How I seem to need
the cleansing of tears lately!

I told the wise old man I didn’t like the word, “sin.”
     He said:
          “My son, remember the Greek
          an archery term – to miss the mark -
          no human always hits the bulls-eye
          just practice your aim
          train your muscles and eyes
          so next time you release the arrow of action
          you will come closer.
          Practice practice practice, my son.
          Don’t wallow in shame
          it will bog you down.
          Instead, stand up, pick up arrow
          check its feather
          raise bow and arrow together
          open your eyes and again take aim
          release yourself from darkness of blame
          and again join the human race.”

When I ask you for something
like ***, your listening ear, or your help
I admit my limits.

It is like prayer
which is a moment of giving up
some part of my potency
ceding a share of my energy and control
to a greater something or someone
I need.

Intimacy is an asking
a surrender of my image
my public in-control self
a holy moment of exposure.

It’s like the cat who in battle with another
turns over on its back
and bares its tender belly
yielding itself.

A tragic result of this virus
is our fear of others’ breath,
of being right next to death.
Yet when poets breathe
it is the words they leave
that render light and life.

May we again
on our faces feel the wind,
a gale of passion
a tickling breeze to tease
our imaginations and wit.
May we soon smile
or even laugh in a little while
and be close enough to hear whispered
a naughty limerick
or an intimate loving verse.

Look at the moon in a telescope
how pristine and awesome it appears
to us here on this spoiled planet
polluted and darkened by fears
of human egos run wild.

The light of the moon brings a smile
Mama used to say: look at the man in the moon
but the moon is without guile
virus updates and bad news.
May some particle of wonder
keep us whole and awaken the muse.

The afternoon sun shines green in the Elm
bathes the day in transparent glory
autumn grants a few more emerald days
in a clear bright sky of blue.
Oh how the wonders of this earth
cast hope to me
piercing shadows with what is true.

I am a traveler
on a journey into your heart
a holy place
where I am in love.

There are lots of big open questions
but most answers are small
and that's ok
better than none at all

Again I come back to you
head bowed in shame and guilt
like Israel of old who abandoned their love,
the love they could not hold
against the lure of glittery gold
and empty promises of pride
and ego we can barely hide.

He leans against the old battered lamp post
just as twilight fades away
hands in his pockets
the lamp spills its soft rays on him
as if to assure him there is light left.

His rumpled gray suit
has seen its better days
perhaps in a high rise a few blocks away
it hangs on him like a haunting shadow.

Despair looms in his eyes
a frown droops his pale face
he barely breathes
staring at the drainage grate
just beyond his dusty shoes.
Has his life seeped down into the gutter?

He is bowed by some awful weight.
And I across the street
gaze at him
misty-eyed
waiting
in my own shadow.

My emptiness gnaws at me
erodes the dark coating on my soul
my hunger is a yawning bowl
of clear glass yearning to be filled
with your love
what nuggets of golden light
or even what suffering you might
will to me
to grow me
into what I need to be.

I trust you with my hunger
with the calluses
on my hands and feet
and the hardness of my heart
to touch, soften, repair,
and birth there
some fibers of new life.

The simple peasant girl
received some blessed news
that would overturn the world
she grew up in, the life she knew.

Chosen to receive a special gift
she was confused and dismayed
to get this favor she had not wished
for which she had not prayed.

She felt unworthy, confused, and awed
she knew not whether to make this start
on this journey to which she was called
but said yes and opened her heart.

I wonder if I would have the nerve
in spite of feeling so unworthy,
knowing this gift was undeserved,
to be open to such an uncertain journey.

You are the single flame in my life
when I focus on you I can dance
I have passion red and damp
I can burn until I am light.

For some it might be arduous
an obligatory response
to get from here to there
so you’ll know I’m here
to see if you’re there.

But for me it is air
my oxygen
inspire – to catch your spirit
expire – to leave mine.
It is how I renew my life
how I die… just a little
with each stroke of the pen
each tap of the keys.

It is living.
Without it
I leave you
I leave me.

What would we do without our lovers
to prove we can think about
and cherish someone other
than ourselves?

What would we do without autumn
so show us the flow and passionate ebb
of life’s force?

What would we do without birds
to show us the possibility
of flight?

What would we do without suffering
to lead us beyond our painful confines
in search for joy?

I watch Paul putting his ladder in his truck
atop the plywood to begin his day
on the road to a job.

From my perch slightly uphill
seeing him and his wife,
partners in the seasons
walking in their yard barefoot
looking at plants, watering them,
speaking softly to one another
puts a kind of fragrance in the afternoon.

