A Flock of Preachers

Before dawn
they rose—
each ‘one’
finding a pulpit.

The sun
still hours
from cascading
herself over the
horizon’s line…

The preachers
seemed to dip
‘into’ the Milky Way
and dangled
from Orion’s Belt.

They gathered
only ‘enough’
stardust
to begin
their sermon.

Then—
the homily began.
A concerto of
voices echoed
throughout the land.

One message
ran into another
and still another
raced in
creating a ‘harmony’
not composed—
its symphony
never duplicated.

No one ‘sang’ about
‘wrong’ doing
or sin…
The message was not about being
saved or forgiven.

The Gospel Truth
from these
feathered preachers
was a simple note
sung in their own key.

Yet—when they sang
‘together’
they were ONE.

The sun rose
‘LIFTED’
by the sound of love.

Love—
a gift that births itself each day not only in a single day…
How we choose to celebrate love clearly reveals whether or not we’ve gotten the message—
Still, love pours itself out even in chaos for love cannot deny itself…it is always born again.

Gloaming

A friend brought me this
word—‘gloaming‘—
and so I sat
with it…

and I sat

and still I sat.

NOW—here on this—
on this approaching solstice,
the shortest day of the year…
while darkness moves into
the landscape to wash away
the colors meshed
in all the wonder…

‘gloaming’ sparkles

never ceasing to be
even before the final
hours of light’s setting.

His Name was Anthony

I happened to glance at the clock…
it was 2:09 a.m.

Before heading out the door—
the words,
“Go…bring glad tidings to the poor,”
spoke to me.

Bursting into the frigid
air, I immediately spotted Luna—
she was covered in a swath
of clouded vapor.
Still, her luminous light
split the veil between us.

I spoke out, “glad tidings to You,”
and I began my trek.

I breathed in the chill of
the early morning…

I was not even 10 minutes
into my pace when
CRASH—
I heard cans spilling onto the concrete,
glass spattering all over the roadway
AND then a river of expletives…
white water, rapids spewing
from a stranger’s lips—
his cart full of cans
swallowed by a pothole.

I approached the man and said,
“I’ll help.”  He was surprised by my
presence and the first words spoken—
“I’m sorry for my language…
I got this far and…”

I said, “It’s alright—let’s pick-up
the cans,” and the man said, “Thanks.”

We pitched the empty bottles back
into the cart—the grocery store
ONLY a stone’s throw away.
The man said, “I don’t want any
of this glass to pop a tire…”  I said,
“Don’t worry we’ll sweep it to
the side.”

We worked together and before
going each our separate way,
we lifted the cart from its
abyss.  The stranger said,”Happy Holidays” and I replied,
“Merry Christmas”—
The man said, “Yeah,
Merry Christmas—Thank you.”

I looked into the night sky
and began to walk…
I was only a short distance
when the stranger shouted back,
“Hey, I AM Anthony.”
I waved back,  “Sandy.”

A shooting star spilled down
from the sky above

and I whispered,
“Thank you Anthony for
brining ‘me’ glad tidings.”

I Don’t know how to love like You

Already…
My words so few
cannot express
‘love’ as You.

I rise each day…
with urgency I embrace
the morning.
I attempt to kiss each
star, but I’m at a
loss as the celestial sky
twirls on—

Before the coming of the sun,
I bend my knee…
I cup my hands—
a solitary attempt
to usher in this rising.
AGAIN, I’m so lost in the
rays penetrating the sky—
my hands open…
You sink in.

The day makes way—
the quiet I knew
GONE…
cars honking, music blaring,
machines operating—
a siren ‘crying,’
and I try to send ‘love’ to
‘that’ other the ambulance
seeks to get to—
I know You
ALREADY there.

The orange ball
has begun its descent—
All the time that has
passed…
All the opportunities to
love, I’ve missed.
BUT—You have not.

You have loved me
through this single day…
caught my words—
held my being—
You reside in me…
allowing my ‘ear’ to
hear a single ‘cry.’
If it be all I
cared for this day,
Your love taught me it
is enough.

I’ve heard.

I close my eyes this night
knowing I don’t know
how to love like You.

Still…I AM your
HEART place.

A loving place in which to
rest .

Amen

“Sweet Communion”

The Artisan’s Hands

A piece of glass in the Artisan’s hands… ‘every’ distinct cut—a Masterpiece.

A Lion’s Roar

Beneath heaven’s dome
I walked
gazing at the sparkling
jewels overhead—

each glistened casting
hues of universes beyond reach.

Mesmerized, I ‘traversed’
the hidden landscape
until a sudden roar like that of a
lion ripped through the
silky sheet of
darkness.

The roar did not cease—
it only grew in strength
and in its wake
picked up leaves…
they, like dancers,
whirled about and were pulled into
a tumult of spirals.

I was caught in
‘this’ force.
Another roar attempted to
push me back.
‘We” were like two rams
locking horns…
both of us ‘immovable’
and yet, pushing forward
as if in labor.

