Love song

Your music plays on in my head,
calling me back to days gone by,
hinting of old loves,
of pain and remorse,
of dances, and picnics,
and walks in the park.

Your rhythms dance on
in my heart as I age,
a gentle reminder of days to come,
when breathing might not be
as easy for me
as remembering...


Your presence is blinding;
that bright drift of chrome,
the color of now,
and I'm touching the smoothness,
the buttons, the dials
with my eyes looking back on a duotone buick;
on the love in the back seat
that's driven my life all these years...

* * *

The feeder and the fed

They say that in dreams
we're playing every role:
could that be true in pictures, too?

If so, then I am each --
the feeder and the fed,
the one in flight;
the one who walks away;
the bright red shoe upon your foot;
your husband's scuff-marked sole;
the pavement and the shadow,
the patch of sunlight on your jeans,
the purse that's resting on your knee,
your necklace, and the ring upon your finger,
the hand outstretched,
the hair that flutters in the wind.

I am one,
and we are one,
and we are all together
One.


* * *

Were you planning to give me wings?

I don't think I can go any further,
and it's not at all clear
that I can go back.

I've followed you as far as I can go,
but please:
don't ask me to walk on water.
I know you do it --
you do it without even thinking --
and maybe that's my trouble --
I think too much --
but the fact is,
I'm dying here:
can't go forward, back or sideways,
and I'm sinking fast.

Why would you do this to me --
let me come so far I can't go back?
How did you expect me to get out of this?
Were you planning to give me wings?
If so, well -- I could really use them NOW.


* * *

A lost benevolence

I stagger into battle,
holding my wounds before me
like coins in a plastic cup:
Pity me, please; have pity --
Haven't I already been hurt enough? --
And still,
despite the fear and ache,
there is that forward thrust;
a lost benevolence,
a gap, that like a hole in the dike
allows the self-fed venom to pour through.

When will we learn to hold our wounds
as invitations rather than as shields?
Forgive us, Lord, for ever thinking
these tiny scratches could ever match
your pain upon the cross.


* * *

When the tide of blessings recedes

Like the tides,
that slide in and out day by day,
your blessings roll in,
or recede and then expose what lies beneath,
that structure you built in me.
Have I been tending it,
growing and feeding
what needs to be grown and fed;
harvesting what needs to be harvested;
loving what needs to be loved?

Or have I allowed it to become
neglected, even crushed, or overgrown
with weeds; with slimy thoughts
and self-concerns?


* * *

Oneness

We gather around
this table you set
and feel the spirit move like wind.

We float suspended
on the wine-dark sea,
holding hands and circling round,
synchronized swimmers in fluid motion,
each life a pattern,
detected only from above.

Fed by your color,
nurtured by your light
we breathe in the delicate perfume of oneness.


* * *

Tiny Dancers

Clap hands and sing;
lift your face
and drink the nectar of the light!

Dance, my children,
unfurl your your beautiful pink skirts
and twirl in graceful circles
before the kiss of the wind!

Each tiny dancer brightens my garden;
each furry face a welcoming smile;
each green leaf the perfect backdrop
for this audacious performance,
fueled by love and grace,
blessing time and space,
feeding all who gather in this place.

And as you age,
the dimpled elbow shakes
but still embraces all I have to give.


* * *

A tenderness of opposites

Wandering through your garden,
I wonder anew at the blessings you provide --
not just the colors,
or the fruits;
not just the benches to sit on
or the statues to inspire;
not just the strawberry,
or the snow pea;
the rhubarb and the corn...

You seem to have thought of everything,
so that which falls
remains to nourish
whatever's coming next...
And by so doing, you inspire every plant,
so even the blossoms begin to care for one another,
the young ones tenderly cradling the old
as, once spent,
they drift slowly to the grass below,
never minding
that they are different species,
or different colors.

"Look!" says the bright young poppy.
"See how your rich purple glows in my arms,
even as you fall!
Rest a while, won't you,
So the others might be warmed by our opposition!"

Anticipation

What happens
if I remove my mask,
my diamond crown,
my golden gown;
these rich amenities?

And you,
beneath your crimson cloak
and feathered hat --
below the mask,
are you the one
I long for you to be?

Our hands outstretched
are longing for a touch,
and yet --
this skin to skin thing
seems like quite a risk.
Let us freeze here,
and spend our lives
in safe anticipation...


* * *

Rebellious spirits

How tenderly you hold us,
wrap us in the arms of your love,
carry us when our surroundings are unsafe.

How precious you find us,
how thoughtfully you clothe us,
how determinedly you mold us
so that we might find our way back home to you.

And still we are always looking,
at that which lies
just beyond our reach,
and hoping that some tasty treat
might prove more interesting to us
than this protected life.

Thank you for loving
our curious, rebellious spirits,
and for holding us
even when we dream of leaping away.


* * *

Window shopping

Tell me this:
Why,
despite the barriers we construct --
the critical voices in my head,
the determination not to shop,
the terrible economy,
the awareness of a starving child --
do shoes in a window,
handbags on a store wall,
carry so much appeal?

...not that I'd ever wear that color,
or heels that high,
or carry a purse
that wouldn't fit over my shoulder...

But still:
Don't you just love to look?


* * *

Recognition

Judgment

The slow unfurling

I cannot bear it --
the tension,
the liquid beads of anticipation,
the blush of color
as light threads her delicate fingers
between the petals,
coaxing the slow unfurling
as I open,
beckoned by the warmth
into a long breath of release.



