Grey, The Galactic Mandala

Even grey has shades.

Gray shades stirring…stirring

Churning sands of granite and feldspar

Run between the fingers

Coarse and crystalline

They make their own mischief

These dancing hippies

Elemental, fundamental

Sugared and floured

Washed and then scoured

They beacon and beseech.

 

They are naked on this birthday

They circle and drum

Weaving like roots and limbs

Forming and reforming

The galactic mandala.

 

 

 

 

Sit Tight

It’s something of a fog
(Or about a fog?)
On the day
That my smile could not contain my laugh,
Love will do that to me.
And I could reach out and touch you
It seemed so real
Really,
Like lightning and thunder
Brewed hot and swift…

And then came the fog
Through which my mind’s eye now sees
Translucent
But my mind’s heart knows
To sit tight and wait
For the real thing
To roll out of this haze.
Meanwhile
I sit tight with my smile.

 

On This Trail

There are no blazes on this trail
Although the trees stand familiar
Waiting for me to pass
They have moved some they seem to say
Counting their steps
In their own way.
And I reach down and find your hand
As if it had always been there
Waiting for me to find my way back
Waiting for me to continue this walk
Along the stream side
And through the woodland deep
Cooled by yesterday’s rain
And warmed by windows
Of this day’s sun.
There are no blazes on this trail…
We will have to find our own way.

 

 

A Good Day

The definition of a good day
Is pretty wide open.
Don’t ask for too much,
Perhaps some sunshine
And the whiff of a gardenia…
Don’t expect too much,
As it may lead to disappointment
Self-created.  That’s a long road.

Any good day above ground
I am reminded…
The rest is gravy,
Frosting on the cake.
Clearly we have been offered such
Sage advice.

I’ll take the song of a bird nearby
And the thought of seeing your smile,
The rest is pretty wide open.