Concerted effort *
Turtle shells *
Play *
All My Horses *
A Shrine *
Speaking Terms *
Plucked Weeds *
Snow *
Night *
Halloween *
Pictures *
Electronics *
Release *
Mediums *
Spring *
In Spite Of Us *
Awareness *
Fields *
Apostrophe *
The Sweater *
Yawn *
Cats *
His Face *
The Room *
Art *
Bubble Bath *
Something Else *
Cadence *
Those Leaves *
Sun *
Concerted effort
If only he'd play the damn thing.
He might be a Mozart.
I know he's a child but still,
I want him to learn
the freedom of concerted effort.
He is being taught however,
the power
of a few well placed tears.
They will always,
get him what he wants.
Always.
I hope his childishness
is a childhood stage.
Something that will get him some
attention,
some applause,
something that has a curtain.
Turtle shells
Playing Peek-a-Bo is something we've
all
gotten good at.
The ways in which we hide are as
different
as turtle shells are
and often as pretty.
Sometimes I think animals are good
examples
of human inner states,
like turtles and their shells.
Peek-a-Bo was the first game
we ever mastered.
Wide-eyed means different things
now.
Play
Play has its ears open
for playmates.
Play is behind
the scenes.
Play springs up
where rules have been let down.
Desks are useful at work -
even more useful at play.
(Imagine all those drawers
filled with toys.)
Kids play.
Grownups work.
All My Horses
It's the law:
Light makes shadow.
Light gives body to voice.
That voice, and no other, makes
all
my horses stop.
It breaks the wildest ones,
making them safe to ride.
Because of that voice,
the light has substance.
That voice gives flesh and blood,
to the light.
Before the voice had body, it had
power,
like stopping horses.
Horses have minds of their own.
Those minds shine,
(the way lights do).
Lights dim or go out.
They may or may not shine.
Lights and horses
can be very temperamental.
A Shrine
When matter is emotion
then these things:
a tree trunk
(stretching from floor to ceiling)
a frame,
(the weight it puts on the trunk),
in a corner of the forest,
(thanks to the wallpaper)
are surely love.
Oh the patience!
Oh the painstaking calculations!
Oh the physical understandings!
Perfection has many faces.
So does love.
Our little boy is totally unaware of
his bedroom shrine.
Speaking Terms
Farmers and weeds
aren't exactly on speaking terms.
Farmers pull proudly
on their overall straps
(having pulled weeds),
as if they had some important part to
play
in the drama.
We know differently.
If that horizon is any measure of
acceptance,
then a farmer might have a glint of
that
in his eye.
Wanting to weed the south forty
and then having it rain
and then having a week of "thens"
makes for a fine crop of acceptance.
Each and every time a weed pulled
back
when a farmer tried to yank it out,
could be something like
a bud of acceptance.
Farmers are lucky to have weeds
to come up against.
Pulling weeds might mean
a whole lot of acceptance
wrapped-up into a simple tug.
Plucked Weeds
Happy are the plucked weeds
for they have been touched.
(The person who touched them
was covered with grass stains.)
Contentedly they lie
in a well-worn, straw basket.
See how their tiny breasts rise and
fall.
They've all got smiles on their faces.
The sun shines on them.
They don't want to be any place other than where they are.
Snow
White everywhere!
That muffled noise is a truck
reduced by white.
There is little movement,
and it's not any bigger
than its sound.
Ambitious gestures fall into white.
They are well dressed but
even-tho each gloved finger
points away,
we know what's of interest.
Details come and details go.
All those particulars
can crowd an otherwise peaceful
scene.
(Sometimes peace doesn't get
the job done.)
Sometimes snow routes become useful
details,
(any other time they're just more
signage).
Those (and all the) particulars
represent choices made.
Everything
(from fabrication to utilization)
is in there.
That truck, that glove, that sign
are all man-made,
and the people that made them
are all walking histories of choices.
The people using them
chose them out of innumerable
possibilities.
There are no two flakes alike.
Each flake can also be
part of a drift.
That truck needs help getting thru
the drift.
Gloved hands can make for good
snowballs.
That sign has an interesting "w".
I love it all.
Night
Air,
the cool breath of it
bursts out against the night sky.
The stars blink,
as if they're friendly.
They look small,
but looks can be deceiving.
For a moment, I can imagine a time
when the night sky
filled a person with wonder.
Now,
its blank.
I'm not complaining.
We've all made choices.
