her; a man was lost
and in her joy, and in her pain,
she found the peace she'd never known
hidden within her own understanding.
She became a flowing river
winding her way through life,
allowing the course of events
to mold her, never enslave her.
She found herself moving forward
in laughing twists and crying turns,
adding new dreams to old, and in these,
finding hidden paths to unknown places.
Finally she saw the child grow strong;
free in the world she had nurtured.
Embarrassed
embarrassed (more than slightly)
by my silly humanity
-its disconnected deeds-
glaring, raucous,
destructive witness against itself...
I long for that time
that place I know
sure to be revealed
to be opened
to those whose desires
seek intuitively
such a place
(exists)
in the universal mind
a world without end
without pain
without death
without this
-human embarrassment-
without this
painful
ponderous
pointless
thing of time we dare call
life!
Lady Marion, Lady Joy
Fly South, today, Lady Marion,
to the ends of the Earth
Come share the River
and Walk the Sands of Time
once more with WindWalker...
The River flows
in all her Fall glory
garlanded in gently falling leaves;
she waits for You
after the rains.
It may be but for a Day
reckoned in Earth's old Time
but Eternity will carefully mark
this Soul Passage
as Love in Flight
and when we leave
this Enchanted Place
Eagles will hold it secure
until another Slice of Time
connects it All again...
So come with me
Bringing your Joy
Bringing your Freedom
Bringing your Power
Bringing your Laughter:
Earth will supply the rest!
Box Store Vision
And it's the year 2020
well naturally.
There's a computer by the pharmacy
at the local wal-box, China-mart.
Slip in your card, enter
password and etc.,
look directly in the camera,
pictured center screen.
Press for "voice" and follow
the friendly prompts.
Colors, symbols, pictures
and a bit of your Facebook page
with your Google mail address
and map of your back-yard, front
door. And you
eating breakfast: "Can you describe
what you had for breakfast?
and your mother's maiden name
is?"
That's it.
Press "choose"
for a new pair of glasses.
Go. Wait.
2 days delivery: a drone
buzzes your door and there,
your new $39.99 + taxes glasses
in bubble pack:
30 minutes of careful unpacking,
to reveal, as expected, not yours,
of course, wrong name, wrong street,
wrong town, wrong province,
wrong country. Wrong everything.
Did you really expect anything?
Nice glasses though.
White
White: an empty canvass waiting for the
splash of colour
White: wispy, aimless, rainless clouds
teasing a parched land
White: fog: hiding, camouflaging, confusing
changing without change
White: sun-fearing, hiding, creeping, silent
death sucking saprophyte
White: superior human skin, vain and proud,
afraid of light
White: creaseless virgin sheets proudly
unknowing love
White: snowy web of changeless lifelessness
inert time before life
White: garments of prejudice preventing
perceptions of shame
White: ghostly night-wrought smell of death
illuminated by a burning cross
White: the spectral mantle of power ruling
dying worlds.
White: purity without the mark of passion
shade of nothingness.
Who Are The Dead?
Skeleton parks
of graveyards
and war memorials
make no bones about it:
they are about the dead.
But the city, now,
is another story,
another show.
Here, people hustle and rush
to and fro, doing this,
un-doing that.
But who are the dead?
Those who lie quietly underground;
whose names are etched in brass?
Or those who run about
mindlessly making more
of what is already too much?
Those who punch in
too early for death;
too late for life;
who live in twisted shadows
of flickering fluorescence
and shrill neon?
Who run through smog
chased by a million
headlights-
crying:
"Out of my way!
I have an appointment
at the clusterfuck."?
My Beloved
How swiftly did death take my beloved
at age twenty two they buried her:
her body lies under the maple tree.
I look out of the kitchen window
just before dawn;
I remember watching the birds feed;
remember her delight in hearing their songs;
I cry as her face crosses my aging mind:
it was yesterday we walked along the river bank,
planning our certain future...
I still feel the warm kiss upon my lips
as my hands caress her slender body,
feeling her hand clenched tightly in mine.
The warming breath of dawn draws near:
my heart swells with gratitude
for the short time she was my joy:
a last star twinkles in the sky like her last smile.
How I have missed her in the years;
yet how I have felt her indwelling spirit
keep my heart from bitterness,
unlocking the door; releasing the pain
allowing our love to continue to flow
from here to eternity.
No Tears
An old man sitting on a bench
-and I-
both of us watching a sunrise
in Springtime- years ago.
He turned to me
and spoke of his youth:
My old man was a mean bastard
and I grew up hating the S.O.B.
-he said, looking at the sky-
My mother raised me.
She was a kind and gentle person
and I think she really loved me.
But you know what
-he said more quietly-
when my mother died
I couldn’t cry for her
and no tears would flow
but when my old man died
I cried
like there was no tomorrow.
Oneness
Once upon a time, I (the child)
knew nothing of life: I
(the man)
followed my fathers' footsteps
cutting down trees, digging holes,
and putting up fences and walls
Keeping in and keeping out
my possessions and insecurity.
I never stopped to think
why I was doing this: everyone
was doing it -why not me?
Who would look after (me) if not (me)?
Without a fence, my things
could easily get lost
on someone else's land...
Without a wall, my world
could easily get changed
by someone's interference...
But all that changed one day
(no, I don't know why it should)
I heard the voice of the Spirit:
He asked me what I was doing
(I told him what I was doing)
He asked me why I was doing it
(I told him why I was doing it)
He said:
I know a better way.
You work so hard for food that spoils
When it's already laid before you:
but you forget that nothing
of value is ever
l o s t
You are one with everything
Do not separate yourself
from your environment
for if you do -you will die.
Do not build fences or walls
they poison the life
I've given you.
Outlook On Life
In the soft light of morning
an alpine meadow awakens
as it arches away from me
into the remaining shadows
cast by distant rocky peaks.
In the silence of the dawn
flowers cautiously open
to welcome the sun's light.
Bright diamonds of dew
sparkle on leaves and stems
spreading colour upon colour:
what awesome beauty!
I think to myself
standing here alone, silent watcher
casting a restful glance
upon the first day of light.
I cannot help but wonder
why so many choose the city.
The suffocating enclosed spaces
of its giant marketplaces;
its endless rush of traffic;
its fumes and gaudy artificial lights
and its painted artificial smiles
rouged by its inferno.
We have a choice, do we not?
If I stand here alone today,
why not another also?
The beauty that surrounds me,
the land offers free every day.
The feeling it gives me
could be that of another as well:
feeling of peace, of tranquillity,
of respect for life
and everything in it:
the city emasculates those feelings
but how many know this now?
Reaching The Light
Angry, pushing and shoving,
and someone loses it:
what should I do
when this happens to me?
Return eye for eye,
curse for curse?
How easy it is to say “yes!”
Negative thoughts run swift
under the dark of the moon;
when shadows replace love
deep in the night...
and how much night there is here.
Who shall shine the light
when there is no light to see by?
Who will calm the angry one?
Who will embrace the stranger who staggers
under the weight of old fears?
Under the whip of oppression?
Who, if not me?
If I love only those who love me,
of what use is that
when no one remembers the victim?
When those who have
forget those who do