This tandem talking and walking
a sweet intimacy that assures me
in spite of turmoil and conflict on the planet
here in this small patch of earth
things are as they should be.

each morning I get up
and swim in the ocean of your love
your salt soaks into my every pore
and awakens me
to what is real

this daily swim strengthens my muscles
especially my heart
and the deeper I dive into you
the stronger I get

the poetry of your being
surrounds me
and this immersion buoys me
to breath in freshness
and make me alive

“Don’t fall in love with lonely because you’ll end up that way.”  -  Bruce Springsteen

The day is cloudy
I’m overcast and lost
in my little world
trapped by shrinking horizons.
I hear a cardinal singing
look around for his red glory
wonder where he has flown
he in his freedom to roam.
I envy his winged flight
the whole land in his sight
his mate and sparrows and jays
up there with him beyond the haze
of these sad and lonely days.

Experiencing the presence of you
in this now moment is a present.

Before dawn the front thundered in
launching with its deluge
the first glimpse
of an approaching winter.
To how many more autumns
will I bid farewell
before my own returns me to heaven?

My hurting
spits and barfs
my ire
making those nearest
into my victims

You are in the waving limbs
of the pear tree in spring
the inquiring yellow eyes of my cat
the majesty and vastness of the roaring sea
the lively brown eyes of my lover
the soft sobs of saying goodbye
to his precious wife after illness
the soft hop of the toad
the light of the fireflies
the moments of their darkness
the birds who dip and drink
from small puddles of collected rain
the male cardinal feeding his mate
you laugh in the giggle of a toddler
and abide there in his tears
you are the unrestrained laughter of a wife
at her husband’s clumsy goof
the closing off from those we love
and the unfolding of life in isolation
you are my higher power
beyond even the strongest moments
of my fighting ego
as a swift wind
swaying and singing with the sage
and dancing with the sunflower stalk in spring
you show me how to wait
how to breathe in the peace of dawn
how to be.

The orbit of my days
is degrading
this pervading darkness
a gravity
that’s shrinking the life out of us

I could paint a rainbow on the moon
   Mozart came back to give me a tune
      climb in a conch shell and float its coral sea
         bring my Mom back to laugh with me
            I had a five-year old’s fancy and joy
               I giggled as free as a little boy
                  I could ride a buffalo on the great plains
                     course through Jesus’ veins
                         Chief Joseph advised me on a vision quest
                             I were never ever again depressed
                               Neruda came back to teach me to write
                                  I could take wing with butterflies in flight?

I strum these lines
beat the drum of their rhythms
the dark of their repetitions
are the veins of my redemption.

Sun shines through
the first orange leaves of autumn
coolness has settled
on the grass now turning a slight yellow.

Again we are in a season
of transition
me and Earth.

I am comfortable here
in this autumn.

It is the cool of the predawn morning
and I lay in my bed
your peace settled into me
in spite of the troubles that awakened me.
Here in these moments
you tip toe into my bedroom
and lay beside me
your being so soft and peaceful
I hardly notice your presence.
But this is so typical of you, my Lord.
You do not arrive with bombast
of the need to be noticed
as I have done the largest measure of my life.
You are the Great Mystery.
I have seen your silhouette laying upon the mountains
in the gray and orange twilight of the west.
You are all around me
in the deep layers of being.
You are there in storms
with your lessons for my species
that we ignore to our detriment.

Still you do not force Yourself upon us
but always free us from constraints
allowing us to say no to You with alacrity.

But I am humbled by your silent soft presence
early this Sonday right here in my bed beside me
awakened by you again -
You gently inviting my consciousness
into your heart
into your Love.

He held out his hand in greeting
smiling, eyes sparkling,
happy to see me
but I saw the scars on his wrist
his wound public
but easily missed.

We all carry wounds within
that we disguise or otherwise
hide from public view
and if they knew,
who would they see anew?

A disfigured one
or a mass of clay
being crafted and re-formed each day
emerged from darkness of night
into a soul full of light.

I pick you up in morning or at noon
you lively volume, you aching heart
your edges worn by probing fingers and thumb
my mind reaches for your inner parts.

I love the word and the wisdom you shine
packed into every corner, every cell
so true to my soul if not in each deemed line
good for my redemption to make me well.

You and your beautiful body are true
you expand the resting ions within
and I rise up to the beyond of you
to see anew the hills and valleys I’ve been.

Between each cosmos we are
we make music with our inner strings
climb through clouds to stars
and on the way make mockingbirds sing.

Your words anchor me and make me fly
ease my sadness and abate my pain
spark a smile or bring tears to eyes
relieve my drought with living rain.