Pick one
They are the ripe fruit of our
times
Pick one
Peace, justice, compassion and
more
They are on this menu
Pick one
Eat it
Digest it
Not into fearful fat
But to engaged energy
Eat it
Then spit it out
And make it new
Better
So much better
You know how
You know you know...
And if not you
Then who?
It comes as no surprise,
Mallards do what they do.
“Ah, there’s ice on the water…
Let’s swim around it.”
I don’t mean to put words in their bills
Perhaps they had a pre-dawn meeting
And charted their destination
Set an agenda?
Something sends them this way
But likely not determined by their
“Executive function.”
No, something deeper drives them
A clock with no chime?
A compass with no needle?
A course with no plan?
Ducks swim
And humans wonder why.
The wind is scouring the steel -gray lake
Nature’s game of give-and-take,
The last of autumn’s sun soaked heat
It starts it ends and so’s complete,
Out of the chops the steam blows back
To the blue beyond on its own track,
This happens every day we know
But not so obviously a show,
Given free as if to prove
Of bigger things on constant move,
And so too a bit of me blows by
As I look on, cold too but dry.
Love today
Regret tomorrow.
Discretion is so devious
Fear fed
It steals
For survival’s sake
From what is
On behalf of what might be.
Down in the toad hole
Is a good place to breathe,
Drawing in the strong darkness,
Living through the skin,
Celebrating the patient,
As if
It was always meant to be …
This place
Is a day past part way but
Not too far gone,
Just a bit removed,
Retreated,
Quantum slow,
Snowfall silent,
It is a vantage
From which both safety and uncertainty
Can be known.
It is a reptilian place,
A place to hunker-down.
Ear ring guy pops open
the first Bud of the day from the 12 pack
On the trunk of a beat up Volvo
No pretense here
Beginning the numb down
At 10:15 AM.
John Walker and Sons and I are
Watching across the parking lot
Witnesses to a steady stream of congregants
Sacramentally tampering down the brewing tempest
Brown bags in hand
We keep our doubts and fears mostly private this morning
Except for our soft cries and
Our silent anguishes
As we wait vainly for our savior to arrive.
I hear he is coming
Sometime later this month...
Meanwhile there is always Bud.
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