The blooming

I am night

The cold northern wind , brushing opal seas into motion

I am the dark

Yes, I am distant

and a mystery. I am longing . But I am rest.

I am all or nothing, but always this something,

Some hiding.

I am day. A break of warm.

Come to my light. Shine in this brightness.

I am pure white. I am alive.

I am known, all reflecting.

Still, only passing…

From white to gray

Dawn to dusk

I am uncertainty & polarity & indifference

A slow moving impasto in your sky

Ready to roar or defend the silence

I am all the heaviness in your gut

The unanswered question

I am dark, pure & uncertain beauty

I am being

I am

am I?

Alone into dreamy ether

 

When you’re tired
your eyes grow heavy,
and it is obvious tonight
with the gray twilight ,
your day is done.

So I blow out the light and close the curtain.
Rolling you into my arms,
I find your sleepy eyes
as we rock,
sway,
and shush.

Shush and sway, you fall away.
Melting into my bare arms.
Easing you down
softly,
curling near you.

Shush, pat,
I stroke your head and whisper “Good night”,
You loosen and
open your arms onto the bed.

But something is not right.

Up and down,
you wave your hand onto the mattress.
Up and down, until
you find mine resting against my bent knees.
There, your small fingers cup my palm.

Safe.

You loosen and relax.
Letting my hand slip from your gentle grasp,
back onto the bed.

Till all again.
Up and down you wave for me.
Only this time, I come to you.
Taking your warm hand
and holding it tight so you are still and safe,

You may enter now,
Deeper and deeper. Alone into dreamy ether.
I relax my grip
And on your own,
You let go and roll away.

I was meant to have you.

And I don’t say this profoundly,
or even philosophically.

Anatomically, primitively.
I was meant to have you,

to create and sustain you.

Programmed like a
spring tree in bloom,
I was born to birth you.

Our holiday tree.

We have a small spruce

potted in green plastic. 

bought in a box store with a sale price sticking out from its earth.

wrapped in lights from the window, beside

our one ornament too heavy for any of its branches.

I conceived this tree, when I told you:

“I want to keep a little sprout. I want it to grow with us.”

to be a memory of just beginning. Of new…

oh little spruce,

grow. to what you must be.

sit with the vanishing winter sun.

potted in green plastic,

we grow too.

 

 

 

 

Ode to the lone tree.

Its a wonder, the lone tree

which at first is so bothering,

that a tree should be alone

in whatever green world we love now.

we love now

careless messy thoughtlessness.

and ideals that all should be alone,

plant, man, be alone. alone.

 

Be alone in your memory

when you were not so distinguishable

a sore thumb upon a hill

but beauty of some whole;

density of wood. A thick leafed canopy to

colors, to bark, to no roads.

 

I see,

still silent and alone appears as

a new sort of wonderful. Evolution

or just some luck, when you take

from the taken, When you grow for things

forgotten. And so its why I love the lone

tree–for so simply,it is me.

 

 

 

We will not count the sunsets to  dawn–or find ourselves bewildered at the absence of stars. When colors change, when short lapses of memory intrude. Our wrinkles lend as roads to smiles never faded. Our pale skin will wrap like crinkling leaves onto cold earth. And always you will find the souls who met here […]

Colored by Change

I am not religious, but by no means am I not a person of beliefs. Though hard to grasp and seemingly frail to the unexpected nature of life, there are places we can all sit happily in terms of things unknown. What can be true beyond any argument in our world of billions of lives and years of history? Change. Constant change and of course adjustment to such inevitability.

Unpredictable and impossible to avoid, change will always be a part of our lives and therefore a part of our world. Therefore we can never claim ourselves to be one of anything except a human on this planet experiencing change. As much as we wish to fit ourselves into obsolete roles and desire a secure life, we are just as open to becoming anyone, at any moment.

This is hard to swallow, given we live in a society driven by preferences and control. The truth is we couldn’t be more out of control of our lives and usually that terrifies people.

Though, it shouldn’t.

You will always be vulnerable to the tide of change and adjustment, but that doesn’t mean your whole home needs to be swept away into the ocean. We experience changes for many reasons. Some are so cleverly disguised their purposes remain unknown for some time until after they have occurred. While we cannot be of certain doubt why change happens, we know it is only here to bring us to the next step, and the next step further, and further beyond into our lives journey. Without it, we would still be a ball of cells swimming blissfully in ancient soup.

If change so necessary, why do we sit so afraid? Because it is unknown and scary and out of control? Take a closer look and reflect on all change has done for you. Marvel at the shift of who you were, where you were exactly one year ago today and bask in the shifts still occurring today.

Change gives us a spectrum of emotions and challenges but what we gain is an appreciation for each other, who we are in this moment, and what is still to come. Yes we can never say we are free from troubles, worries, and other burdens but we know to work hard for what we love and preserve those things, because it is so much easier for them to change and drift away.

I believe in change. I believe in the positive role it has in my life. I know change has always brought me to the next step in my life’s journey and will always be there to push or guide me further. I want to be colored and morphed by change like a rock or seashell pushed on to shore. When change is challenging, I hope to remember the people and things I value and love, moving always closer and deeper into this life with appreciation and gratitude

//

You will realize how simple

to feel the breath of water
how simple
it was
like bringing love to a child

or resisting gravity’s pull in dreaming
this I was never shown
(how to have your grace
with my heart fertile)

clearing the earth for seeds
see how easy it can be.

and what remains still unchanged
losses
self
laughter
gains

another old tale

The smell of these keys

and wooden case

coated in paper and paint

is more than random rains

of dust fallen from 77

years Earth side.

I find

This smell, these keys

arduously keep lives of words

entrap meanings and memories

guise stories in scents so that

dust on black keys can sleep

While dust sleeps, the keys repeat

Old nights, smoke filled rooms

Records and talkies, black & white

Old nights, no street lights

Murmurs flowing under the gas light

A Seashell

I opened up the door today, not sure where I was going.

I stepped into the air, so brave, you know its getting harder to breath in

and while every one is on their way, I’m taking my time

while everyone is on their way, I’m making a pact with a seashell

 

an ocean sits afraid

no chivalry to lay your bricks down

when water waves indoors

three hundred years, 2 days storm

 

I walked the sanded graves, your last stepping stone

I ran from the wave, so far, you know its dirty water these days

and when we kiss goodbye, I’m reeling in love

when its desert dry, all hope will sleep in a seashell.