Reflections

My restless reckless imagination
Searches my myths for solutions.
Listening to the minstrels sing
Songs from love’s poetry

The lid rattles constantly
On the cauldron of my past
A simmering soup,
Heated by my experiences.
Shared, or private;
Mostly joyous;
Thou not all are so

Such are the rewards of a full life
That is possibly complete and yet.
This child strides ahead on wiser legs
Still curious, eyes open, allowing, waiting

Last spring’s leaves rustle dryly,
Tumbling along uneven ground,
While lonely winter winds search
For Sabbaths to observe.
Not knowing the questions,
Leads to unknown answers
That fill unheard sermons.

The congregation nods politely
Tithing their righteous dues.
Conforming would be easier
Than asking the next question
While finding my own truth.

I am comfortable rattling along
Inside this odyssey.
It is who I am.

Aspirations

In nature a plant
Grows and displays
Its beauty to the world
And in time

Where flowers bloomed
New fruit ripens
Knowing nothing else
The plant rests fulfilled

Today I shall be
A bearded Iris
Dressed in purple and white
A perennial
This is a good choice

Nature is the great teacher

Love's Candle

The candle drips its molten tears
Of promise expiring
Flame chasing its lifeline
Consuming as it follows
A descending path

Gasping its last illusion
Love’s twin puppets,
Hope and Despair
Dance their shadows
Silently upon the walls
A child’s ballroom fantasy
Shown in vague glimpses

Moving in rhythm to
My breath
A fragile light pushes
Away all that is lonely
At the fringes of wonder
Courage builds in the
Chilled face of doubt

We may believe in romance
If we believe in God
And have forgotten self
At its most fulfilling moment
Love best expressed and
Demonstrated by this soft
Amber glow

A Poem by Wendell Berry

I often read fiction and poetry. I read this poem this morning and was moved to share it. I hope you approve.

Published in "A Timbered Choir, the Sabbath Poems 1979-1997" by Wendel Berry

1994, II
Finally will it not be enough,
after much living, after
much love, after much dying
of those you have loved,
to sit on the porch near sundown
with your eyes simply open,
watching the wind shape the clouds
into the shapes of clouds?

Even then you will remember
the history of love, shaped
in the shapes of flesh, ever changing
as the clouds of past, the blessed
yearning of body for body,
unending light.
You will remember, watching
the clouds, the future of love

Muted Heart

The muted heart waits the ascending dawn.
There, specters of past dreams dissolve
Into the awakening understanding.
It waits only for those that invite its voice.
No longer obligated to self or by command
To conjure its fertile imagination.
This heart has the strength
To wait peacefully, keeping its truth
Along with a vibrant passion to share.
It knows the teaching of humility
Earned by service to patience.
Silence is not always a selfish choice.

One More

You are there and here
I know this because

I hear you in my thoughts
I see you in the movement of life
I feel you in love’s soft caress
I taste you in the nectar of joy
I smell you in the scent of the earth

I wait for you to sit with me
We will talk of this wonder
So that we both will know
That this is our promise

So, drink some wine
And sing the songs
Dance with me until dawn
I have waited
My entire life
To meet you.

Water's Edge

I am drawn to moving water’s edge.
The mists of its cascades cool the heat of survival
The music of its movement replaces the din of worry and politics
The calmness of its eddies and pools both display and invite reflection
This is a place of meditation, a portal from spirit to self
I will be there soon

Listen

In the darkness
Not far to the West
A train heads North
Over the bridge; up the grade
Grimy and efficient, snarling along
An engineer says goodbye to
This village by twisting its tail
Sounding like a mutant harmonica
It emits warnings; notice
Never more to be
An invitation to adventure

The tracks are not able
To take me to something
I have not already seen
PBS, www dot et al
Have shown me destinations
Seen from ground level to
Miles above even the eagle’s eye

The chug of a steam engine
It’s high-pressure flute
Whistled songs of heroic effort;
The anticipation of vistas to come;
Ways of life experienced
With movement and color.
Rather than the alternative of
Grainy black and white images
Found in the newspapers
Of that simpler era

Simpler harder times then,
Adventure to be had; like it or not
Discovering our rites of passage
Show me a train with billows of smoke
Maybe I could be an inquisitive cowboy.
Questing whatever lies beyond tracks end

Wise Guys

A poem is a myth.
Words of the poets’ heart
Explained by the poets’ soul.
The poet explores intangible assets
Seen through soft creative witness.