A hard ‘drop’
hit my face—
then another and
another.

The torrential spring
casting itself downward
struck my being
until I was soaked.

Dripping, I could not raise
my head.  Still,
I pressed forward
trusting my steps
in the unseeing.

The starry sky was gone—
the black canvas
painted over by
searing clouds.

I stopped—for one brief moment
I felt I was face to
face with the lion…
I realized THEN I was so ALIVE…

I joined in the roar.

My Soles

I’ve been to mountain tops
and descended into canyons.
STILL, I know
where my soles touch the Earth.
In this moment…
when I pause and capture the gaze
from where I NOW stand…
THIS place…
this ‘holy’ place is
right where I AM to be.

Fall
One by one the leaves let go of the branch that held ‘them’ through this season.
‘They” fall landing upon earth’s blanket—in their death their distinct ‘being’
NOW born into an eternal “Oneness’ with Creation.

“I raise up my voice—not so that I can shout,
but so that those without a voice can be heard.”
Malal Yousafazi Nobel Prize Winner

The Untamed

A mist blankets
the ground
and a breath
mixes with every
visible droplet.

One solid hoof step
beats upon the earth.
A sound like thunder—
the dirt joining
the elements
dangling in the air.

A single grunt—
a young one comes
running
awkward in its
steps—
its mouth
reaching her mother’s nipples
to suckle the milk.

The majestic creature—
a solid mass of
muscle
sculpted as if
Michelangelo still exists.

Engraved into creation
‘she’ eats of the
fertile plains—
Mother Earth providing
so she can give
sustenance to the
one who sprang from
her womb.

Pray we learn.
Hope we are listening.
The ‘wild’ teaches.
The untamed grasp
the reality of Life’s Abundance.

Look in her eyes.
She trusts what is
provided
while greed devours
the gift of the land.

Let us not lose what
little we have left
or else our ending
will discover NEW meaning
with or without us.

Why not drop mussels instead of bombs

We sat by the sea
a friend and I
delighting as the tide rolled out.

The smell of salt
and the wind in our hair
set the stage for the
performance soon to begin.

They hovered in flight—
the gulls dancing as if
dangling from a string.

Then, with one fluent motion,
they submerged with a splash
re-emerging with delicate morsels
clutched in their beaks.

Back into the sky they flew with
glee, but ‘ahhhhh’ it is here
the climax begins.

Over the rocks the gulls hovered
to drop their dainty treasures—
then, fluttering down to the table
they gathered to feast.

A banquet in hand…
astonished, I stared—
how simple a lesson
is shared.

We humans think we have all the
answers.  I chuckle as
I wonder who really has the brains.

Imagine—instead of dropping bombs
from the sky, we dropped
savoring mussels.

Imagine feeding countless with
morsels of food instead of
leaving countless dead.

Imagine spending monies skimming the sea
to feed the hungry instead of spending
millions on endless weaponry.

Before closing my eyes at the end of
the day, I thought of my friends
in the air…
God, if we only took time to
see what began before you
created us ‘humans,’
we’d savor the values of life
and all of creation’s constant
evolutions.

“Just another sunrise…
BUT, there will never again be one like THIS—THIS day!”

Half-A-Century-Old…And  I’ve Lost My Religion

Half-A-Century—
to some…a mere passing of years
to others…a million years.

Quietly immersed in the cup of
my life,
I’m pouring out what is
no longer necessary—
my religion.

It is not like I woke today
and began spilling out
all unnecessary ‘content.’

Actually, without even
realizing it—it was as if a
stone had been rolled away.

That’s it exactly—
a stone rolled back which
covered an entrance to my
inner chamber—
light seeped in…

A warmth unable to be
put into words— now experienced.

Nothing made sense.
There was no great epiphany
and still everything was
moving—
and, I sat in the silence…
motionless.

That one stone—
a corner stone
once removed while
all the other stones began
to topple.

The weight of distorted
messages broken down—
the incense now
able to rise.

The wooden pews…
the pointed steeples…
the stained glass windows…
no longer block
the relational wonder of
creation—
pulling me
from death to life.

Do I understand all that
is happening?—goodness, no!

I move from the rubble
not lost—but for a
first time…FOUND.

I can hardly begin to
anticipate what the next half
century shall unearth

for

I can only utter,
“What a time for celebration.”

Enter…the door is WIDE open.

Yes…there really are flowers in the desert.

Dust the House

It’s time to dust the house—
a thorough sweeping required…

The cob webs…
they’ve hung far too long—
even the spiders have disappeared.

The mats…
shake them~~~hang them from a branch
so the air can find hidden passages and
remove the clogged rubbish.

Open windows…
‘see’ what you have been missing—
the glass, so marred by debris has
clouded your sight.

Pull open the cupboards.
Your heart’s in there—
set the table with the dish wear that
has been unused…

The banquet is at hand—
invite all to this communion.

Tears

Today…
my words were
as drops of rain
steadily falling
from heaven’s
dome.

