The end of daylight savings

It’s Sunday, and the sky is glowing 

Pink again; doesn't the sun realize 

it isn't time? According to the automatic 

clock in my computer (not the one in my kitchen, 

which apparently got ahead of itself, 

somehow, in the night) it's only 6 am. 

The moon knows -- she’s still hanging in the trees, 

waiting for the branches to lower her to the 

sea but they're confused: it's hard to pick her out 

when the sky's so light, so early, 

and what if they forget and leave her hanging there,

resting in the eagle's nest, vulnerable to his claws 

should he return and find her there, cluttering 

his space -- oh, wait, I see her slide into the sea, 

all pink with effort to escape and yet still fading, 

overpowered by the dawn...

The honesty of dreams

However calm or wise I feel,
however full of love during the day,
at night my dreams reveal another story,
acting out the anger and frustration
that accompanies the minor slights,
the tiny imperfections
in an otherwise perfect life.
How can I delude myself
that meditation's made me
this kind and grateful person;
non-attachment, acceptance,
and surrender the order of my day;
 

compassion, love and gratitude
welling up from within my heart,
when in my dreams I'm snarling
at someone who makes me late
and gritting my teeth to see another's accolades
from those who never seem to notice who I am;
what I've achieved?

But perhaps that is the purpose of our dreams:
to keep us humble, while allowing us
to explore and express ego's resentments;
to remind us we are human, after all,
and not immune to the very weaknesses
that we abhor in others.
perhaps our dreams help us to love even more broadly,
and forgive even more gently
as we learn we're not impervious
to life's selfish temptations...

When, o when...

when will it stop? 

At what point do we break down and confess 

that we can no longer bear to watch the news; 

Don't want to hear the latest thing, 

don't want to know what someone said 

or how upset another is 

to learn the latest dis-information. 

True or false? these days they're both alike: 

what’s true to you may well be lies, 

and so might what I'm told and i believe, 

and so i hibernate; sit in my chair, 

play on my phone, and watch my Roomba 

spinning pointlessly across the floor. 

we're giving what we can, 

spending where we hope it helps, 

and wondering what difference 

any of it makes in times like these 

while penning daily words of hope 

to help other lost souls keep on believing...

A virus in the woods

Awakened by a gust of wind

  (The bedroom door,

      Shuddering in its frame)

I sink into my husband’s arms again, and then I hear it:

The telltale gathering clatter of branches,

Grasping at the wind to ease their fall;

The slow inimitable build of sound,

And wonder — should I be leaping out of bed?

What if it falls on us?

The final crashing thump, so close; so loud,

And then he says, “I didn’t see a flash!”

“It wasn’t lightning, I reply; a tree has fallen:

I’ll go look,” and so, grabbing my headlamp,

I stumble out of bed in search of answers; reassurance;

Step out the back door, seeing nothing,

And return to bed, uneasy, then give up 

And rise again to prowl the house In search of damage,

But all our rooms are safe,

Lying quiet in the dark, untroubled by the sound,

While overhead I hear the helicopter blades,

Far louder than the tree, transporting

Some unlucky soul across the water

   To a hospital; we are safe for now,

But for how long?

The virus trembles in the woods and shadows,

A hungry ghost, seeking its next victims...

Waiting for change

When the wait for change

Seems to go on forever

It’s easy to lose your head in harsh imaginings 

Of all the possible outcomes 

We’re unable to control;

Harder by far to lean into the present

And stay grounded...

Butterfly

This letting go,
This paring down --
It's surprising, really --
What we're willing to set aside,
The joy of leaving things
(And lives, old definitions of our selves)
Behind in the surge to something new.

Middle-aged men do it (or so we're told)
But here I am, so ready to do the same,
So ready to say no:
I don't, or won't, or can't do that any more:
I'm done chewing through this trap I built myself,
And happy to be on my way,
Not looking back at the old cocoon,
No longer nobody, small and gray,
But new, reborn and flying, finally
Into my own -- and possibly immortal -- skin.

Trust and stay the course

Though the winds of change have filled our sails,

I worry that the light is growing dim

And we’ve still miles to go before

We reach our destination.

When will I learn to trust

That where I am is where I’m meant to be;

To stay the course and revel in

The beauty that is Now?