a question
is posed..
touted as
most pressing as
our century unfolds:
Who am I..?

a phrase and cliche
proposes to reply
through the back door:
those talking-points
sometimes official
often serve to accuse..

the accuser
points to those points..
derides the masking
of original I am..
sad choice to repeat
health to reveal..

those points have
not just arrived..
dogmas of old
others brand new..
a sage once prescribed:
self-reliance on

Whim...!

this morning
this title introduced
through some separate
synchronous readings..
the question right now
how might patience
assist with this poem..

might it be
better to stop
stop writing just now
allow some gestation
some quiet perhaps..
resume in minutes,
or hours or weeks..?

hesitation quite brief
and rough writing began..
still the end
that distant goal
an insistent completion
seemed to delay
blocking the flow..

did a fear arise
prompted by
a finish out there..
that this poem will
never find ending..?
will likely end
as discard and refuse..

a walk.. reliable antidote..
there does seem
in those sometimes
an effortless flow..
other times
impatience a mooring
so patience might grow..?

we start early
peering around..
the desk and chair
a solid nightstand
tire pressures
wheels always round..

much later moments
a fleeting glimpse
from deepened despair..?
the edge of a shore
the evening twilight
definite something more..

then at last
we reclaim our past
this new vantage
a clearing light
immersed and within..
yet not entirely
our own...

a simple shape
a foundation
our stability
our confident strength..
but ask we must
ask how sufficient
for our lives in
these disturbing years..
is now our time
is our honored square
more dependable
in a new light..?

dare we let go
disconnect those corners
allow the four lines
to drift as they may..?
one mae become bold
more solid
more dark..
another fades to
a slim beam of light..

the other two
lack decision right now
end up comfortably
somewhere between..
then we notice
we cannot distinguish
which line dark
and which light..
seeming becomings
before our eye..
is our square
strong as before...?

a foreboding
photograph
startles to memory
our war's beginning..
this named entanglement
darkened and dampened
the frivolity
the expected brevity
of our war with ourselves..
a blood soaked becoming
of machinery and death..

the foreground a
cannon on wheels
replicated in the distance
and we assume
again and again..
these engines of conflict
dominate a distant
'tho insistent background..
the sun's
fiery reflection on
an expectant treeline..
coupled with sky
turbulent and echoing
the cannon's
forthright entrance
with purpose unmasked..

this our battle of
separation for reunion
a Manassas pattern
oft repeated through
all of these
our rebirthing years..
flanking and horses
surprise encircling
a wall of stone..
agony and sorrow
the fever of war..
all to reframe
then to restate
our collective.. sacred
I Am...

we each
have our own
dispositions..
leaning we say
mostly one way..
one relishes variety
another finds home
in sparser places..
in those
high thin clouds
afar and away..

evolution now
seems to demand
that one and another
plan for travel..
recognizing at last
that one and another
are found deep within..
hastening then
to become the other
then with joy
return again...

we seem
on rising each morning
to plan our day
to choose best paths
for reaching
each evening..

then we listen
as the wise ones say
our histories are
is not was..
time really eludes..
maps with paths
drawn before morning..

how then
might we choose..?
recognize the paradox
is this our real
and glorious
choice...?

imaginations
when left adrift
sometimes
lose a grounding
essential to health..
how might these
far flung meanderings
be grasped
and tempered within..?

when we Associate..
delightful similarities found
those differences also..
unities spring forth
somehow easing
anxieties of living..
stress retreats
and released health
trickles in...

this new forked division
attractive to the majority..?
unattractive to the minority..?
perhaps not at all...
hopefully the birth
of a healthy recognition..
all must acknowledge
a significant new
red and blue creation..
our common fleeting glimpse
of momentary Reality..
which is
feeding back
even just now
into the Light...