The poets’ truth is a prophecy
Both self fulfilling and laid bare.
Unguarded self put forth.
A cloaked, judgmental Shylock
May easily harvest such feeble flesh.

Enjoy the poets’ journey.
This game is without rules.
Arrogant though they are
The poets mean no harm.
They speak a reckless, noisy truth
Yet covet quiet simple acceptance.

The Now

Ripples from the past travel forth
Through the present and beyond the future
Neither changing nor ending, always continuing
The only change the memory of their moment of birth
Let go of the past as it is immune to your influence
The future defies definition
Without substance and perspective
It is so empty that the ripples of the past are not seen
They only lap at the shore of the present
This very instant contains all there is
And all that yields true experiences
Touch it, embrace it, and enjoy the thrill
Now in this instant you can create, shape and start a ripple
Your presence will cause one regardless
So seize the moment at hand
This very moment is one of immortality
Such a moment lived returns pure joy

Dragons

Chasing dragon’s flight
Seeking the aerie of clouds
Growling dragons speak
Thunder moves the ground
Dragons spit white-light lines
Renting the gray sky curtain
Air smells of burnt stones
There’re dragons here.

A Poets Dilemma

There once was a poet from Nantucket
All his lines ended in rhymes
Leaving him far from sublimes
One day the words eluded
He risked being labeled deluded
Declaring, “ I must follow my bliss,
From now on, free verse it iss.
And yet to close this current piece,
I must rhyme Nantucket?”
Be careful now....
....Ahhhhh, Forget It

Take Care

Rest now gentle soul
Alone you have all you need
But feel the caress of those who care
They ease your burden
As you would theirs
Allowing is your gift to them

Heal all
There is no rush
They do not know time
Friendship grew at Spirit’s pace
From this comes the strength

Warmth surrounds you
Gently you sleep
Safely sheltered
Love provides the orchestra
Dream’s music sings

Be well

Warrior

On our behalf
The Peaceful Warrior
Goes onto the field of battle
In opposition to the demons
That champion and harbor
Both fear and doubt
They yield only to that
Which the Warrior seeks
Do not wish the Warrior luck
In his quest for truth
Rather wish him wisdom
No lasting peace has been won
With anything less than this.

I Want To Write

So many words all asking to be chosen
My feelings gently seeking to have a voice
A knowing smile comes easily to my face
There are no answers behind it
It smiles to an unknown yet welcome future
Full of promise, joy and peace
Eyes closed I continue to see a vision
The Falcon flies free, soaring
Freedom exalted
Borne by the tranquil currents of peace
I hear the Falcon's sweet note call
I know this note, it is of
Joyful courage recaptured
I am lifted knowing my truth
I can fly as well

Oasis

Traveling through a desert,
I have tasted warm bitter waters
Eaten salted dried meats
Chewed stale breads
And I have become as dry as this land

My compass shifts and
Leads me on a new course
Though not far from
Previous paths

Is this Oasis new
Or have I not seen the evidence
Of its existence before?

