Tuesday, September 5, 2017

Stepping into the Unknown

A caterpillar quickly walks by
my morning meditation,
Compelled by forces that are secreted
from the casual observer.

What do I know of you?
That you are a white and black ghost
Of late summer
Foreshadowing things to come.
That you are playing your part
Spontaneously, yet
Well rehearsed,
Guided by a deeper knowledge
Inherited over countless generations,
And that you will soon be something quite different
Changing effortlessly, so it seems
As your destiny requires of you.
No preparations,
Nor choices,
No fears
Of what is to become of you,
Nor anything beyond simply doing
The next given thing.

You are the Buddha bug
Stepping into the unknown.

Monday, August 28, 2017

Hummingbird Reflections

There is a nectar feeder near the window
It calls out to the hummingbirds
The sweet siren's song baiting the birds near
And as the hummers approaches
They seems to see themselves in the reflection of the window
They hover and hum their song too
Sizing themselves up:
What do we have here, they might say?
Can it be so self aware, I wonder?
A swoop and a dip seems to chase this phantom flyer
Illusion vanquished
Ego satisfied
Momentary domination
Of this small universe achieved.


Later on,
On the nearby open porch
As I sun myself
Eyes closed in fretful meditation
(I too am trying to keep my universe small)
A hummer visit me
Flying close
Perhaps less than a foot from its curved bill
To my face.
It hovers in inspection
Churning vortices of air upon me
Regarding me:
What do we have here, it might say...
And why do you come to me, I might say
Are you my spirit guide?
Are you me from some other side?
And am I confronting  my own reflection
Through your sweet siren's song?






Saturday, July 8, 2017

The Nest

How many bird nests are built
without an avian thought,
accomplished by only the singular purpose
of nesting?
Are the eggs to come simply
an impulse following
a hormonal dream,
a surprise.
Just that?

Do the birds know their truth,
such as given to them by
the wind
and water
and sun,
as the seasons spawn
the secret imperatives...
and so
is the nest is just as much the bird
as the egg laid
the feather fledged
the song sung?

And then to sometimes lose it all
dropped down
dropped low,
does it render them sad
their hopes cast down too
so tragic,
witnessing the empty shell that empties the heart
as these moments seem to feel?




Is it their loss too
or do they simply do the next thing that comes,
free of such bittersweet moments
free to fly into the morning sun?




Sunday, May 21, 2017

Peace and Love and F___ You!

I believe in peace and love
Earth below and sky above,
Truly.
 
But I would like to stray today
And in the most loving way,
Say fuck you!
 
Heartless thieves and shameless too
As if the earth belonged to you!
So greedy.
 
You casually seek to sweep aside
The very earth where we abide,
So foolish.
 
Stealing what's important to me
So gleefully, most cruelly,
Will just not stand.
 
The list, it seems, grows every day
But I for one am in your way,
And I am not alone.
 
And though it’s not my normal way
Please listen when you hear me say,
Fuck you!

 

 

 

 

Monday, April 24, 2017

White-throated Sparrow

I saw you razoring your bill this morning,
Using the budding branch of a maple tree
As your whetstone.

I have some questions:
Ø  Does doing that give your sunflower seed
a maple-y delicious flavor?
Ø  Do you suffer when the weather is cold and wet?
Ø  Do you have a best bird-buddy friend?
Ø  And where do you go at night?
Ø  Are you ever afraid or lonely?
Ø  And most especially,
how does it feel to fly?!
Ø  Is that freedom as delicious
As maple-flavored sunflower seeds?

Oh,
And thanks for stopping by each morning
And having breakfast with me.

 

 

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Just Now

I can only hold onto this moment for just so long.
It is hot, hot!
And sometimes I am blessed it seems,
Or cursed perhaps as well
With how quickly “now”
Is always becoming “then.”
 
But it is not then and gone, no, there is a wane:
And it is a gift when the hot now is love
‘cause hot will keep me warm then,
Long into the cold shadowy night,
And something I can circle back to,
As it cools
The touchstone after the fire has faded.
 
But it is not always then and gone, no,
Which is a clear curse when hot is hate,
‘cause hot hate will haunt me,
And taunt me toxic now
And burn me as it cools, then.
It is something that circles back as it simmers
A stain that is never scrubbed clean
A regret that begets regret.
 
 
So what to do, what to do?
Since there is no sure way to quench the hateful heat
But only to let it cool in my own entropy
Nor to feed an endless fire of love,
As much as it is my desire…
So I will greet such heats with a small wry smile:
Hello!  And there you are!
I will greet them in this moment
This only one
Like the heat of the sun
So constant and so god-like…
(As only in my life does the sun’s heat seem to come now,
And go then.)
This is know, this I know…
And this moment is hot!