While Breath Is Yours

If you do not find love among the living,
Then do not expect to find it among the dead.
While your breath is yours to own,
Possess the chance with no delay.
Love is more than mere thought,
More than some ecstatic urge propelled,
But walks in union with intent, day to day,
Strung together as glorious string of pearls,
Pulls along long past making love slips away to sleep….
Shoulders, nape of neck enhanced with slow beauty,
Kissed until flushed cheeks are but reminder
The body is but garment of the larger soul.
 
If you cannot turn to walk arm in arm
Upon whichever empty streets you walk
In glorious city of this day… then dance,
Dance until you strangely burn,
Outer skin glowing with inner yearn
To know another and be known in turn,
Concentrating the universe upon one point
As you contemplate the Whole.

On Such A Glorious Day

On such a glorious day as this
It only takes the slightest breeze
To move the wheat in golden waves,
Swaying in measured dance,
Most often unnoticed by the eyes of Man.
 
On such afternoons, I neglect my book,
Placed in sunlight on the table,
Pages turned by reviewing winds
Speed reading four pages on a whim.
Uncomprehended, the breeze reconsiders,
Turns twelve pages back to read again.
 
Drowsily, I take my place in hammock
Under shade of shag-bark hickories,
Almost fall asleep but for the call of birds,
Alert, then falling into silence,
All the more profound…
They anchor lightly upon close branches overhead,
Then stir to flight, beyond my vision.
Perhaps I will dream of where they land.

What Makes Time Stop For You?

What makes you stop spinning—
Realize for just a moment or two
That you are completely still and still alive?
Is it when you smell the flowers at sunrise?
Is it while watching a glorious sunset?
Skiing down a steep mountainside
Knowing your life hangs in the balance?
Perhaps it’s simply a kiss on the lips….
 
Do you go all the way to bliss?
Have moments of clarity or luminosity?
How about hours or minutes when
You are just alive with who you are—
Right-now, nothing special, no big deal,
Ordinary awareness of your uniqueness?
 
I say start where you are.
How can you love the world
Without loving yourself?
Forget the expectations you’ll go very far.
Sometimes it’s just best to sit,
Take a few deep breaths and find yourself
Eternally in prayer….
 
You really don’t have to prove you’re good
Crawling on your knees in the dirt for twenty miles.
The world can stop and start anew every time you blink,
Just as your heart stops when you sneeze.
Open the window and feel the breeze,
Take deep breath and smell the scent
Blowing into your space, around the world,
Into the unity of the Universe.

She Taught My Heart to Bear the Grief

 We did not speak today.
Though my eyes have known
Bitter tears upon flushed cheeks,
She’s helped to teach
My heart to bear the grief….
Though I will never be content to
Own the pain nor love in vain.

Dreams still bring her lightest sigh.
Upon waking, her scent
Floats upon the air I drink….
See her standing there,
Eyes averted as she turns away,
Passes from room to room, avenged.
I cannot choose her doom….
Whatever scorn she holds is hers alone,
Her angry mind and hurting heart
Now home of wild shrine or heavy tomb.

Were she to smile and speak truly
From heart freed from chain or wheel,
Perchance she might know far better
Than true words alone impart
She is beloved and missed this day.

Absolved and Cleansed in the Rolling Mist

 Even in the twilight of these darkening years,
As all Earth trembles in the murky waters….
Earth continues to float free, spinning,
Revolving in its heavy weight, huge,
Clumsy, as though it is conscious
Of the dark burden of fate we now carry.
 
Still, she slices through weightless space,
Maintaining her deep calm, though
Uncertainty lingers within the silver fog—
Slicing and cutting like a plow through white-capped seas,
Heading we know not where toward eternity.
Perhaps it matters little whether we live our days
In morning light or twilight,
Whether we stand in direct sun or swallow the night
In passing dreams and lonely sighs.
 
What matters is whether we have a heart,
Whether we are aware of the mystery living about…
Surrounding all of nature’s slow march toward
Inevitable mercy— tears and unbearable yoke of fear
Cast aside in the glittering morning light of tomorrow’s day.
Whenever such need arises, overturn every stone on the path
To ensure the heart’s affections are not left behind—
Be bound to the poor, to the sick and dying shall the free heart
Be reconciled at last, casting aside whatever may anchor,
Allowing the rocking of the Infinite to gently
Absolve and cleanse in the rolling mist,
Endlessly drift in the river, drift downstream in the river.

So Much Once Concealed, Now Revealed

Today, I stand on my feet in the grass,
Look out upon the trees and the lake,
Bring back the footprints of last night’s dream,
Forms from the past that once have been,
Still remain reaching out deep within.
 
Standing besides the stream of Time,
Past and present now unite,
Flow on either side, flooding
Whatever shadows come on either side.
Here, new pathway appears,
Passing through the trees, the grass,
Emerging into greater light.
 
