Monday, September 14, 2015

So You

So you did ask me
to sum you all up 
in the sparsest of
words and you did give
me the grand gesture:

{A, Not-A}.

As if that were not
well enough you kept
pestering me to
spell you all out till
you filled me with this:

Life’s a lark, if dark.

Now if you don’t mind
you may as well take 
your words and give them 
to whomever you 
do please to nag next . . .

you leave me alone.

Where I guess I am
in every case and
surely would not mind
if you would only
take away your words . . .

leave me empty mind.

Not ungrateful I
do appreciate
your being alone
all one and wanting
daunting company . . . 

so You, I leave words.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

Light Consciousness

The light of every sun is
but a glimmer of the Sun
that doth never rise or set,
just each thing, its sacred spark . . .
like the bug I marked this morn
crawling cross the office floor.

I placed the wee critter down
on the front porch en route to 
the yard for Sunday’s paper, 
so on the return I had
to check my soles to see if
I’d stepped on it unawares.

Nothing there, this did play out
a scene the previous night 
when another spark of that 
Sun had landed on my chest 
to rest and, startled, I did 
with forefinger smite the mite.

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Grand Humble Now, Here

Just when I think I

have seen every thing

I fail to notice 

the very thing that

keeps me in my place—

humble moment’s spur

ever spiraling 

nowhere to be seen.

Friday, September 11, 2015

{You, World}

There is nothing you

are not, being not 

a thing by yourself.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

After Krishnamurti

Being a vain beast
you often demand
the world be like you.

How odd, the proud search
for lookalikes leads
to joining-up with

tribe or tradition,
doctrinal trappings
that sure do follow.

Begging freedom you
settle for bondage
among the masses

paying scant notice
to the tie that binds
by setting you free—

Behold, {you, your world}.

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Faltering Recall

If you live with a
person who is not
you, there will be this:

sooner or later
you will remember
some event one way

and the other will
recall another . . .
and if you are not

attentive you may
find yourselves yelling
at one another.

Living together
is at best a walk 
in the darkest park.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

The Giver

Words are given me
but to give away.

I have only with 
the words to fiddle

till they make music
to my ear . . . even

if they befuddle
readers with riddles.

I sure mean no harm,
only to stop mind

from its old track of
perseveration . . .

so to leave some trace 
of the trackless track.

Monday, September 7, 2015

The Given

In the yard yanking
weeds from the walkway,
I saw a neighbor
and we exchanged words.

Hey neighbor, he said.
How art thou, I said.
Better than deserved:
but what I heard was,

It is sweet to serve.
Either way's a gift,
he and I agreed,
as I left the weeds

for another day
so to retire from
the heat and return
to making poems.

Which allows me this:
I act-u-ally 
do not make poems, 
I’m but their ally.

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Where the Wild Things Are

Every demon is
an angel disguised
if, but only if,
there be realized
implications for
growth, applications
of the moment’s spur.

I can remember
being a demon:
mean to another,
and what I learned is
worth my weight in gold—
I can do the thing 
worst, that I can think.

Saturday, September 5, 2015

Utter Love

To utter love is
to love utterly . . .

accepting all things
without exception . . .

each emanation
completely embraced . . .

every nuance of
resistance relaxed . . .

all opposites come
refined apposites . . . 

so it doth be done
once in a blue moon . . .

still, so it doth be 
every moment’s spur.

Friday, September 4, 2015

At Times Like This

At times like this when
a friend needs me to
share her birthday with . . .
I’m washing my hair.

Else preoccupied
with some other thing
so miss, once again,
a chance to hug her.

At times like this I
lean on Facebook posts
where every photo
reminds me, that could

be my arm in hers—
holding Francie’s leash,
marrying couples,
(burying corpses) . . .

sharing a drink or
a grandchild’s laughter
or some music fest
at Laughing Horse Lodge . . .

in fact, her wedding
a return yearly
to celebrate that

one moment in time
when a twoless twine
illumines the dark
and love whispers, Thine.

At times like this I
miss being there but 
must ooh and aah for 
feeling being . . . here.

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Time Out

I take time out to:

feel the timeless spur
of the  bliss of now . . .

clear up the cobweb
of a confused mind . . .

clean up the bias
of a broken heart . . .

extend the practice 
of a poor spirit . . .

thus I take time out.

Wednesday, September 2, 2015


Religious admonitions
involve recognition of

some abiding truth about
the welfare of all people

followed by the reminder
to trust truth enough to mind

its light on life’s plight, delight.
Just so, life is short, one’s death 

can come on the moment’s spur:
here, now . . . when least expected—

so each one must come to see
through the eye of everyone

so to feel from the heart’s depths 
the way to the commonwealth.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015


Often I’ve contemplated
death, without praying for it.

Often I’ve prayed for better
health, not knowing the result.

Often I’ve known how best to 
act, without behaving just.

Often I’ve behaved after
thought, not doing what I ought.

Often I’ve done just what I
ought, without feeling ’twas right.

Often I’ve felt my deeds were
right, not seeing any good.

I do see life is fleeting, 
not a thing lasts forever.