There's not a single, other mammal
on the face of this planet,
that's got anything even close to choice.
Halloween
Tread lightly lest I break.
Keep that fan close to your face,
except your eyes,
for they are filled with humor
and every now and then, they flash.
All these people milling about,
dressed-up for the masquerade,
putting on delicious airs
and allowing their costumes
to work magic.
A friend says that any change,
(when wearing a costume),
is inevitable.
It's True!: "Clothes make the man".
Pictures
Well...here they are.
Just look at them.
Leaves and pink flowers all around.
Those blades of grass on alert,
are aglow with internal suns,
thousands of them!
There's a cave,
cool and dark and over there.
Even in there, in the deepest, darkest
part of Africa,
a picture's still worth a thousand
words.
Electronics
Anything serves as a focal point
and often does.
Take that speaker. It's small but, what the hell,
I was raised on small -
small speakers, small AM.
The music it emits
hits
all my buttons.
My son David,
pays close attention to you,
because he wants to know you.
(So go ahead and feel flattered.)
The music he emits, hits
all my buttons too.
Paying close attention to him or
those speakers,
serves as a focal point.
They (those speakers)
sit pertly on my desk.
My son is being raised on small things
too,
like small radios.
We sit perfectly still -
pertly -
waiting to be useful.
Release
Release of pent-up emotions
happens all the time.
For some of us,
just taking a long walk
thru a forest of leafy scrub oak,
under a midnight blue sky,
is all it takes.
Others dance
to music that they like,
whatever it is.
Be it long walks or dancing,
moments are always provided
for release.
It might happen because of loosing
oneself
to something, anything.
What it is matters only
to the person doing the loosing.
With all of the possibilities out there,
there are still those people who
shuffle along,
instead of taking well defined steps.
Mediums
The perfection of the universe
is way beyond mere,
mortal
accuracy.
Even the biggest and best computers
don't hold a candle
to its brilliance.
Artists, musicians, writers, sculptors, dancers, poets, etc.,
all have
and in their own way,
(using the medium of their choice),
tried to express it.
Spring
It's here!
All of Spring's little engines
invisibly push buds
into leaves,
at the ends of empty branches,
that recently held snow.
Each miraculous bud -
(and there are many of them!) -
becomes a leaf of some kind.
In Spite Of Us
Sure! I pay lip-service
to "I'm one with the universe" thing.
But I only go so far,
and then something else takes over -
fear.
You know it. I know it. We all know it.
It hides in imaginings
and has a voice, like a cackle.
(I'm truly amazed
that as much gets done as does,
in spite of us.)
If it were up to us,
we'd never amount to much.
Awareness
The beauty of those buds
becoming leaves on a tree,
with its dark brown bark,
is a huge exclamation point!
(There's a candor in showing-off
what's obvious.)
That tree doesn't have an image
of itself to uphold;
it's got absolutely no awareness
of the bird,
choosing that particular branch,
out of all the others,
to alight upon.
Awareness is human.
Some of us would if we could,
(I'm sure!),
put on wings
and fly around.
Imagine -
having only the sky above.
Fields
Cultivated fields
lay plush as far as the eye can see.
They are warm and snug carpets,
with patches of color.
Picture perfect! Photo ready!
Quiet follows sound.
Sometimes you notice something
only by its absence.
No birds are around;
neither is there any sound.
Quiet happens in the presence of
stillness.
Apostrophe
Any way you look at it -
we're stuck here, 'till we're finished.
Humanity, you know - that evolution
thing - has been at this here
for billions of years.
We've had all kinds of diversions.
Look at all the interesting things
we've learned and made!
We've learned how to make tools
and use fire.
We're the Crown of Creation.
(If only we'd remember.)
The Sweater
Gifts, candles, cake -
these things spell Birthday,
Knitting a sweater -
stitch one - pearl two,
formless becomming form.
All the days that make up a year and all the moments that make up a day,
burn brilliantly in one,
single
candle.
Neat and compact.
Eventho that yarn that was a mess
at the start,
with a stitch one and a pearl two,
it became a something,
a sweater.
Thank God for grandmas
and yarn.
Thank God too!, that with all that
droppage,
it makes it to this Birthday.
Yawn
Sure!
I can do this -
this making "something out of
nothing" thing.
God did it.
He does it all the time.
Take galaxies for instance.
Talk about something from nothing!
Sure there's all that dust and stuff
but hey...
didn't I do that?