We do not
wish to be
accused of this..
an awkwardness
failure in life
mumbling our message
speech that's flawed..
our balance upset
falling and slipping..

but what of
those mistakes
those stumbles which
change our path..?
what of those
new insights
we stumble upon..?
a discovery made
when the normal
expected..?
when only our
stumbling could have
led to gold...?

A breeze with a
chilling edge
contrasting a cliffside's
bright reflection
a passing appearance
of warmth of the sun..
the flowing breeze
cold boulders another
downward flowing
from some
early eruption..

this afternoon walk
surveying my notes
suggestions of descent..
sunlit high cliffs  
wearing shadows of pines..
streaked cloud patterns
joining bare branches
pressing downward
this merging of lines..

descent of the leaves
all fell in past weeks
now grinding to dust
by cycles and feet..
and then
an encircling band
the sunset
red horizon all around
without hesitation
ringing the town..

November descends
this once more...

It is reported
that all reality
is composed of
innumerable patterns of
similarity and difference
all streaming from
a common source
a Formula most simple..

is our modern role
one of discovery..?
the patterns we seek
lying in wait..
our need now
to find a new eye
new vessels..
building up
our inner
resemblances...?

when she reaches
that V in the road..
we wonder
is her freedom found
in the choosing
or the choice..?
if she chooses choosing
she is not free
for the other choice..
if she chooses choice
making no choice
ends her choosing..

does the V itself
contain the secret
the freedom she seeks..?
that V point
containing all choices
might accompany
inspire and energize..
on her chosen path
she remembers
and becomes once more
again and again
that point...

in the Old West
territory a name
of the uncharted
a resistance to order..
Old Colorado City
capital for only
five days then
territory reasserted..

in our imagination
territory encloses both
danger and freedom..
these lurking together
sharpen senses
energies renewed..
we need examine
where we are
standing just now..
is this the territory
we must become...?

Each of us
views the world
with colored glasses..
the colors come
from a creative
splitting..
or some prefer
a filtering of
light..
When our colors
are matched
outside
we find our kin
when not
the other..
a gorgeous system
from a lighter
perspective...

a perfect
superstorm
it is called..
rare hurricane
tides and arctic cold..
converging
constrictions to life..
anger  and blame
coloring
bitter divisions of
political discourse..
meeting 2012 expectations
some say..
environmental neglect
say others..
are these dark layers
superficial
life on edge
masking new birth...?

returning
to the place..
to remembered beds
and nourishing breakfasts..
home of
our growing years..
this one nestled
in imponderable
Animas mountains..
these reflections
of an autumn retreat
now daily receding
into November bleak..

a white bench
vantage by streamside
afforded absorption of
the stream's flickering lights..
and later reflected
by a ridgeline full moon
decorating the dining..
life friends together
celebration and renewal
of many good years..

a white bench
also gathered reflections
from distant heights
where nighttime chills
painted evergreen and aspen
setting lanterns aglow..
the glow casting shadows
on the valley's red cliffs
those red markers of our
formative days..

a white bench
now gathered the sounds..
an old train's
whistled announcements
evening and morning..
a reminder of time
enclosed in this
valley of stillness
which we were favored
knowing once more..

a white bench
gathered the guests
from distances afar..
their life glows
and shadows
in conversations revealed..
overlaying past
with present..
end and beginning..
Logwood
we returned...

Much in doing..
all the trip planning
detailed itineraries
of course, maps
without which
we are surely lost..
distances and times
contingency insurance..

What of all this
preparation..?
much effort dedicated
to here and there..
if we could
locate ourselves
on the roads between..
there we find
no places and times..
freedom arrives
ourselves the
destinations...

pick the strange
the absurd
investigate that
we are advised..

this advice
applied to questions
both of science
and of spirit..
advice for life..?

the strange
seems illusive..
commonplace often
on a returning glance
now most strange..      

the strange
we then assume
must be another
name of creation..
our health and fire
renewed with each
new glance...

this day
ending October..
fun for all
most of all children..
before the day passes
we might take
a new look at
that adventurous phrase:
trick or treat..
first the treat
says joy and light
but what of the
trick..?
an opposition of sorts
perhaps the treat's
inseparable shadow..
so even in this
celebration for youth
evening and morning
make their debut...

