The Chipmunk Way

There are chipmunks meditating
Bunkered deep in stonewalls…
Waiting most breathlessly.
Are they dreaming of cheek pouches
Swollen with seeds?
Do they wander mindfully back to sun-streaked
Mornings and warm-velvet days filled
With the wood-chucking of their songs
As they earnestly shared
Their secrets with the universes?
They know that I was listening then,
Tapping my toes…
Can they help me now?
Can they tell me
What I need to know?

Be Calm

Be calm and spend some time
In a place that lets you feel
Safe and comfortable.
You have my permission
To say “I have my permission.”
 
You know where your places are.
Mine is near the water
At the edge of possibilities.
It is also in the forest
Where oaks stand strong
Offering kind shade
And pines whisper their peaceful mantras.
It is in the garden where
Green life makes itself new every day.
It is feeding the birds
And watching them
Mindful of their industry
Joyful of their exquisiteness.
It is in a book or a story
That I might live in for a moment
Some so well written that
I cannot turn the page away from its beauty.
 
You have these places.
Go there now
And again
And take a friend with you if you can.
Be calm,
You may find a better way.

I Hope So

I hope so…
Perhaps it is enough?
…
On that day there was a great sucking sensation
An unwitting flight into a new reality.
I was filled with such fear
That it drained me dry,
You too?
 
And the shock showed itself
Like the bottom of a pond
After the dam had broken
All desiccated ooze and mineral mud
Rare to the light
Hard on the eye.
 
And there seem no sense to it
No way to mend the vapor
No pumping of the hearts
Some so broken and failed
That they had lost their prime.
 
The impossible newness disoriented some
With its sound and its babble
Enraged some with its sight…
There were tears and
Eyes swollen and red with rage.
 
And only a few at first
Stood and stared
Stood in the day
New and real
And saw what it had made of them
And so they nodded and knew
They knew what was needed
They knew what must be done:
They needed to do more.

 

See?

See how it wanders then waits?
See how the harsh edges blur in soft focus?
See how the light from within shines?
See how she waits in the water?
See how they gather in great beauty?
See what we already should know?

Simple and Sentimental

I like toast.
It is nearly the perfect food.
The crust is a must.
It must have tooth.
It must speak as I eat.

Something about food from the fire:

Bread browned, almost burnt
Flour from grain
Grain from seed
Seed from sun…
I return the heat
And release its wonder
Coming close to holding such
Solar secrets upon my tongue.