Why be enemies?

Though you lean to the right
and I the left,
we both derive our energy
from the same blue sky,
so why
be enemies?

Though the color of your skin
is all washed out compared to mine,
we're both standing
on the same ground,
so why be enemies?

Though we're differently molded,
we're both made of the same stuff,
so why be enemies?


Though your path
seems quite straightforward
while mine's been quite confusing
and complex,
both paths in some way fuel
the lives around us --
so why be enemies?

And face it:
neither of us controls
-- or even knows --
when the Great Disconnect
will finally occur.
Could we not co-exist til then
in harmony?
Why be enemies?

Ode to a Gosling

The tenderness with which these arms enfold
a baby goose, adopted by a stranger
gives us a taste of Your love, which must hold
each heart protected, safe from mortal danger.

The troubles that befall us when we're young
and form all our behaviors as we grow,
need not become a cage, but perhaps a rung
upon a ladder, or seeds that You sow

to bring us to fruition, given time,
and grace, and conscious rumination;
a structure, not restrictive, but sublime
through which each one can reach life's culmination.

Rage not against the chains which keep us bound
but see them as the loss which leads to found.

No pain, no gain

Picture your back, she said,
as a wooded shoreline,
and with each breath,
imagine
new green shoots of wonder
growing there:
flourishing, healthy.
And, she said, after a pause,
with each breath out
the dead branches and the rocks
are loosening up
and falling into the sea.


But wait, I thought --
if all the rocks
were to fall into the sea,
the hillside would be gone,
and with it the trees,
who'd have no place
to spread their roots.

At last, she said;
at last you see -- we need the pain
to keep us grounded,
to keep us rooted in our bodies.
Pain has much to teach us:
Don't run away, but sit --
sit and listen for the lessons.
Breathe in those new green shoots
and let them root and grow
in what you learn.

A moment's glow

Caught in a patch
of late-afternoon sun,
the tulips on the kitchen counter
glow with a light of their own,
and in so doing, cast a shadow,
carving in black
upon the marbled surface
a temporary testament.

For one brief moment
they take the center stage
and all of us,
standing in the room,
remark upon the glow
and then move on,
shifting with the light
into whatever's next --

the sifting of some flour,
the stirring of a soup,
a handful of blueberries
brought in from the garden;
turning our attention
to a new savoring --
a blue burst of sweetness
or the setting sun,
bringing a blush
to the cheek of a distant mountain.

Moments later, turning back,
we find the tulips tame again,
the light distributed evenly,
all shadows gone.
The marbled counter
dwindles to mere formica,
the oven timer dings
and dinner is served.

So calm, so grounded

Low tide,
a quiet morning,
and the rocks
poke their hard heads
forth from the sand
to breathe the fresh coolness
and watch us wander by.
Do they wonder what it must be like
to be so rarely still?
I wonder what I might learn from them,
from living a life so calm,
so firmly grounded.

Summer, and the hollyhocks

Summer,
and the hollyhocks are dancing
in the leaves' dark green embrace.
That which holds and shadows them
doesn't seem to make them restless;
rather, they are flourishing,
delighting in the contrast
between the soft pink ruffles
and the jagged grasp
that separates,
defines, yet links
the subtle variations
of the many blooms
that grace the single stalk,
each sowing seeds
to ensure the dance continues.

In the arms of the Divine

Morning comes,

and with it,

a reminder --

that we are always cradled

in the arms of the Divine.