Clover reaches up to touch my feet,
Red blossoms tender and sweet
Upon green carpet of grass,
Lightly scented against the golden sun,
The morning sermon’s lasting prayer,
Seeping into soul and field,
Hovering clouds and blue sky,
So much once concealed, now revealed.

If I’m Distant from Breath, I Walk in the Woods

 Today, I walk among trees, slowly
I bow first to the oak on the left,
Then to whispering pines gathered on right,
Giving thanks to the elms for cool sheltering shade.
 
Never once have stalwart redwoods
Preached to me of sin nor done anything but sit in the light.
There’s a message of hope if I bow often enough,
Stay rooted in goodness of green Mother Earth.
 
At night if I’m caught in despair for the world,
If I’m distant from breath which sustains me in hope,
“Come sit,” says the willow down by the lake,
“Soak your feet for an hour.  Ease your burden and wait.”

Reproaching the Raven Eating the Squirrel

I stand by the side of the road,
Find myself reproaching the raven
Tearing apart the road-kill squirrel,
Feasting upon its entrails cast into the dirt,
While I stand there trying to explain to myself
Why life must end….
 
Do I hold deep inside my heart
Aversion to reality, like some child
Who buries head in the pillow,
Refuses to accept unpleasantness of winter?
Do I lack manly courage to stare down Death?
Can’t I steady the gun and pull trigger,
Bring down the six-pointed buck, and feel proud,
Love the blood that flows from the steak?
 
What is so sad at loss of beauty?  So what
If young buck never leaps through glade again?
Brave and hard is the soul that is able to face
Unpleasantness, to let events unfold as they must,
Watching as God must watch, never reproaching Himself
When infant is seized by white business of cancer.
I cry genuine tears, I curse the Creator, I scream
Pacing vacant rooms at night, see nothing
But empty clouds shedding snow from great height.
 
I am foolish and incompetent, want to instruct God
On how to make the world ideal— make ants less greedy,
Invent bees and wasps that fail to sting,
Fashion lions as vegetarians— always the critic,
Always the one who believes that Heaven
Should listen to the pleas of the dying.
 
I want to shut my eyes to God and
Make Love my god, caught as I am in the web,
Unable to hear the celestial music or be wise,
Not feel sad when I look up, watch the trees lose their leaves.
Must I pray to be at ease with Death, reconcile myself
To love inevitable forms of anguished endings?

Just Beyond the Reach

Would you like to go camping with me?
Let’s find a place off the beaten path,
Away from heat of the crowd,
Up in the mountains with a view of a lake.
 
We’ll pitch our tents and build a fire,
Talk deep into the night
About anything at all….
Not too many, just you and me,
Perhaps two or three others.
 
We won’t tell anyone where we’re going,
Just beyond the reach of cell phones,
Someplace where we know we’re alone.
We’ll pack our food and hike the woods,
Climb the path until at last
We know in the heart we’ve found the spot.
 
We’ll harmonize our souls with the world,
Awaken the senses in the cool night air,
On top of the world, way out there….
Where even the sound of waterfalls are still.

Coming to Rest Upon the Floor

Blacking out, I fell
Without a shadow of a doubt,
Hit the edge of kitchen cabinet
Before coming to rest upon the floor.
There was no fainting couch to catch me,
Remained unconscious on the ground
Full minute, or maybe two,
I failed to measure flow of spilled blood.
As I opened eyes, I had no idea who I was….
Slowly, only slowly did my name reappear.
 
Now I’ve joined elite club of fainters.
Mozart fainted several times in 1791,
Weeks before he died from building pressure
Of the music tightly coiled within his head,
Requiem moving through his veins,
Notes swelling slowly as Adagio,
Flimsy chamber of his hallowed skull
Cracking under strain… clarinet parts lost
 Forever under either lust or dust.

Freud fainted in 1912 when he discovered
Jung omitted his name in a publication,
Felt wiped out by his anointed prince.
Jung picked him off the floor,
Cradled him in his arms, gently
Removed him from the room.
Sigmund awoke to see Carl’s smiling face.
Did he sense a death wish behind Jung’s eyes?
 
Singing “My Way”, Sinatra crashed to the floor,
Midphrase in Richmond, 1994, doctors rushing to the stage.
He woke accompanied by rapturous applause,
Pale skin no happenstance, frail health again
Suspicious cause when head hits floor,
Consciousness arrested for a minute, maybe two.
But what are we to do?
 
Some lives are laminated with foreboding absence
Long into Midsummer’s Night,
Episodes of lapsing night more or less displaced,
Minutes not fully lost except by faintest touch—
The whole arrangement an early warning.
It made me ponder what is lost at death,
When sounds begin to go over greater distance.
Who among us really knows?