Here I find cool water,
Both sweet and revitalizing
Abundant harvests of dates and figs
Breads fresh and fragrant
Delicious stews and roasts each day

I am a glutton
Rejoicing in these riches
Unable to stray far from the table
Tears flow from my happiness
I am blessed to have this water to share

Hall Closet

The day awaits you.
Say hello to it; enjoy it.
Do not be critical, or set in your practices.
Your judgment is no better than other's.
Some one else may stand where
They can see around the corner.
A corner you do not know exists.
There are insights you have not met.
Be open, truly open.
All that comes to you is an opportunity for growth
Weave the threads of all you experience
Into the fabric that is your wisdom.
Allow all experiences.
Wisdom is a far better barrier to your fears
Than pushing them away or burying them
In the hall closet with the vacuum cleaner
One day you will need to clean the carpet and
All those ignored invitations to life
Hiding in your closet will cascade
Down, surrounding your feet
Movement will be difficult.
It is better to be wise than to be right.

Considered

I am not all-new material
Rather a mime dressed as
A reluctant reflection running wild
A thirsty reservoir for memories
Where the poverty of solitary poetry
Reveals an un-lacquered, unclenched
Temple of sparks seeking a voice

Sweet Song

Do you hear a song
With words of gentle destiny,
Sung in perfect pitch?
Does its rhythm match
Your most joyous heartbeat?
This is the music of love,
Whose instrument is spirit
And you are its minstrel.

Calling

At night I am quiet
The darkness sits
With me, waiting,
Releasing this day’s heat

I listen to
The horn’s plaintive call
Receding into silence
On a journey of escape
Toward another day

Behind my eyes
A vessel of hope
Comes softly forward
Tomorrow’s dawn waits

Colors

The monochromatic world exists
For the timid of mind and heart.
Whether gray scales or shades of blue
The oneness of single color is all.
Nothing ever changes, challenges or mismatches.
Such a painter risks nothing … feels less.
Then something happens;
Suddenly using multiple colors excites.
Try a green with a red or a yellow
In a field of spring flowers.
Purples run with pinks, reds and blues
In an erupting sunset.
The world is vibrant and vital.
For the first time such risks are taken
Broad strokes of color,
The world comes alive with hue and tone
All seen by the magic of
Making the leap into Love

A Sword

The sword is forged by its maker
Simple iron and carbon metals are chosen
Then brought together
In the heat of fire they are allowed
Each fully present; but their properties
Forever linked to make steel
From which beauty will arise

Constant stress of fire and forge
Changes the steel as it is toughened
More heat releases the tension as
The smith uses his hammer to work
This metal. Each time it is
Stronger and builds to its purpose
Forging a hard lesson softened
In the tempering fire of being still

The sword emerges with a graceful curve
Holding a fine sharp edge.
Its beauty cheats it purpose
It holds my eye. The artists
Passion for his craft more relevant
Than the labor spent
The end is worthy of all
Today the sword is never a thing
Of anger, but it is homage
To a culture no longer active

When I look at the sword
Knowing its individual history of
Fire and Hammer, and ultimately
The sharpening by stone
Patient polishing and honing
I see the evolutions in our life.
Ultimately we are prepared for
All we must do.
However, when we are held
In quite peace
We exhibit so much more.

Words

The meanings of words
Are before us like
Trees in the forest

Each one shaped by the
The soil of its birth
The neighbors that shelter it
The elements of its
Culture and environment
Finally, the care shown
In its harvest and use

Climbing them we may see
Further than we ever have

Friends

Does my writing touch you?
Does it speak to one of your mysteries?
If it does, I am happy for you
But do not anoint me as your guide, for I am not worthy

I write for my soul and not yours
I seek my own peace and my own spirit
The words mark my journey
Form over the horizon I may need to find my way back

They were written for me
Arrogance would presume that they have value for you
To write for you would deny me
The reward that I seek

I mean no harm but my motives are selfish
I will never write for you for I have no right
I do not know your path, your pain or your joy
Your truth is yours to seek alone, so choose wisely

I do not allow myself the sin of prideful writing for you
I am one who seeks much and knows nothing
Take what you will from me there is no fee
But I do not give the words, you have found these discarded markers

If you find value, joy or wisdom
Or if not, then just as certainly
May you find your own spirit, joy and peace
Either way, I welcome you always into my life