Thursday, August 23, 2012

Wild Welcomings

See the pond there?

It runs through me into a deep pool
and there within its reflection
I see many wild welcomings.

The sky and even singing birds
corner the curl of moss.

I am there see my hair?

A mermaid of fresh water,
she lifts her contemplation up
and knows each thread
in the fabric of art she watches
is turning with her toes
as slowly a dance she knows becomes
the quiet melt of songs already sung,
just beginning and will be begun.

Blow a kiss into this other place
then hold my wild in your embrace,
funnel the current between the rocks
a riffle is made from this love unlocked.

I’ll catch it in the ripple,
take it through the canyon
and across the city
to the sea with me.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Where is the Spider

Time spins a web
from the tree of life
and we are caught.
Blown like a feather
we cling
as our need
gives us strength.

We touch
the lazy leaf in awe,
smell the tangy edge
of fruited laughter
and long for truth.

Days are sometimes
our slow enemy.
The dullness of them
seeps into our lust
and inhibits our exuberance.

Many times a manic dance
spins us out of control,
before we can think of a purpose
we have passed ourselves
and must seek again
what we never found.

We are the umbilicated
tied to the past by a severed cord,
phantom pains
keep us from forgetting
our beginning.
We are chained to the future
by the microscope of eternity
found in our children.

We throw out a life line
and glean
through the unbearable
coupling of our bodies, destiny.

From the depth of
this beauty
we recognize youth
far back on the road.

The mirror mimics
our exterior
when inside we
realize that youth
has only become
less frivolous
and more kind.

There are signs along
the path we travel
these are some I’ve seen:

Singing when your heart
is full
brings sweetness to your

Holding the hand
of one
who walks along
the river
leads to the
appreciation of
little things.

Listening to the message
of the sea,
an overripe opinion.

Embracing in love
sets a fire
that will not
be extinguished.

Looking inward
for the teacher
calms the trembling
of your grasping

Laughter emptying
into your
troubled soup
sweetens the bitterness
and strengthens
all the essential

To struggle
against the web
is to be caught
more fiercely.
If we are still
and open,
we can appreciate
the glistening of its
and the touch of air
surrounding it.

Peace is fleeting,
found in an instant
when eyelash meets
the cheek.

Does the tree
of life
concern itself
with our struggle?

Tall and sure
it holds the web,
but can it protect it
from what is
or what will be?

I still have not seen
the spider.

Hello Above

above I think you are
or all around
that star

can’t say that I’ve not looked away
a stray
but I used to be Sunday’s child
licking that gold star beside my name in school
and every night I laid me down
my soul
what was that I didn’t know
but didn’t want to die before I woke no

I asked you to help me back then when I was ten
with something bigger then I have known since
put my hands out into the dark
in my room with the closet I feared and asked
just needed to know what to do

and while I’m at the questioning
I’ve been wondering about that angel
I called Michelle
you know she was special she was
most for me a first big love
and my prayer was big that day
I know I’d faltered earlier and now I was in need
all of a sudden I asked that greed

to take a child who was loved so dear
this tear is all you gave to me in answer
and still I ask
how is this plan worked out

I don’t mean any disrespect
and I’m sure you know my heart is good
believes in love and brotherhood

and I appreciate all the little things you made
for me to touch
and I know one day beyond this time
sense will make of me some semblance
of what this time spent is meant to be

until then just one thing for peace on earth
goodwill to men
could we get some help with this

From some time ago with thoughts of my darling daughter, Michelle (1965-1974)

Friday, August 3, 2012

Slowly, the Slipping of Summer

Slowly, the Slipping of Summer

Air moves slowly through the open door
then begs the corner of my eye
to watch

as a small thread from a spider's web
turns into a gold chain even as I look away
feeling like I can't bear to know
how fragile this one thing is
and how carelessly it can be destroyed

but I have already seen it
connecting the wooden door frame
to the bookcase

where in one corner
a book is wrapped up in patient silk
sewn up so tight
lace fingers of it
hold its pages in place

I see a fluff of feather there
caught fast by the delicate strings
cast across the air
and taken by the sun
like a piece of art holding mighty
a drift from a molting summer bird

I watch a hammock swing
macraméd and filled gracefully with wind
then set on fire with sunlight
and I am captured in the whim

that it is marking a path
to the place of bare feet
and the sound of summer's children in the yard
gone too soon and replaced with slamming car doors
and crows quarreling in the shadows of morning

How slowly air moves into the voices of the trees

Over my shoulder I sense time moving
made from the slipping of summer
even as I turn
wanting to catch
the first squeal
from a cool-down sprinkler's child

and only find the sound of leaves

Published in Pirene's Fountain, October 2009, Volume 2 : Issue 6