*Times of the Year*
These are pivotal
Times of the year for
Hearts.
This is the time
When mine aches to
Breaking:
When I think
Of those near but so far
Away,
And those,
Never to be near again,
Lost.
And those now,
Sadly, drifting away:
Hearts breaking away
Soon to be lost.
*The Dilemma of Hafiz*
The falling snowflakes came like messages from the Beloved.
They fell to us, these mysterious messengers on a Moonless night.
With the morning came the Breeze, lifting the snow, like Moths, Skyward,
Sunward toward the creator in a dance swirling without end.
Music played, the dancer spun, heart’s pounded, all watched
As the Sun inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, breathing her children home.
Come dance with me, we can be Moths together,
On the Path to a forever flame.
*Where Does Winter Go*
Where does Winter go
After it’s had its time?
Look in the shadow sides
Of hills and cuts
That the wind-snow found,
That the sun never did.
Look under thick stones,
Into nature’s safes;
Behind those locked doors,
Winter sleeps late.
Look in the dreams
Of children who will
Dream of snow
All through their love of summer.
*The Wren*
Little wren,
My favorite of all,
You won’t come to my hand,
So I must hold you
In my heart.
Cheer
My mornings
With your sweet words,
Sing me to Wonder
Throughout the day.
Little wren
Loved,
I’ll hold you in my heart,
Because we must be
Apart.
*Straw Sandals*
Searching for spring all day, I never saw it,
straw sandals treading everywhere
among the clouds, along the bank.
Coming home, I laughed, catching
the plum blossoms’ scent:
spring at each branch tip, already perfect.
-poem by an anonymous Sung Dynasty Nun
———-
One thousand years ago
a Sung Dynasty nun
didn’t take credit for her
inspiration, her duty not to fame
but to the service of feeling.
I read her words “…straw sandals treading
everywhere among the clouds…” and
I hesitated, re-read, re-read,
read but didn’t understand
her imagery.
Was she searching for Spring in the
mountains, along foggy paths or did
she float into the sky, bee-like in search
of her plum blossom scent,
leaving her footprints in the clouds?
She found blossom’s scent
and left her straw-soled footprints
of verse in my heart.
*Between*
There are times
when the space between
original thoughts
is reminiscent of the empty space
between stars.
The empty is cold and dark,
a lonely wasteland,
neighborless,
soundless,
thought-quenching.
Inspiration
is the light between
the dark,
the explosion of light,
a poem.
*Blind*
Just as the skies have cleared
after weeks of rain,
they now are clouding again,
from gray to green
with unfolding leaves.
I think of these words and
wonder “If I had no sight
would I be able to describe
these things to you?”
How much is vision,
how much imagination?
I never want to test the question,
but it’s a question I have to ask,
an answer I’d like to have.
*Reincarnation*
Who could ever imagine
that out of plain brown duff
such a stunning and complex
being might be fashioned.
Who could ever imagine
such a being, out of dust
(humans, after all, from dust and rib)
might come
and then not believe.
*The Comet’s Tail*
Last night earth slid through
yet another comet’s debris
and the forecast of “showers”
drew us moths to the hope of a flame.
I could muster only enough interest
for a 2 AM, 15 minute viewing,
and was pleased to see one streak
to wish on (I made a good wish!).
But, as I stood wide-eyed, pan-eyed,
staring around Polaris, I peripherally
saw a brighter sweep of fire
close to the horizon, and then another.
Though I stared deep into space for my fire,
there, 30 feet from my nose,
fire came to me in the season’s first firefly.
Blessed with godly light from both far and near.
*Who We Were*
There are differences between
the young and the old.
One could never have imagined,
The other could only imagine,
and that’s how it’s always been:
two, oddly at odds.
We’re generations apart,
differences between
younger and older,
young and old,
youth and age.
And, we might never understand;
the other always too different,
even though
the one and the other
are the same, just separated by time.
*As Stars Fall*
As stars fall
Around me
And the grass
Collects the dew,
Thoughts wander
To times past,
To times ago,
And to times with you.
As stars settle
Into the dew,
Dissolving
From my view,
How the heart
Does wonder
About times now past,
And times with you.
*What I Remember*
I remember the polished-top silver-steel
rails
that carried the coal: hard, “blue”, coal
from the mines that scarred earth’s
breast;
The same coal that burned hot and
blue-flamed
through the long winter nights
in fires “banked” to outlast ,untended, the
night;
Cold mornings after nights trapped under
comforters
that made the toes cramp from their weight;
Hurrying down the cold hall to the bathroom where
electricity
warmed only that room, too far away from the
stove;
Hearing the rattling of stove grates telling of a renewed
fire to come, to burn all-day-hot, to burn blue-flamed again.
