Robot vacuum sucks up broken wine glass that fell from kitchen counter.
This searching and this striving
Been going on so long
This needing a direction
A place where I am bound
It has me in an orbit
This Going round and round
I’m finally arriving
At the place I never found
The biggest surprise in my life (you have your own)
Is that being old is a great blessing and joy
I ask “How did this happen?”
And I can come up with many inadequate reasons, even when multiplied by a factor of ten.
So I am left to choose between two options: luck or love.
Chance or relationship.
Being that I have never considered myself lucky and have never won games of chance, I have opted for love.
That seems fine with me. I may not be lucky, but I know I am loved. That seems to have all the reasons covered/reconciled/forgiven.
And in the end/beginning that is all we really need to know.
Speaking White Pine
The wind is a spirit
It speaks in the pines, sometime
It may be speaking oak or poplar
If the Sun is out
That is a good time to listen
It’s always that still, small voice
We might mistake it for a whisper
From the forest floor
We must look upwards
Then we see the sway of its mouth
Forming words out of no words
That say, here!
And we say, “No!”
You got it wrong.
At the Store
“Oh you’re so cute!” The husky cigarette voice pleaded with my Father to give her attention as he held me in his arms, high above the legs and shoes. Perhaps that is what I didn’t like about her. She was really talking to him, not me. I was just someone who got in the way and protected him. He talked to my mother when we got home and mentioned that “Floozy” was there.
Empty Nest Syndrome
Though nested high above the ground
A mother bird will find it sound
To push the baby out and down
In hopes that flapping wings are found
When seeing certain death approach
The chick will see that wings are growth
And then will fly away
And You Are?
I am as water
Not ice or cloud
Not rock or ghost
Not gathering at mountain peaks
pools and valleys
My anointed space
Refreshment for farrow and field
A resting place
in the desert’s
Hidden by dune (doing)
And only encountered by following
The birds who chase the clouds
In search of rest and refreshment
The alchemist is dead
He could not fashion gold from lead
The miracle it seemed
Was never to be gleaned
By prideful such as he
In disappointment died
And in so was chastised
By endless love unseen
Still so he was transformed
A poet was he born
His words were balms that healed
His phrases splinted breaks
An alchemist he is
And love is all it takes
Change itself is what we adapt to. It may come in the form of a pandemic
Is my great exploration
The sail I unfurl unto the wind
That it might send me
Beyond my fear of mighty waves
And rocky shores
With songs of salt and spray
The captain calls me higher
Up the mast to untie ropes
To speed us through this course
Of doubt and freedom flashing
And the clashing of the thunder
Has us fearful full of wonders
As if God himself has plucked us
From this nest
And raised us in the air while saying
“Fly” and it is there I rediscover
We have wings and there’s a lover
Who is waiting our return when we get home