* * *

Tender embrace

We are framed,
you and I;
embraced and enfolded,
shone on and watered,
created and blessed
by the Heart that holds us.

Tenderly fingers
like branches unfolding
test the waters
to see if it's safe for us
then cradle us and dip us
in a universal baptism
of light and wonder,
surrounding the necessary dark
with lines and arrows
that lead us straight to you
and back again
to sit quietly
and picnic
on the bright green shore of Love.


* * *

Out of focus

When I'm on autopilot --
or is that auto-focus? --
I only see
that which separates us;
only get a fuzzy sense of you,
just beyond this fragile network
of skin and bones
that keeps me from touching into you.

Some days
I only catch a glimpse as I pass by;
other days I don't even stop to look.
And then there are the days --
like this one --
when I make the effort,
pause,
and still feel so cut off.
Is it you who are out of focus, or is that me?


* * *

Adventure story

My adventurous spirit
lured by the challenge
of those dark empty eyes
and the possiblities
implied by those vines,
would once have thrilled to the struggle
up or down that cliff,
eager to risk the ancient greed-triggered traps
in hope of finding the treasure within.

In those days,
didn't I look forward
to being frightened?
Didn't I know I would survive?
Of course -- because I knew it would be safe;
could see the larger world
that surrounds this brief adventure.
When did I get so caught up
that I can no longer see
beyond those cleverly painted boundaries?
When --and why -- does the imagined threat turn real?


* * *

Executive's lament

I'm sorry.
I'm a little slow.
I made it all the way up here --
Now what am I supposed to do?
This is as close to the top as I can get,
but the closer I get,
the more I'm in the spotlight,
and it makes me feel a bit exposed:
I seem to have left a trail of slime...

Everywhere I look feels like falling.
Maybe I'll just crawl inside my shell
and wait for a stiff wind to blow me down.
How bout you give me
some more of that green stuff,
just to cushion my fall?


* * *

The seedy center of things

Look closely:
that darkness you sense
at the center of your being --
the stuff you build
a thousand fragile walls around,
hoping one will hold --
it's not a solid mass,
or writhing with snakes:
it's just a mass of seeds,
waiting to be born in you,
hoping for attention
-- a little sunlight, a little water --
eager to burst into glorious flower,
to stretch out petals of startling joy
and flutter in the breeze.
Take your pick; Grab one! Plant it NOW!


* * *

Hush

When there arises in me
a longing for stillness,
a thirst for the color of water, or sky;
a hunger for meaning;
an urge for creation --
Help me to remember
that all those needs can be simply filled
by stopping to breathe,
by ceasing to move, or think, or speak...

Hush, and listen to the brush of reeds
caressing the side of your boat.
It's shallow here:
time to stop and rest.


* * *

Step through the veil

So often,
the path to what could be
is hidden by what is --
the status quo,
our reluctance to change,
to rock the boat,
to visualize another way of being.
The universe of possibility
that quivers just beyond our reach
cries out for actualization,
to be seen,
even as we ourselves long to be seen.

What would it take to step through the veil?
What preconceptions must be shattered
for us to find our way back home
to newer, fuller, richer being;
to all we were created to become?
Hold my hand;
together we'll tear the fabric of existence and peek through...


* * *

Treasures along the Way

As you and I canoe together,
exploring the river of color
that feeds our thirsty souls,
help me not to worry
when I cannot see beyond the bend;
help me not to get so busy
imagining the path around that branch
that blocks the way up there --
so far ahead --
that I fail to note
the graceful curves of this trunk,
the golden treasure of maple leaves,
the rubies glistening along the shore,
the sapphire sky that shatters into ripples
before the determined blade of my wooden oar.


* * *

Corporate worship

Shake the sandals from your feet
and flee the darkness;
leave behind the traces
of all those faces
soaking up the rays;
those who think
the light is there
to make them more appealing;
those who cannot see beyond
the colors of their skin;
those who believe they're on this cruise
solely to enhance the surface.

It's time to jump ship, my friend:
Dive into deeper waters
and learn to breathe the light.

* * *

A Shortcut to Satori

While I sit
and dream of you,
chasing you into the farthest corners of my heart,
drinking in your spirit,
fed by your tenderness,
the weeds have taken over my garden.

How can I balance this,
these two worlds I inhabit --
external and internal?
Perhaps,
if there were a shortcut to satori,
I wouldn't need fake flowers
to brighten up my yard...





* * *

Bright imitations

However brilliant and colorful
our creations may be --
however original this clever use
of rebar and glass --
surely we can see
that all our beautifully crafted works
are mere pale imitations
of the glory that surrounds us --
the volunteer iris that surprise us every spring;
the resourceful fennel,
whose fragrance and flavors bless us all year round;
the gracious rosemary,
adding her flippant purple sparks
to everything from spaghetti to lemonade...
Ah.
Blessings everywhere.


* * *

Stars along the path

How often,
in pursuing a distant goal,
in seeking the light
at the end of some particular tunnel,
do we miss the stars
you scatter in our path?

How can we strike a balance
between the life we're trying to live
and the life that's living us
even as we strive to forge ahead?

We are like brand-new drivers,
unaccustomed to the challenge
of balancing all the pieces of the task:
keeping an eye on the mirrors,
watching the road ahead,
keeping the wheel straight
and the foot steady...

Help us keep the brain radio tuned low
so we do not miss the stars along the way.


* * *