So, I must've started somewhere.
Some Big Bang or something.
Homage - Adoration -
it doesn't matter to Me.
The only thing that matters
is anti-matter.
(little joke there.)
Seriously, that whole damn time thing
is a joke.
Beginning and ending are,
TO ME AT ANY RATE :),
just precise forms of definition.
Nothing more.
Too bad 'bout all the effort
that has gone into those watch things tho.
Cats
Cats want out.
All they want
is out.
They'll use whatever it takes
to get out.
They're in for their own good.
Otherwise they could be road-kill.
And we wouldn't want that,
now would we?
We've got them at heart.
Cats are like people -
when they've got a want
they spring for it
like an open door.
(Maybe cats are too limiting as a species for metaphorical usage.)
Cats, dogs, birds, humans.
We've all got our wants and needs and
Purr, yip and sing
'till we get them.
His Face
His face
had very expressive eyes
and a shock of dark brown hair.
His eyes were the color of his hair.
But what was really interesting
were his teeth.
To say they were misshapen
would be grossly unfair
to just how large they were.
I kinda felt guilty about any staring
I might've done,
but I couldn't help it.
Imagine
the childhood
he must've gone thru!
The Room
The rose pirouettes in its vase.
A beautiful centerpiece.
The rosewood table, in the center of
the room, reeks rich glow.
The chairs in the four corners,
as well as at table are for anybody
to sit in.
Light
from the large window streams
into the room.
With the shades up,
and the curtains back,
the scene has weight
by what the light doesn't touch.
The house is quiet.
The house is still.
Art
Anything can be or,
with enough attention,
become
Art.
Just look at the words -
shape, mold, make, paint, -
and the countless other words
used to describe the process by which
the details of a life
are elevated to an "art form".
Details tell stories
of countless hours,
countless days,
countless tiny, little surrenderings.
We appreciate them all
and raise them all to Art.
(Sure you can if you want,
mumble something about talent.)
Talent
is simply allowing the material,
whatever it is,
to work its magic
thru
you.
Bubble Bath
Here I lay in
the soft, white foam.
Did I mention how soft
it is? The bubble gel works its magic
fingers
luxuriously smoothing out my hard skin
under the water.
These round, little bubbles float
serenely on a surface
broken only by a leg here
and, oh, another one over there.
Something Else
Patience means different things
to different people.
But it always boils
down to allowing
something else to happen
other
than what was intended.
Now, if you need a little something,
anything,
to put you in the mood
for a little letting go,
then by all means go get it.
There's no rush.
Where it really matters -
is timeless.
Some people tap their fingers
on the arms of their chairs,
others breath a sigh.
Some folks shift their weight,
others take a step back.
Whatever it is
they're all
allowing something else to happen.
Cadence
My mom was no saint.
She could talk rings around
anybody.
If you couldn't figure out
what you thought,
she'd be more than willing
to let you think her thoughts
were yours.
But I love her. Without her constant
harangue, I'd be rudderless.
No really! I'd be drifting
out to sea.
She had this really remarkable way
with words -
God love her -
that was if anything, poetic.
Without any effort,
her sentences had internal rhythm.
Now, even as I struggle with writing,
I find that the more I give myself room (metaphorically),
the better are my words
at describing the room I'm in,
thanks to her.
Those Leaves
The tops of those oak trees,
(really their leaves),
shimmer soundlessly in the sun.
I imagine that their shadows
lay in the exact opposite direction
from the sun and
where it hits their trunks.
Eventho seeing is often believing,
nothing compares to the pictures
in our heads.
Those shimmering leaves,
(only to those who've cared enough to look),
are offering themselves up for interpretation.
Just about any interpretation would be as useful as any other,
a beach, a mountain top, wires, a book,
music,
anything!
as a catcher for the human heart.
And just like the sunshine shining
on those leaves
and that whole event of interpretation,
the making of shadows,
so too does the human heart.
Sun
Whether the sun shines or not,
it doesn't matter,
for the birds still fly from their nests
looking for food.
While that is being done, busy insects
bother with their incessant scraping
and clawing
looking for food.
All the morning noises
make a general din.
Believe it or not!
there is comfort here!
in all this mindless activity.
Call it what you will,
there is absolutely no sentiment
in that mommy bird's putting
hard won food
into her chicks' upturned beaks.
None!
Comfort and sentiment are purely human things,
and don't line the nest
as well as pieces of wool.
