So simple, this theme
Of morning and spring
The full moon sets
As the falcons sing
A day beginning
With promise
Gathering
Upon the shadows of horizons
The sun to bring
Warmth to the new day
As the cold moon wanes
Nature’s ritual
As the seasons change
Returning the life
The rhythm
The song
To stick in our throats
To be hummed
All day long
This celebration
Of the simplest of things
This confirmation
of the season of growing
Category: Poems
If I were not left to stand naked here
Stripped head to toe, not much to stare
Upon in the shadows of this exposing hour
Nowhere to run, no, no protective tower
Could I stand myself or you of me?
Exposed to the core; no more reverie
To drift these moments of folly
And pass the time content and jolly?
No, this dark hour has left me here
In the open, alone and full of fear
I cannot beckon, who would I call?
To stand by my side, naked and all?
For at my center, the liar sits
He’s taken control and silenced my fits
He conjures my dreams and calls forth my ghosts
He will not relent until I’m fully un-clothed
Not for the moment that I long to be
Composed, quite clothed, protected fully
By this will to be the man who I am
When I’ve yielded to God, my own judgements be damned!
First I must let go of these illusions of control
Un-bind my demons and embrace my ghosts
The light there waiting for me to take up new clothes
And stand with aspirations of the life I’ll compose
For this is a journey taken one step at a time
The trauma, the pain, takes time to unwind
We can’t blame ourselves for mistakes that we’ve made
All is forgiven when we ourselves face the day
But forgiving yourself is the first step to take
Only then can you begin your healing to make
This person is longing to be set free
No longer naked, now standing proudly.
epilogue
I write this poem still naked myself
No longer do I care what the others will shout
My exposure is mine and I have no doubt
This day is mine and in the light I will sprout!
We step into the past — by choice
Out into
the woods
Away from signals
of society
that keep us
pinned into
Frameworks of consumption.
Out here there is Nothing
but each other
and often
we can’t stand
Each
Other!
Though we love deeply
These
Others who
We share our lives with
by choice or
by birth
You don’t choose your family
only mother and father
have that privilege.
Everyone else
must deal with that choice.
Yet brothers and sisters — siblings
May be the only ones
Who care
when all else
has gone…
The blue screen won’t load
The news is old
The fire is hot
The coffee is cold
I must be in the right place
The wind whistles through the trees
The air wheezes as I breathe
The dirt is dirty with blackest soot
The trees have fallen exposing roots
I must be in the right place
I am in the write place
With time to think
And craft this space
With smoke in my eyes there’s time to blink
I must be in the right place
With many miles and tires worn
My skin the sun seeks to absorb
The camp is set, the children fed
No fingers, smashed, no nothing bled
I must be in the right place
4 Million steps
On this journey of circles
Around
and Around and
Around
A hamster on the wheel of life
Deleting my center of gravity
One ounce at a time.
But, these travels were not made alone
My constant companions
On the same quest
To chase away
This Angel of Death
Who has cast his dark shadowed
Wing over this Covid World!
We’ve walked long and hard to find
The daylight waiting
At the end of this tubular night.
I’ve never felt better
After years of addictive tendencies
I find myself emerging
From our Mother Earth
Changed…
Once the pale grub in a hole
Now, the Cicada out to sing
The songs of summer!
Categories
Won’t Run From Love
Sly, daring, road running
Time of Love, not quite spring
But the waning days of winter sing
Of the promise — A Whisper
Of the returning season
Of raising a new generation
Of cunning birds…
This one with Lizard in mouth
An offering for his devote
Lifemate and lover.
In the road they dance
And show that they have
No patience for the changing clime
Rare to take flight, in pursuit he might
Soar from rooftop to rooftop.
With coos, clicks and beeps
He woos his sweet and as we pass
They pay no mind to our kind.
Categories
Grocery List
Always out of
Toilet paper
Never enough
Dish soap
We just ran out of
Dog food
Can’t wash my hair
Without shampoo
Why are we so concerned
With all these things
What if we cared as much
About caring
Seems like this list of what
We’ve run out of
Needs to include more things
Like Love
We sure could use some
More compassion
We seem to have run out of that
Thing called peace
We need to see if we can find more
Forgiveness
Maybe if we could find some
Strength
We could get through the day without
All this Hate
Categories
A Horse Named “Unlucky”
Boys are dumb and I was one.
My brother yet another…
Having started our vacation in canyons
With adventures beyond our imagination
My brother and I headed out for a walk
Into the sandstone curves of Arches’ rocks.
Taller and faster he tracked on ahead
And separated we became instead.
Too far out to go back, without the
Brother I lacked, I kept searching around ’til
I found him at the edge of a sweeping bowl.
And, down deep in that hollowed out hole
Laid the scattered bones of a horse that
Became known as “Unlucky.”
Fascinated by this find, into that hole we climbed
Only to leave ourselves with no escape route.
After hollers and shouts, our luck too had
Run out and we resolved to settle
In for the night. Our backs to the wall
We sat with whistles to blow
Tunes as our call out for help.
As day finished up and the sun drifted
Down, it’s hard to know how long we
Chirped. Long enough that our Mom, full
Of worry, dragged Dad out to search
For these dumb boys who kept running off.
These whistles that they bought us
For just such a cause had led them
Unto our holey predicament. Mom found us
In our hole, with our backs against the wall,
Chirping like birds getting ready for the night.
Our father she found to haul us out of
The ground, too happy to scold,
These boys they raised to be bold.
Categories
Ghost Town
The City is full of Ghosts
Not the dead kind
The impressions of existence
Left behind.
Rarely do we see the signs
Like Coyote
Never revealing her constant
Presence.
She only comes out when
No one else can observe her.
Yet, as I walk out in the
Quiet snow this morning
An entire ecosystem reveals
its passage by…
The rabbit who I’ve never seen
On my street
Has walked around my car
Looking for what I might
Have dropped to eat.
Many, many people whose paths
Are clear from footprints
In and out of their houses.
The robins and finches who
Have come for morning meal.
All is silent but I know they are there
Revealed by their impressions…
Like Racoon and Coyote
Solo trails without human companion
The handish print and claws
And the canine with no walker.
Categories
Assailant One
Perception is not reality
Just ask The Mountain
She is an illusion…
Presenting herself
Like a bear on hind legs
Much grander much
Bigger – A whole lot
More terrifying.
But the mountain lies…
Not One Mountain at all
Many (mini) Mountains
Each requiring its own
Accent.
Each of a scale and
Magnitude to fatigue
The sojourner who seeks
To run his toes through her
Sands.
She is grand, but
Not how she seems
From a distance.
From afar, un-assailable!
Yet, peel away her layers
And you may find a
Passage unto her loving
Bosom.