Bohemian waif

Inner cinema montage

deep echoing adventures,

strikes of color, light, paralysis

held in violent emotion.

A mere babe runs away across

a busy street, hiding beneath bushes,

because she could, demanding

independence.

Dark city nights, hugged to

myself, alone

Walking through brick and mortar

shadows,

past trashcan fires, street community.

Thumb out, shivering icy roads,

or flooded highways, bare foot

scorching desolate insomniac

miles.

Haunted explorations, led by that

fantasy aura obfuscating rational view.

Mini romances that cut through,

ashy

Across smoking stone overpass,

high to high school AP exam where

the words floated from rakish eye to

#2 pencil, an array of imprinted

history.

Lying in the garden on cotton,

tasting boysenberry yogurt,

hoping the world disappears,

ends here where the bullied

anxiety won’t follow.

Quiet now …

I’ll tell you more on morrow

only Money matters

 
 
 
not life of any color, creed, species,
years on Earth
not Earth
or any Universe
not love or fun, not hate or pain
or pain’s relief
not death or grief
not work that means a better future
strived for or a better now of peace,
creative play
We have given all of value away,
only give heed to
this one devised deity man made
to keep other people at bay

Playing

Curled up inside, becoming me who lives
within this song
where all it makes me yearn for is mine.
Playing
A simple song
with words that hurt like memories
lilting tune to carry you along
somehow devastating me
playing again and again
taking me over
reliving those moments
the music exposes,
back there and then
while drifting through now.

this side of the veil

This random holiday we call life
can feel tricky, a mystery to be
unveiled through daring travels
that map our trails.
   *
Blessings of memories, to feel
again and still
winters’ brutal chill,
blanketed, in warmth –  cocoa, love
of family discovered,
within healing web of friends.
*
This Side of the Veil
*
As I grow older, so many beloved people disappear,
beyond the veil, they say, into a better place
of endless peace.
We find ourselves here in life, each with our mission,
skills realized as we advance along our separate paths
that lead to the same destination, that shimmering veil
we can’t perceive beyond, screen upon which we paint
silhouettes of mystery.
Traveling winding paths, we meet, become, with time,
beloved, joined in gifts, fears, celebrations.
Who we are expands through inclusion, evolves
greater awareness, entwines bonds to humanity.
*
It’s this side of the veil where we choose who
those we leave behind will remember us to be.
It’s this side of the veil where we may
worship Earthly blessings, days to dance with
the Sun, come together to face mysteries,
dark nights to raise above;
where we devise solace of humor, simple fun,
the rush of touch.
It’s this side of the veil where we wonder,
play out mosaic stories, sing ritual reflections,
dance madly stretching, find inside our rendition
of humanity, express each our special light
along the line.
And this side where ultimate grief resides.
This side where we choose to pretend or truly
make amends for careless ignorance, mad cruelty,
take active stand against spreading pain and
dangerous lies.
It’s this side, here in our hands, crackling through
our imaginations, vast possibilities as yet unseen,
ours to grasp while hands we have.
*
Do you know those moments closer to the veil,
revealing shadow dance through sacred space,
liminal embrace of ecstatic empathy when
vibrations echo, reverberate, send ripples dancing
through the veil?
*

flower moon meditation

flower moon
 
 
 
I will be fine.  We will be fine.
Every manner of thing will be fine.
Heavens of sunshine will open and flow
through our homes, through our souls,
through our Earth.
Life giving water will hydrate the fields,
replenish the lakes and streams,
delight our throats and skin,
revivify mirth and hope.
Throw all your cares into fresh air;
dance to a rousing tune.
What is the point of this time if we’re
always dying, denying true being?
What can we answer when asked:
What did it mean?  What did you see?
Running in panic, not for the fun
of feeling legs rise and fall.
Running away as if there is somewhere
to go.
Stop.  Take stock.  Breathe inspiration.
Do the real work that needs to be done.
Work smart, not hard; merge work with fun.
Find the folks whose humor works with yours
and share the chores, like child’s play.
Day by day by day, we will be fine.
Every manner of thing will be fine.
I will be fine.

