If Love propels

the hummingbird,

who can tell

us how....?

This morning, like every morning,

you awaken bleary-eyed, alone

and dreamy..Don’t look 

at your phone or turn on

the news. Instead, open

the back door, walk out

like a man bathing in light

to laugh with the hummingbirds,

complain with the crows,

make love with the pine trees. 

    Straddle

Straddling the illusory

wall between life

and death, silence

and speech, joy

and grief, listening

and talk, wealthy

and poor, elder

and child, rancor

and peace, future

and past, what’s

seen and unseen,

feel the compassionate 

reach of Presence

permeating all

and each,

this anchor spacious

and true,

of love supreme,

while walking 

us home

on our rocky

serene, mostly green,

meandering paths....

   Why I Hike

I love the music, how

this rhythmic crunching

pleases me homewards, 

as a downhill trail 

of strewn stones

and dirt taut as drumskin

greets my old boots

side-stepping piles

of coyote turds
and cougar scat

turning to pencils

of rodent fur and dust

while birdsong 

erupts and teases,

scatters then fades,

ceasing overhead.   

    FINALLY 

After all that worry

And wasteful regret

I strode past the lone oak

And up the almost

Infinite hill in biting heat

As butterflies swirled

Amidst dying wildflowers 

And lapped a slow swig

Of well-earned water,

Fell on bony knees

Onto rocky ground

And kissed the granite

Slab like a long-lost lover. 

Finally, lifting my sweaty head

Off the boulder’s lap and

Towards Otay’s peak, finally 

For the first time in weeks,

Finally, I smiled....

Kneeling in dirt

to kiss

the boulder

I taste

its breath

formed of granite,

skittering lizard,

rising heat. 

Within this moment 

all that’s left

is quiet and holy,

less and more

than human,

yet somehow 

alive, completely 
blessed. 

To feast our eyes 

From this daily bowl,

Revelation born 

Of silken dawn

Filled with ease

And light,

Is to be

Nourished

From head

To toe

To soul

And well

And far

Beyond....

            Early Morning 

He ambles along a downhill sidewalk

past the nestled bench where they’d sat

together on summer nights and wondered

if the moon shimmering in the dark 

above was made of light or cheese 

or stone and if the coming Autumn 

would still hold them both in her kind

and fragrant arms. 

           After Ireland

Unlocking the gate of blackened iron,
Of moss-soaked stone and sun-baked memory,

I gingerly invited her one afternoon in June

To this cinder-path winding towards
The lake of my loneliness

And, further along a narrow road,
Another woman’s shade
And ash hidden

Underneath an ancient oak.

This insomnia
Is a singing

Waterfall

Splashing my upturned
Face asleep....

Memories crawl
across this tent
of skin

like tiny ants
on nocturnal
prowl.

🔥

One white rose
glows
within the flame
of our half-
forgotten fire

 A Summoning

This blue heart

    Nestling

In a bed of red,

One plump grape

Washed in Autumn

Sunshine,

      Resting 

In shimmering

     Stillness. 

              Dyad

When, in twos, along a hillside

In summer, butterflies cavort

And orbit around a lazy

Afternoon, I have felt

The gift of wild surprise,

Of sudden grinning that 

Sculpts the moment from wonder

While tiny pennants of purple 

Wave in the breeze at my wandering feet.

Standing at the base

Of these boulders, silently still,

Soaking up sun, then these wings—

Yes these wings that flutter and flirt 

With my eyes and my yearning

For flight!—

Is about as good, as truly alive, 

Yet aware also of death,
As ever it gets.