All the while, steel on steel, those miles of rails were
polished.
*August*
It is the sun’s season,
and it shows it’s strength
by searing and scorching
all beneath it, all that it surrounds.
But, it’s grip is slipping.
Now, instead of the yellow cut of light,
there is a ruby gem that shines softly
into my eyes: it’s not the weapon it was.
Soon enough it will shy altogether
of morning meetings
and then I will think too kindly
of the sere of Summer.
*Journey’s End*
My journey near to an end,
I was walking down the exit hallway
And I saw the three brightly painted doors.
All led outside, each had a placard,
one proclaimed “Comfort”,
another “Pleasure”,
the third “Passion”.
I went through the door of
Comfort
and found that I stood in
a beautiful garden.
I left that garden.
I went through the door of
Pleasure
and found that I stood in
a beautiful garden of flowers.
I left that garden.
I went through the door of
Passion
and found that I stood in
a beautiful garden of fragrant flowers.
*Gravity*
Some things
Just belong
Together.
What magic
Brings two so different together?
Some personal gravity
That attracts and holds?
Moon to sea,
Stamen to bee,
You to me.
*At Ease*
On my lap
there is a cat
that purrs at the
slightest touch.
When I am in need
of comfort, of relief,
it is that same relaxed purr
that sets me at ease.
When I am slipped below the sod,
the sound of rain on dusty earth
will comfort me,
with the sound of the earth purring.
*The Fifth Season*
In the Spring,
Green fills the nose
As water moves from earth to sky,
As mowers speed that process
By opening the tap.
In the Summer
Perfume fills the air
Sophisticated, alluring,
Drawing bee and man into
Swollen desires.
In the Autumn
A mature richness woos us
Into drawing the knife,
Into capturing the wholeness
Of the year’s growth.
In the Winter
Clean has emptied the air,
No green, no perfume, no harvest maturity,
Only the memories,
Only a rest.
In the Knowing,
White follows Green
Follows Autumn follows Spring
And on, and on;
Dreams of what is to come.
*Raindrop…Teardrop*
A raindrop falls
And a mountain quivers
As that drops carves
First a rill then a valley
On it’s way to the ocean.
A tear drop falls
And a cheek quivers
As that drop carves
First the burn then the scar
On it’s way to the heart.
And so it is,
That a drop of water
Is both beginning
And end.
*Marcus Aurelius’ Wristwatch*
Time is
a circuit around a sun.
the vibrations of an atom.
the clock in pieces on the floor.
twenty eight days of our moon’s life.
the space between seed and seed.
Einstein’s clock slowing down.
the hour-long minute when you need to hurry.
a fully-wound clock.
the minute-long hour when you’re in love.
the anachronistic clock in Act I.
the rest between heartbeats.
Time is
no-past, no-future.
only the moment, now.
no more… no, less.
*inspired by Aurelius’ “Meditations”
*Hollow Bodies, Flown Souls*
I drove past falling frames,
Sagging roofs of barns:
Sanctuaries where cattle lowed,
Ewes yeaned,
Where children with wide eyes saw
Life begin, life end.
These once-fancy barns,
Now empty, spires and stars falling,
Now home only to the vines
That pull walls to earth.
I have seen people
With vacated souls,
With empty hearts
Where hope has flown,
Leaving barren
Their landscape:
Life began, life ended.
People who left no traces
Of well-lived lives,
Before being pulled back to earth.
*Spinning Away*
Caught
In a whirlpool of colors
The leaf-eddies spin in gales,
And are dizzied by the swirl.
Like the leaves,
We are a-swim in a sea
Of love, of life. Caught
And with no desire to survive.
The year sped by while
A-swirl in a whirlpool
Of smaller and smaller circles:
We’re dying to be caught.
*Ice and Light*
I watched the long-night moon
Pull the covers to her chin,
Sheer cirrus sheets
That barely veiled her beauty.
That ice and light
Could make the glory
That surrounds her,
That ice and light
Could brighten
The night,
That ice and light
Could warm someone
To rhapsody,
That ice and light
Could enfold two
Into love;
We watched the long-night moon
Pull the covers to her chin.
*Rituals*
As I placed the straw under the table
For the sixtieth time,
I thought of the past and the passed,
Both who taught the treasure
Of culture, of family and of time.
Baltic shores provided the fish,
The farmer’s soil the cabbage, the potatoes, the peas.
My grandfather wandered the pine woods
To gather the mushrooms.
His orchard supplied fruit and wine.
Each year preparing for the Eve’s supper,
As all of the aromas embrace the kitchen,
Memories hold close the heart and
Keep alive all those who are part of
Past and passed.