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