BLOG
Play me…
Play me…
Pretend I’m an old
tin can.
Bring your ear close
—closer…
that’s it!
Touch a key
—again.
Touch another
—play me.
Before you go
—tap the old tin can
AND
whenever you need
a song
—lift the cap
Play me.
Drops of Color/ A Genuine Gaze
Drops of Color
A Genuine Gaze
No words necessary.
Countless couples.
My eyes privileged to behold.
I cherish the moments
—like framed photos.
Love unfolded in
a nod of a head
—flesh touching
—a gentle swipe
—skin to skin
—a glance
—a soft whinny.
Expanding
—love revealing itself
in the ordinary
and most extraordinary
gaze.
How genuine…Love is.
…close to ‘home’
…close to ‘home’
There are moments i feel
so close to ‘home’
i nearly touch the
stars and then there
are ‘gaps’ where i feel
i’m millions of miles
away.
Note: Look closely! A plane is flying near the center of the Moon!
Behold the enormity of Wonder we are blessed to dwell within.
Let us make it last now & Forever!!!
Drops of Color/ Sky’s Landscape
Drops of Color
Sky’s Landscape
The sky,
a ‘land’scape,
splashing its image upon a body
of water.
Clouds weave into the scenery
magnifying the mirrored
scene overhead.
The sky began to laugh,
or was it the wind?
A strong gust rippled the waters
sending onto the shore
a million drops.
The landscape,
carried in tiny beaded pools.
Pausing, I realized
I was soaked.
A thousand drops
dripped from my brow,
my shirt, trousers
saturated.
My boots drenched,
immersed in the sky’scape.’
I began to laugh,
the sky ‘tucked’ within me.
Hovering…each cloud
reflected back
an endless view.
The sky’s landscape.
Treasures
Treasures
Treasures from the Sea
That is just what
they are…treasures!
Not possessions…
Pearls of wisdom
meant to plunge
back into hid-den depths.
They remind us of our
own holiness
—hidden treasures of
Belonging,
Not possessions.
We are gift given
—receiving freely
—offering back
treasures.
Drops of Color/ Questions
Drops of Color
Questions
Is there a rainbow
stitched into a waterfall?
Is it a waterfall
illuminated in the cusp
of a rainbow?
How do we live the questions?
Maybe, in the moments
that expand our vision
—we become
the rainbow
—we encompass every drop
of the waterfall.
We understand the questions
need no answers.
Living the questions is
the ‘breath of life’
transforming us
making all things NEW.
‘Seek the wisdom that will untie your knot.
Seek the path that demands your whole being.’
~~~Rumi
All the hairs
All the hairs
counted.
The exact number known
while a chirping
sparrow sits upon my horns.
The sparrow’s worth
not measured here,
nor the strands
of my furrowing drapery.
Our significance,
well, I’ll not be
the judge.
It appears our place in
this time, this space,
IS our purpose.
Why spend time ‘pulling’
hairs?
It’s easy to know the sum,
even if you subtract.
And, even if you could
add a few more strands
to the weighted mass
above your brow,
does MORE really mean
you’re ahead?
Yes, all these hairs
are counted for.
Praise
Praise
Mutilated
—these words
broken, fragmented,
endless run-ons!
Wild Fires
A lo ha
~~~the island shivering
in ash.
Praise, praise the
natural world
wreaking havoc on the
learned, ignoring the signs.
The stock exchange
adds their numbers,
while DNA samples
—the only means
identifying the dead.
Plucking a chord on my guitar
—a vibration
fans the room
finding a way to an open window.
The music
finds its way to the devastation,
the destruction
—voices rise like incense.
Praise the mutilation
of the world,
dance in the funeral’s ballad.
Nothing is truly missing
—life has a way of passing on,
returning new in a mutilated world.
Would you try to sing a hymn of Praise?
Mahalo
Inspired by the Poem: Try to Praise the Mutilated World by Adam Zagajewski
Translated by Clare Cavanagh
You…in the Margins
You…in the Margins
You wanted to write a lie—
to be understood?
to fit in?
to be heard?
My powdery snow covered skin
pleads, “STOP.”
For too long, my people live at the top
of the mountain crested in packed white linen
—we have kept many persons at base camp
—countless tribes at the foot of the towering peaks.
An avalanche brought me down
—tumbling, rolling over & over.
I could share my wounds
—beyond physical
but, I do not have to
—for you bandaged
my brokenness with the balm
of your soft brown skin
rubbing itself against mine.
Looking into your eyes,
I see the sun radiating its warmth
through your dark glass pupils.
Your hymns sing to my Soul
in perfect pitch…
like
—raindrops joining a river adding to the flow
—dew drops draping green leaves.
The door of my heart unlocks.
Your hand in mine…my MIND silent.
I feel your breath
—the warmth of your lips
kiss my brow.
There is no longer room for lies.
Inspired by Kiese Laymon’s Novel Long Division
Drops of Color/ So Simple
Drops of Color
So Simple
For a moment,
the view, as if
held, entwined
in a frame.
Sheer and utter elegance,
mere words lack the luster
in describing you.
You are an entranceway
—a door of sorts into
a valley
fashioned like the walls of a uterus
inviting the traveler to enter.
Many seeds planted here
—by birds of the air
—animals excrement
—wind and storms.
Nothing is trimmed or hedged,
cut or tilled.
In fact, in this subtle garden,
it is so simple to dwell.
Home…
Home…
where the heart lies
—a mattress of soft soil
—crumbled leaves adding
to the ambience of
the green canopy overhead
AND,
rooted stately branches
—lean into each other.
Really, there is
no place like home.
Drops of Color/ Promised Lands
Drops of Color
Promised Lands
One rolled in
upon another.
Straw, the mortar
as an Exodus begun.
The Exile,
a bridge,
exposing a gap
that no longer
would give way to division.
Stone upon stone upon stone,
not a single one ‘thrown.’
Each rock, boulder, pebble
set in place,
like a dinner table prepared
to serve countless guests.
And, so, this bridge
a path
laced in stone.
Both directions.
Promised Lands—
beginning with the One
stone first
rolling in
~~~A Corner Stone