A retelling of
A story
which is often retold..
in young romance
It happens
but not only there..
an infatuation
A leap
sudden Enlightenment
new birth..
a departure from
the ordinary..
Then a discovery
life is larger..
the ordinary seems
Ruling
seems dreary and stark..
even though
there is great love
Holding the dark...

Might we avoid
naming
For a brief moment..
Perceiving without naming..
then
when the name comes
as it always does
Might it be found
in our perceptive light..?
A new whole-ness
to begin our day..?

Some believe..
others seem to know..
there is..very close
another dimension
we are enclosed
within..
if so
does a mirror
this new identity
show..?

A simple mirror
glass with black back..
but other combinations
may be preferred..
light and darkness
our sky and our earth
these such oppositions..
and one more:
Does our mirror
both project and reflect..?

That we are
such a mirror
there's a special effect..
without our dark side
transparent we are..
shattering our glass
a black hole
of a sudden appears
absorbing not reflecting
our hidden light..

Might we now realize
each of us owns
our special share
of the dark..?
that our glass
is un-shattered
is liquid and still..?
connecting all in
the light it projects
and we with joy
from our darkness
reflect...

much life observed..
its mirror
has reflected
over a century of faces..
a covered wagon
climbing Allegheny gaps..
arriving now
in its present station
decorated each season..
now dressed awaiting
costumed children
with their bags
of treats..

it has not always
reflected
joy and celebration
undoubtedly many sorrows
its mirror was shown..
taken for granted
many stored muddy boots
hats soaked with sweat..
a chair holding
warm garments
during cold winters past..

a mirror
must have a
dark back side
for its job of reflecting..
this mirror's darkness
composed of
wet mud and dry dust
the wood encrusted with
deposits of earth..
sorrow and pain
those layers are there..
darkness and glass
formed the mirror
we see..
reflecting
the sun of mornings
as wagon wheels turned..
and quite soon
the laughter of children
on this Halloween..

she asked:
are there words
hiding in raindrops
waiting to be born..?

their life expectation
was really quite short
awaiting only
the swipe of
a windshield wiper..
Some special drops
her camera captured
in one of those
dissolving moments..

one small drop
glimmered with
a pure white light
others angled with
curved prism color..
white and colors
created
but soon destroyed
by those ever
persistent and ruthless  
blades..

this play of light
we might reflect
paints our portrait
on a canvas of glass
those colors with white
body and soul
together
life and death
so temporary
yet so significant..
because of awareness
our awareness makes
it so...

A light within
is dimmed
when compassion
looks elsewhere
for a home..

Our going forth
is tethered
to a light
we have and own..

Remembering
Returning
Replenishing
is the splendid core
of compassion..

Then we are
fed and ready
for compassion
to find its way
away from home...

we know
that falling leaves
speak of death
in a season..
then we wonder
are we falling
as  the leaves..
falling also with
autumn beauty..?

we see veins
in each leaf
circulation channels..
nourishment
no more flowing from
a nurturing tree..
a branch from its
root now cast away..
and we wonder
where is our
root as our
nourishment fades..?

similarities abound
we and the leaves..
fearful we are
with our hidden root..
yet we wonder
have we found
vision and courage..
beholding anew
creation's falling beauty
light's filtered colors...?

this is an autumn
treeline reflection..
stark edges
demarcations of
minerals and trees..
a reminder of
other dividing lines..
as when we hear
strange notes of the
coyote's scream..
Are there other
lines to be found..?
Where are our inner
shadows and lights
so precisely bound..?

below treeline
golden aspens glow
out-lined and brightened
by the forest's black..
other glistening lights
mark rippling streams..
Meanwhile--
the cowboy poet
renders joyful lines
of wholeness
embracing all such
lights..
and timberlines...

is return..
What is return?
I'm wrestling with
this question just now..
Is it simply
a return within
calling for new
Recognition that our
outward lives are
linked to an
inward light..?
Imagination is then
summoned
To draw our lives
into this light or
To envelop with
that same light..
After this return
are we then
and only then
able to forgive
those who trespass...?

