T-shirt Issues

What do you do
When you put your t-shirt on backwards?
Of all the times you’ve done such a common act,
It’s bound to happen
It’s a random occurrence
And though practice makes perfect
Errors do take place.
Don’t feel bad.
Some great things have happened randomly
Accidentally
Maybe even you or me
Check with mom and dad…
So even after checking for the tag
To orient front and back, sometimes
Ooops!
Some of you may be like me
A slight feeling of panic setting in
Neck in noose claustrophobia
Like a necktie (which makes me also wonder, why?)
So with the t on back-ass-ward
What do you do?
A little shimmy
A bit of twist and shout
It all works out.
So don’t let it put the first dent in your day,
Don’t see it as a moment of portent
But rather a moment for a wise
Course correction:
Better to laugh early at the folly.
Step in from to the mirror
Hit the reset button
Smile and repeat after me:
Really?  Really!
Sometimes I just crack me up!
Now about those miss-matched socks…

 

 

Waiting vs. Being

Sometimes waiting
Is fraught with peril
And is measured in increments of bad news:
Dollars to the fix
At the auto repair shop…
Hours, days, years of pain
So second guesses the doctor
(On a scale of 1 to 10
How much pain do you have?
Really, isn’t that kind of personal?)
Can’t I just drive on forever?
Can’t I just live pain free,
Endlessly?
 
But as this universe spools out
Infinitely
So too our immediate reality is finite,
And is meted out in doable doses
Real, both in its generous randomness
Of pain and joy,
Suffering and celebrating each
In its own way,

Both in their given moment

Ahhh…
     Ouch…
          Om….

Beyond Chocolate

Beyond chocolate
There is what comes next:
The post-play
The Candy crash
Goodness gone
Swan song…
Of course there could be more chocolate (brilliant!)
With all its dark
Creamy smoky endorphin drenched goodness,
Soaked in such singular self-satisfaction
Like a little secret between good friends.
 
Or later,
After the after glow
When all that tongue and nose chemistry
Has faded
(Although much belated)
When it is gone,
It is really gone.
What was that song?
Is that all there is?
That IS all there is! (Sigh!)
And the happy high
Leaves us,
Leaves us with just
The sad sniffing
Of the empty bag.

New Day

The moon is full and shining brightly in the west,
Making friends with the mountain peaks
Illuminating the fields high with grass,
And nodding ferns
Their shadows dancing towards the nearby forest,
Still dark and quiet. 
The Big Dipper,
Orion,
And Cassiopeia
Are hanging in the north and east,
Blinking stoically,
Watching over us.  
A distant dog barks without much conviction.  
Roosters are crowing their farewells to the night
And calling the dawn. 
It is a new day.
Good morning.

 

 

To Stem the Tides

Sometimes the world is too much
For the likes of you and me,
Though I admire those who can breathe deep
And live large,
Who can attempt to stem the tides of outrage and sorrow,
The same tides that would surely
Sweep me out to sea.

No I need blinders. 
I need small sandcastles on the seashore where
I can only see the gloom in small doses,
(Even as sweet as Barbara Kingsolver may make it.) 
I need things doled out,
The tsunami cup by cup,
Ideas and goals and dreams
Are best ingested in doses simple and small (for small Paul). 
I need them to be beautiful and right.

Enough

Enough already,
Had enough,
Enough is enough?!
Forming ramparts, bulwarks
May help, in the very short run
But it is a one-sided affair
Here in the materials world
 If you go that way…
And really aren’t we in this
Together, in the end?
To the end?
And enough of what?
What stuff
Will make your day better
Change the outdoor weather
Keep you alive
One more hour, one more day
In any appreciable way?
Enough said?

 

Taro Nods

Taro nods in prayerful thanks
Eastward in salutation
Towards the warm rays of this new day.
I touch her broad and earth green leaf
And so by such communion
Rejoin man to plant
Plant to man,
And hear the hush whispering
From the steady flow of
The stream in which we all stand.

 

Dear Poet

Dear Poet,
It is your job to mirror
The elegance of the universe
Which needs no real help
In this regard.

And of special note
The mud clods that you offer
Tracked across the freshly
Mopped floor;
You couldn’t do more?

Climate

Can we talk?
Can we find a way
To meet in the somewhat rare
I know not where
Into thin air
Middle?
Can we talk?!
I ask because it seems the only way
To make a save.
We are so late to the game
And so
Shocked by the score
Could I have done more?
Should I shake you?
Or kiss you?
I just don’t know…
Perhaps we can dance
But who leads
And who holds whose hand?
All I know is if we sit this one out
The band may no longer play.
Can we talk?
Because the room continues to grow warmer
And warmer.

Arm's Length

In a day dream
I saw myself as you know me,
Where I held myself off at arm’s length
Slightly out of reach,
Coolly un- embraceable…
I don’t know why (though I might try)
The fears roiled and took their toll
They held off your beauty because
It did not match
Or meet the standards I had
So arrogantly set
That foiled both you
And me as well.
 
It’s a sad refrain
That sent you off
Wondering why (it’s such a shame…)
That widens the chasm
And confounds our hearts
Such is the madness I have made
Such are the things that keep us apart.

 

 

Rain Puts Me in My Place

Through the door and across the sodden field
I can see a solitary tree
Springing like a bow released
Recoiled and coiled over again
Flagging on the passage
Of the next rain shower:
CAUTION!
Rainfall ahead for the next ten miles.
And then without prelude or
Even a polite introduction
It falls in a common chorus of paradiddles,
Pop-corning drops on the fabric roof,
Teasing like a big brother,
Will it ever crease, or will it met out
In such random measure
Just a bit now, to gently remind
And quite a bit more later
To put me in my place,
Which seems to be
Somewhere damp
And in between
Fish and fowl?

 

 

The Story of the Game

Have I opened your eyes
So only that you may see the painful future
Have I not taught you to know
That there is so little that can be done
Except to brace for the oncoming blow
Have I been the fool
That has made fools out of many
Offering false hopes
Have I done so little good
And stolen so much precious time
Knowing that I might have done more
If not for playing the game so given
The game of fear and weakness and selfishness.

 

 

Rain

I don’t trust the rain
Though I love it
Drumming overhead…
But it seems too much
And again too little
Filling gauges to overflowing
Washing away the dreams
Of gardens and groves
Carving and scarring
It wakes me
But not now filled or satiated
But rather fishing for breath
It has turned mean in this age
Vengeful
Moving us to higher ground
Hills heaped with uncertainty
Changing both mountain and valley
Changing in a new rhythm that
Will make a new dance.

 

Seeds

If you want to plant a garden
I have some seeds that I can share
Green beans, they will give you strength
As you see them grow emerald
With flowers pale but
Ripe with potential.
Or perhaps some Morning Glories
Ringing their blue bells optimistically?
Maybe you could knit some socks?
I have been collecting tufts of wool
That the sheep volunteer.
Or give a neighbor a ride to town?
Don’t let that empty seat taunt you for
It will surely haunt you.
There is still time to turn your heart and hearth
There is still time to teach and learn.
It is our choice…
The world may forgive us
Eventually.
It is in its nature
And so to ours.