the world is a wonder
we hold light to what we know
seeking flowers seeking something
expecting rain between rainbows
if I were a sharp blue pencil
I’d draw a wall of moon windows
so I could witness your star’s arrival
mouth the sound as the wind blows~
begin with a question
how can we relate
there is no barrier between
silence and possibility
except to notice the opening
and deciding where it is
we go from here~
are you having a good day?
did you go to church this morning?
a young man with glasses and a satchel
asked of me last Sunday
in the amber light of a parking garage
a fluid and friendly exchange
if slightly unexpected and strange
I answered it was an excellent day
and returned the question to him
I said of course I did, first thing
adding: “did you?”
he wanted to know what church
so I gave him this answer too
then we parted on the windy street
I to a film about Mary Oliver
he to the next one in line~
still beauty
held breath
pure moments
no promise
to stay~
Quiet, the nasturtium
reaches from the crown
a corner of serenity
safe from night winds
and lunching wildlife
filtered sunlight
just enough to nurture
colours and waves
Buddha smiles
forgiving us our neglect
the harm of winter’s cold
a cheek scar like a river
contained and useful
caressed by a single
soft stem~
inhale this next moment
next frame ready on the exhale
never to meet yet aware
of their codependence
this cyclical continuum
forward motion a lit ferris wheel
infinity forever on the moist lip
of each horizon
visible through the haze half
imagined half intuitive knowledge
perpetuity just out of reach
is it faith
keeps us upright
stepping forward into future’s path
sometimes clear often not
a barely audible whisper beckoning
drawing us forth with promises
vague but enticing enough
augmented by our curiosity
conjured hope or delusions
inhale this moment and sometimes
pause
exhale into the next adventure
shedding the already gone
past slips away like petals in the wind
forward forward
this life is a one way street
experience our scenic flow from
a window of a passenger train
breathe in deep then let go
forward forward
backstepping only leads to
the grave~
soft light
slow down rainy nights
homegrown~
it was me
and my
long straw broom
a hot house room
and butterfly
because we met
because flowers bloom
one of us
can still fly~
I am sitting on damp ground
in my ragged garden with light rain
There is something kinda peaceful
in gardens when spring’s all around
A robin—maybe the same I’ve seen—
lands graceful and soft for a drink
From down low my noticing is keen
look at the single blooming black violet
See how white sage has emerged again
yarrow’s leaves lift and fall like wings
Old chime in the juniper is rusting
but its song’s still subtle sweet
For all these gifts of life I am grateful
quieting voices of conflict and rage
I wish for everyone a space of garden
to be alone awhile with the solace of light rain~
conversations sometimes
begin in the eyes
someone asking if it’s okay
to say something say anything
to a stranger maybe
who won’t turn away
this world can feel so lonesome
losers and winners collide
each one clearly identifies
believes what heads and shoulders say
about features they need to recognize
their own kind
See me in the mirror
I know who I am
See me at the bus stop waiting
a fellow passenger
one more hood-eyed ragged man
I met a father looking for his son
I met a woman who threw away
her chance she said
she knew she’d only have one
We are passers on these streets
fearful of who or what
we might meet
Poets roam the in between
hands in pockets heads in word stream
Listen for whispers
catch a fragment of your dreams
Neither above nor below
human frailties trail like streamers
in a perpetual human parade of floats
Seekers without answers
Wanderers without maps
Collectors of visions
Imagining meaning
Defying surrender as an option
Believers in Wonder
Connectors of Spirit
Temporary guides holding the hands
of fellow travellers
temporarily stalled on the side
of the freeway
Mumbling aloud our inadequate lines
scribbled on ragged pages
ritual practice over and again
Attempts to explain or to expel
our cumulative awkward nature
To shatter its power
To shift the boulder in the trail
To nudge the harbinger’s shadow
To strike the first note of the song
How to navigate the chasm—
the high wire between starlight
and the abyss~