A most difficult
and dark home life..
a small girl
carried her burdens
to kindergarten class
each saddened day..

There her emotions
were released in
explosive despair..
fears and sorrows
expressed in her
most anguished way..

The teacher in
a recalled moment
of quick inspiration
found a hat
a black hat in a
costume drawer..

The hat now named
the brave hat..
and when emplaced
the little girl found
some moments of peace..
Then her peace spread..

Wearing the hat
worked its spell
on each wearer in turn
including the teacher
whose day then most
surely improved..

Did the black hat
an identity assume
of those shadows
outside..
And become absorbed
in each inner sun...?

breathing

how is our
breathing placed
in our center?
retaining awareness
for a few minutes?
an hour?
all day long?
this new awareness
breathing our center
connecting meanwhile
in here and
out there..
new consciousness
simply breathing
aware
being breathed...?

a new recognition
how we lived death
in north and south..
in our self inflicted
all consuming war..
death now found
in history's foreground..

his gettysburg words
conceived and dedicated..
equality and death
each soldier remembered
their sacrifice owned..
his words our grounding
death's equality lives..

patterns have repeated
more wars
fires and floods
those september screams..
careful accounting
from chaos springs..
and we know now
each must be named..

we have strewn flowers
many memorial days..
his address recalled
we repeat
none died in vain..
a fearful delight
each life seen equal
connected
by their blood
and their light..

back then
each soldier's family
fervently wished
in their deepest despair
for their loved ones
a good death..
these all now seem
to us good
very good for all time...

our conversations
contain both
light and filtering..
the words we find
express our meaning
one snapshot..
instantaneous filtering
of a clearer light..
our words are
moulded by gates
constrictions
words sometimes strike
rather than flow..
one snapshot
of who we are...

a lifelong pursuit
to be free
enough
for expanded
awareness
in the place
we now stand..
this seems our
foremost quest..

attachment grows
surreptitiously
as a virus ensnares
covers and compresses
until we cry out..
if stillness is gained
a tall stranger
centered nearby
unnoticed until now
watches our torment..

watching
is found quite
enough
to loosen the bonds..
new awareness locates
that fullness
we are intended
to find...

spiraling in
and then out..
in our hand we find
a galaxy miniature
spinning a special
story..

our mind's eye
projects movement
an outward inward
exchange
now and always
becoming the other..
but the shell remains
fixed as a map
the movement  
a soulful creation..

a still point
on our shell
finally gives rest to
our eye..
in the stillness
a  torus we find
a sacred movement
a new awareness
mapped for our
time..

as we write..
first the whiteness
of blank paper
imagining a fullness
of joy and distress..

the white exudes
a nothingness
brimming with energy
awaiting a word
the word emplaced
seeks direction..

to join with others
to rise and return
or to decompose
to fall and spread
colored differences of
new creation..

the path of this
lone word
seems quite beyond
a writer's choice
who in surprise
learns the chosen direction
by discovery...

let us consider
declarations of independence
as remedies
for election ills..
democracy has been
deadened
by flows of money
reaching ego ends..
competing parties mirroring
yet exaggerating differences
knowing one and all
precious power is the prize..

independence
allows consciousness to
arise at last..
good then is found
in left and right
shadow enclosing both..
paradox rules oppositions
and detachment soothes
the din of boisterous claims..
new freedom
brings new strength..
money flows
lose direction when
feedback polls confuse..
and democracy then
may deliver promise
once again...