One after
another
fell—
casting pools
across a vast
area of land.

I chose to step
into a pool…
the water knee deep

then another—
waist high.

I continued
stepping in and out
of the waters

until I
dipped into a sea
‘well’ over my head.

Nothing beneath
my feet—
I was treading
water…peacefully.

Then…
it dawned on me,”I’m bathing in
my own tears”!

There all along—
a ‘hot spring’
inside me.

It took
time to sense
the ‘healings’
going on—

Not physical,
but yes, physical healing
yet—so, so much more.

A light was
now shining
within the pool—

You can jump in
anytime

but, if ever you
see me floating on
my back
give me a moment

at times
I need to
bathe in the pool
ALONE.

Stumbling

Like a race horse
set in ‘the gate,’
I awaited the
sound of the bell.

There it was—
off I went
but, I was not
in a race.

I was so sure footed…
my hooves
kicking up the ground
beneath me.

I was beyond
a trot…
a gallop…
it was almost as if I were
free-floating—
a pace
so fast

I began to
notice I was ‘missing’
everything…

rushing here—
trying to get this done
or the next task
accomplished.

By the end of the day
I stumbled—

Yes, so unnaturally
I lay broken—
enough to ‘feel’
the very fibers in
my being crying out
rest…
rest…
rest…

I gathered myself ‘enough’
to recognize the
stumbling in
my mind

the sounds, the noises, the
distractions—all the
vain lures wearing down,
perplexing my soul.

So hard I stumbled in my
mind until a silent
moment ‘engulfed’ the
toxicity of endless
superficial longings.

A tender swoosh of wind
ruffled my mane
and I could ‘see’ again
the road before me.

Upside Down

That is exactly
what you have done…

Will ‘anything’ ever be
right side up again?
This I doubt!

You pushed me ‘down’
into the soil…
replanted my B-ing—

In the darkness…
like a ‘weed’
I began to stretch,
trusting only
what you give me.

You said, “Trust me.”
I let go of my ideas
and found myself breaking
through the crust of
the earth.

Bathed in your sun…
Nourished by the rains…
Frozen by winter’s blast…
Reborn in the chaos of
Spring’s re-creation…

I grow—freely…
simply ‘within’ the gift of your
handiwork.

A weed—indeed.
Spreading across
a wild, daunting
scape of land
stretching for endless miles

seen only by those
whose hearts
lie open.

Those willing to
walk a path without
the need for accolades,
recognition, prestige—

Those saying,
“I need less and less and less—
nothing more.”

The garden filled
with plenty—
Why tarry in a
false field of
bouquets that
do not last.

The Veil

It’s gone—
it’s been torn in two.

Stop trying to mend
or stitch it back together.

Don’t attempt
to suspend it.

Down, down…its been removed.
Look, look at your naked self.
Remove the veil—
it can be ‘seen’ through anyway.

The only one not ‘seeing’
is YOU…

You see in others
the you that you pretend you’re not.

The veil’s gone—
see your shadows…
try making friends.

You may even start holding hands.

Confession

I’ve disappointed many
persons in my lifetime…
I’m certain I’ll
disappoint a few more.

NOT by conscious choice—
certainly not
…in fact, my entire being
has held the weight of
the voices letting me know
or not know by silencing
themselves from my world.

For those moments
I ask forgiveness—it was
all I had left.

Beaten—not by anyone else
BUT by me…I cried
and the Source of Life
pulled me to a place where
ONLY “we” were together.

Without words
I was held—
realizing “I” was allowing
the disappointments to erase
my goodness.

Is this a confession?
Hell, yes…
I vanished downward AND
found me—
found the me who is, was, and
always will BE—a creation
that moves, breathes and in my
lack of perfection, I
know NOW how to rise.

I don’t want what has
been to go away—
Still, I do not wish
to be seeped in it.

Like a burning flame—
The fire in my heart…
warm and tender.

I’ll share my embers from
time to time.
But, right now—
Yes, in this moment…
I sit ‘ALONE’—
Yet, NOT by myself, but
in this impregnable warmth.

Purpose

In a quiet room
she sits beside
her mother—
the last breath
shatters the silence
and she holds the
hand that once
held hers.

A man touches a
soft cloth to
his Beloved’s forehead.
Sixty-six years of
wedded bliss…
his wrinkled chin
touches her cheek.
He remembers their first
“I do” and cannot
imagine being anywhere
else in this moment.

A child
crippled from birth—
the parents take turns
and often work together
caring for their
‘seedling.’
The young one lets out
an utterance that no one
understands.
Still, the couple
embraces for they ‘hear’
the words.

Purpose…
You ask your purpose in life?
So many ‘seek’ to make
their mark…
To write their stories on the
pages of History…
To leave their works in
prestigious galleries…
To build their bank accounts
while never learning to breathe.

Find your purpose…
search your heart.
May you discover
it has ONLY been to Love.

(Dedicated to Mikey 1917-2005)