A Call to Russian Soldiers

A Call to Russian Soldiers:
Why do you kill these people
who try to defend their homes,
or escape your hellfire?
What lie can you have been caught
by that would allow such brutality?
See the grievous terror you have wrought,
are still wreaking.
What can you plea as explanation,
excuse?
How can you continue to make Hell
on earth continue, ripped into this 
bloodbath of destruction, when you,
brave kind you,
could choose, use your might
to reclaim sanity, to save the world?
*
*
[“what if they gave a war, and nobody came?”]

muted

muted
It’s a picturesque New England Winter scene
out there; and in here, with the cat curled
asleep on my lap.
I write by light of BBC News (muted),
when the tv gets bright enough to see
me making green pen streaks on the
white blank page.
I ignore the stories of raging discontent,
dis-association of societies,
a seeming mad panic.
It is a dark and quiet Winter night,
unfit for battle, or bitter dreaming.
1/16/22

  Patrilineal

Patrilineal
My father died when he was younger than I am now.
My younger brother, who was a father, is also gone
from our lives.  How do I reminisce, make them real
again in my mind?
People who were tall and strong to a younger me;
people I could count on to keep their word, honor
responsibilities.  Able to unbend into happy
foolishness, extend stories to take me where I
would not have known to be.
But that’s all about me.  Can I see them each as
men of their own?
My dad as a young man was dashing, convivial
in company, serious about the task at hand, a
well-reasoned thinker with a facility for speaking
with passion.  He had a buoyancy, a charm.
He would, with good humor, relate how when he
was dating my mom, my grandmother did not approve.
She suggested my mom cook for him, a job she knew
my future mother could not successfully do.
“The burgers were burnt.  Who noticed?” he would
quip, love shining in his sure blue eyes.
The Navy tales, where he won World War II in the
South Pacific, while youngest on the ship – like
when on leave, though quite sick, he went out drinking
with his pals, and would ever insist he was cured by
the alcohol.
On a happy whim he would whistle or play jaunty
tunes on his harmonica.
He loved to argue as an exercise in logic, often
espoused less popular views.
Unconvinced by religion, he would suggest our
Universe might exist on the back of a giant fish.
(His father’s family founded a church in Europe and
again when they emigrated to the USA, that
preached a radical Hellfire Christianity.)
He grew up poor and abused, never used as an
excuse, but as impetus to do well.
And what of little brother, born into my life
when I was so young; gone so long before I’m
done discovering who he was.  A precious
blue-eyed son, eager to engage, to play, to join
in games.  Fascinated by financial math,
collecting coins.  Learning his world working for
pay from an early age.  Growing tall and strong,
bright and athletically inclined, a golden child he
seemed in those early years, blessed with lifelong
friends to be.
Later years he appeared to live within a quiet
wisdom, extruded from confusions, fears, disease,
life’s exigencies, in the years between.   tbc
* *  *  *  *
Two old men in Heaven, at ease under the World Tree,
share musings of philosophy, their darkest nights,
coldest days.  Was Nietzsche right?
Did life amaze us with frightful beauty?
Did we survive precious trials to reap rewards, treasure
we could never find without misfortune as clever guide
inspiring new strategies to form?
Deafening nightmares, desperate storms,
brave rainbows, peaceful dawns.
Two old men, weathered, withered, wise.
Listen, be risen, by the gentle smiles we remember
in their envisioned eyes.

Epiphany ’22

Epiphany ’22
*
*
I am not nice.
I don’t believe in a special
sacredness of human life.
I do believe it stupid and insane
to regularly kill each other, be
our own worst enemy.
That’s why we need government —
rule of law.
But, just enough governance to
keep us from harming our fellows,
and planet, as well as we can.