These words don’t suffice
For the depths of their meaning
So deep, an azure pool
Sky blue at the top
Navy in the middle
And a pitch blackness
Where no light can penetrate
Save the thought of you!
For true depth is darkness
And true love is the
Light that shines on
In your mind when
All else is dark.
That beacon that carries
You through darker moments,
Lonely nights and terrible possibilities
For even as we talk about
The “depth” of something
We rarely break down
What “deep” represents.
Like deep in the ground where
Well-springs hold dark waters
That once coaxed to the surface
Brings thirst-quenching Life!
Is the depth of my soul
A dark place as well?
It can’t be — For You are
The Light at the center of my Spirit
¡My Love!
Category: Garden Psalms

Don’t Be Late
An orderly disarray —
Recorder singing
Up and down the scale
While the flowers
Of Autumn dance
In the light breeze.
Forget-me-nots
And daisies
Orange marigolds
Red dew cups
Full of bees knees
Tomato, basil
Garlic Please!
Small leaves
Of chard to
Be tossed with
The lard of
A beautiful bacon butt.
Don’t be late for breakfast!
Seedy
So much potential
Sewn up in the soil
A spring menagerie
Ready to burst
First green
Then yellow
Flaming orange
And of course
Violet
Fuchsia flowers
Pour out like
Bundles of Grapes from
Harvest baskets
And the promise
Of the feast
That awaits us
At summer’s
End
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
Sorry Mom
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.
Let the critics complain
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
Seeds in captivity
Say my name
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…