Existential Boy Scout

So God it seems is an existential boy scout.
Mischievously striking matches of creation
then tossing them into the either, the void, the cosmos
permitting them to combust; burn wildly or fizzle,
grow warm and beautiful or sizzle and spit.
And after each ignition God turns a back to them
and benignly leaves these sparks to the winds of fate, the random forces,
and the will of each creation to make what they might
out of their moment of energy manifest into their moment of reality.

I Drink the Juice

I taste the orange juice
citrus sweet
and feel recharged and vitalized
except for a slight after-taste
that reminds me of the smell of oily pesticides
fogged on the trees one breezeless morning
and the slight salt sweat taste
dripped from the brow of Guatemalan
illegals who bend and reach 10 hours a day
And there is a dank diesel stench
of freighters and trucks that haul
the fruit some thousand miles
and the carbide smell of war and revolution
of those who unwittingly protect this
precious fuel
and the slight hot paper waxy-sided
that keeps it fresh and clean
while water runs through those stamping machines
and gushes fetid into the stream
so I may drink the product deep
and taste the juice
so bitter sweet.

Vantage Point

It is a day like any other
But this day has a vantage point.

Not unlike
Climbing the tallest tree,
With hopes of a view
Closer to the farthest horizon,
Yet yielding nothing
But more trees
Beech green and gray
Oak stretching tall
Pine whistling secret melodies.

Their past is written
In concentric loops
Both tight and loose
Dendrochronologies stored in locked trunks,
They show nothing of the future
They offer no divining stick
Hedging toward a likely bet,
Their stories tell only what was.

A leaf drifts.
It wobbles down
Turning slowly on a brief breeze
Then lands upon a compass rose
Of other leaves and sticks
And points the way
On a map I know I know
But cannot read
And so I am left to discover
My course
Somehow
Having been so chosen.

Dream Suite and Sour

• Child dream

Soft and warm
Alone but with you
riding furrow and troughs
on an ocean placid embracing nurturing
As it is so it has always been
so it always will be.

• Man dream

Stubble and sinew
Making his claim
Setting his aim
He puts a stake in the ground
rising then falling then rising again
And dying a little each time
Dying and then rising again.

• Woman dream

Irrepressible, she draws near
And I am well confined-
Free, but only subtly
To dispute her but not refute her
My course is always altered by her approach.

• Anxious dream

I know it is wrong
My choice
my face
my place…
And in that way I am so shaken
And I wake to find the pain
Still resonates
And tests its way throughout my day
A pill or prayed will not decrease
And only time will give release?

• Day dream

A thought releases random views
Following an unknown muse
A collage of memories untold
Castles in the sky unfold
A loose stitch pulled the nap unraveled
A passage welcomed yet untraveled
A word , a notion, a memory
A sketch, a twist on yet to be
These travels evoke a passive smile
This reverie may reconcile.

• Morning dream

We are epic
The grand triumph
The challenge met
The sweet repast
The thoughtless get
And still you give me one more chance
To rise and toil
To sing to dance
And trod upon
This sacred ground
To engage in prayer
To issue sound
To sup a breath
And blink an eye
To live this life
With one more try.


• Wishful dream

The fool and the beggar met one day
And shared a thought each in their way
And spoke of what they’d like to see
And longed for a brief fantasy
For burdens taken from their door
For comfort‘s gift they did implore
And knew that these they would not see
But pleasured in such company.

• Walking Dream

A solitary man walks on a woodland trail
He has a moderate pace
Although it appears there is no clear destination
He stops to look upon the ground-
A leaf, a stick, some secret trace,
Has drawn him to this time this place?
And then he wanders to the side
And sits down on a fallen trunk
And gazes off to perhaps regard
A distant, private landscape.

• Dying Dream

I will not know until my day
My turn I’ll take
My pass away
I've hints that previewed deaths arrival
I’ve seen the struggle for soul survival…
And when the moment surely comes
Under yet determined circumstance
One wish I have for that fine day
I’d like it to be a gentle dance…

Wishful Dream

The fool and the beggar met one day
And shared a thought each in their way
And spoke of what they’d like to see
And longed for a brief fantasy
For burdens taken from their door
For comfort‘s gift they did implore
And knew that these they would not see
But pleasured in such company.

A Wash

New Years Day
In the morning gray
I am doing a wash
Best to start out clean.

The rest are sleeping it seems
Keeping their thought to themselves in their dreams,
Internals.

The birds come, chickadees,
And celebrate their luck
In a feast at the feeder.
The New Year comes for them
Everyday,
When they fly
Free to feed.
It falls to me the task of giving them thoughts.
As they keep their own
To themselves.

I drift in a moment,
Loosely contrived,
To the ledger of my year
And years,
And guilt-full,
Think about what has been
And yet might be.
I don’t revel in this thinking.
I’d rather keep my thoughts
From myself.
Yet I have been doing some house cleaning
Of late
Of a sort,
Throwing away
Giving away
Putting away
Accumulations
Which lead to inevitable ruminations.


And there I find things and places and people
Steadfasts,
Who are my favorites.
They brighten my days
And illuminate my dreams.
Each brings a tear.
And there too
Hidden in shadows and on front pages
Are things and places and people
Who darken my thoughts,
And cause me in public
And in private
To rail
And cringe.
They threaten.
Each brings a fear.
And I regret that I have not done more
Or at least done better…

Chickadee, I plea
Please explain your simplicity
And if you can
Reveal to me
Just one small thing
That makes you free.

And perhaps, instead
In days ahead
As a new point of view
A prayer, a plea
Drawn from these
The histories,
That I may not become awash
In painful doubt
And agonizing second thought,
But let it be
A wash
On this new day
And try the Chickadee way.
To celebrate
Without too much thought,
To be clean
And free,
And so self-taught.