I sit with pen
Open Third Eye
Let go this “my”
And let loose
My mind
From pre-meditated
Preoccupation
Lose the I
Let go desires
Open up your ears
To the rhythm
And pace
That surrounds you
As it goes about
Its own business
Pays you
No thought —
Mindfulness
Begins with
Mindlessness
You must empty
The chalice
To receive new
Prophecy
To our mother,
We must most humbly apologize
We have been bad children. You have provided for us all these good years.
And, we have torn up the
backyard, dug up or
Cut down all the trees;
Stripped out all the copper
Wiring in the house and
Took a crap on your dinner
Table. We’re sorry…hopefully
Our children will treat you better.
PS – Hey, I’m glad at least
One of us is recovering
From the Coronavirus.
Mr. Robins
Takes a bath
He’s not concerned with math
Except perhaps
To count their eggs
Or later how many mouths they’ve fed
But today he’s just getting clean
A deep splash
And shake
Sending water splattering
He takes this
“Bird bath”
Seriously
He pays no mind to you and me.
…
Not until the dog comes out
Does Mr. Robins
Give a shout
No, now that he
Is clean all through
Fly to the nest’s
Alls left to do.
Nothing
Nothing
Nothing new
These bird’s
songs
These
Poets
This attempt
At some-
thing true
Doesn’t mean
I’ll stop it
Doesn’t mean
You cared
These birds
And this poet
You’ve rarely
Even heard.
But, the song
the song
It carries on
(Even when you
Don’t listen
In your mind)
You
Sing
Along
& We’ve carried
Out our mission.
The geraniums
I brought in to
Stave off frosted night
Red and white
Fireworks
Bursting in the morning light
A common incantation
For better and for worse
A common name —in any
Country, often it can be heard
For so many named their children
After that man from Galilee
As if to predetermine
What good people they could be
Of these fishes and birds he speaks
Comes this lesson for you and me
Be fruitful and do multiply
Sing songs from the tops of the trees
This life is so certainly short
When stacked up to eternity
So waste not time on petty things
Give to the sick, the poor, the needy
If you, yourself are not hungry
Then for someone else do something more
For in the end, when you’ve nothing left
Your deeds will open your last door…
I’m not sure
How these rabbits
Crept in
Off with all
The eggs that
We’ve been makin’
Double time
Before
Easter Day
If in time
We are
To lay
And as
for that
Primordial question
There is
no doubt
It was the chicken
—she works hard everyday
to make that egg
that you just ate
Now to
these rabbits
On Easter Day
Now to the pot
Let stew
Be made
As for us
Chickens
We are happy to stay
Out in
The yard
To continue to lay
Can the moon see my fire
As it passes over head
Both alight my night
And stave off the dread
Of all those things out
In the the darkness of all
Those things we cannot see
But if the moon can see my fire
I’ll spend the night outwardly
Words
Words
The power of words
If birds
Had words
Would their songs be more convincing?
Or would Love be lost
Too much meaning
The cost
Leaving one
Daft and
Confusing?
No, better
The bird
With more songs and no words
Just as rich
And prolific
Through the ages
What creations
Will we bring
When we’re left just to sing…
The poet
These words
These pages.