Approachable Divinity

Amazing how the soft reflection

of colors on the waxed wood floor

from the bright blazing strand

of LED lights encircling the spruce

creates a universe beneath my feet

tiny worlds warmer than their source

I admire the beauty not as a facsimile

but for its own unique wonder

like orange orbs of street lamps cast

across the black waters of the Saugatuck

or the sweet silvery moon above

all the more lovely because it is not sun

and I may gaze on it as long as I like

In the same way I rejoice
to look upon your face

faithfully refracting the light of love

tempering that blinding source of all life

into a flash of approachable divinity

In praise of fog

Weightless drops delight in their ethereal state

dancing they swirl past the porch light

floating free instead of dripping down

a breath scatters the damp flecks of cloud

and passing headlights make a shadowbox

illuminating the yard as the house floats

above ground and under water

oh how the brume on a warm winter night

can turn a somnolent New England town

into a mighty and mysterious Atlantis

explorers need only step out onto the stoop

to watch the watery world drift by

Noel from the New Haven Line

A flurry of glittering white lights

frost the many Main Streets

with candy cane street lamps

and Christmas trees in bars

making the neon beer signs

seem somehow festive

while the tree branches wrapped

in glowing orbs wink cheerfully

at the weary commuters

"you're almost home now"

as twinkling blue waves

adorn rambling fences

and electric icicles dangle

from sternly pitched eves

like so many alpine peaks

creating a holiday tapestry

so alive and bright with joy

that even the jealous moon approves

Reduced to stumps

It is when they shed their leaves

that you notice the brokenness of the trees

how well they hid their cracks

in the warm abundance of summer

but winter has laid bare their wounds

and it is too late now to bind them

they must be chopped down

lest they fall on their own

crushing all that is near

only when they are reduced to stumps

will they be stable and sturdy again

Rebirth

The drug is gone now

It did not go with a whimper

But with a wild scream

It tried to take me with it

Howling as it was expelled

My skin beneath its nails

Leaving my nerves exposed

My senses raw and tender

Like a baby, and just as angry

My soul is birthed in sweet agony

Each sensation an assault and a triumph

Ringing out I am alive

I am alive!

And so I welcome you pain

Because to be dull is to be dead

But these tears - they are life

Stonemason

Show me where this awkward stone

fits into the perfect wall

I have worked so hard to build

Show me how to use its heaviness

in a way that won't cause the edifice

to crumble into a pile of ruin

Show me where to chip away

the stubborn blockages

so that it can be a useful thing

Show me how, when the rough rocks

are placed amongst the smooth,

it strengthens the whole

Angel dragon

I walk beside the familiar wetland stream

now choked with fallen leaves

and invasive duckweed

feeling choked myself with fallen hopes

and invasive disappointment

when my attention is drawn

to a fiery dart of an insect

a late blooming flame

the last dragonfly of the season

discontent, he flits from one dry leaf to the next

until unexpectedly, he alights upon my coat

maybe he mistakes the orange wool

for a fallen sycamore leaf

tumbling aimlessly through the woods

or perhaps he can see that I need company

and recognizing a fellow wanderer

he decides to join me

on a backyard pilgrimage

in search of some understanding

about the change in seasons

and the unstoppable march of time

until miraculously we two

are outside of time and season

as he sits just above my thigh

his ink drop eyes staring up at me

his translucent wings dipped

in otherworldly opalescence

and that Chinese dragon red body

shocking, vibrant, mythic

as if dressed for a New Year's festival

and I find myself in a state of wonder

at my companion, this angel dragon

heralding a time of beginning

when suddenly the whole fallen earth

rises in a cyclone of celebration around us

see how the old must fall away

to make room for the glorious new

it won't be long now

Last dance

O dappled day with shifting shapes

and sun-shower falling with the leaves

as I step from warmth to warmth

avoiding the shady spots

here on this stump

the light warms my hair

and shares its last dance with me

before it is boarded up for the winter

Leaf canoe

Leaf canoe paddled by the breeze

on a lazy voyage downstream

had it fallen on the wet earth

the journey would be over

but the cool water beckoned

and so a new adventure begins

in a season when most

have already succumb to decay

the small brown paper-thin star

has made its frailty an asset

the dry curled edges are better suited

for skimming over the waves

than when they were plump and green

and heavy with the stuff of life

now free of the bulky branch

it is content to lie back and float

String Theory

Here's how I knew I loved You:

at the sound of your name

my every atom began to hum

vibrations of a tuning fork struck

deep within the cavern of my chest

and all at once I understood

that I am made up of so much more

than I could have imagined

in the silence before We met

prayer

take my many wants

balled tightly in my fist

pry each finger loose

and shake them out

like cold ashes

leave me empty-handed

that I might grasp

what is true

Red Cups

I was always the girl at parties

holding the same red cup all night

uncomfortable as a sunburn under denim

watching the Munchian faces scream-laugh

at some joke I could never understand

feeling all the more outside for not wanting to

Who are all of these people?

Did their dads ever tie dental floss

around their loose teeth and slam the door?

Have they ever cried over

the bare bones of a bird in the woods?

Would they hold their breath

to hear the gentle breeze better?

How I wish I could dump out

this warm waxy brew sitting stagnate

in my super-sized red plastic Solo

and fill it with cool soft mountain water

how the hint of ancient earth thrills my tongue

how just the thought of it quenches my soul

in the barren desert of this over-full house

Power outage

So this is how they did it

for almost all of human history

flickering fire alive in the night

thoughtful dinner by candlelight

soft conversation by the hearth

Electricity has made

chained children of our nights

shouting, yet unable to move

as we watch still, flat screens

instead of the dancing flames

How to survive a hurricane

Two frightened dogs, two overfed cats,

one fearless husband and you --

huddled in the concrete basement

taking refuge on the fold-out couch

the one that smells like neglect

the one that feels like a rock quarry

the one that you can't believe

you've allowed guests to sleep on

or at least try to sleep on

you now know that it is not easy

especially when the wind outside

is trying to crush your house

like a Coors can on a frat boy's head

You've never been a beer drinker

and yet for some strange reason

you begin to crave one now

but don't dare go upstairs

for fear of falling trees

and exploding windows

like you witnessed on the local news

just before the power went out

Of course, without electricity

the beer is probably warm by now

and warm beer is not good anytime

much less at a time like this

when the end feels so near

besides, you would never choose

a pale summer ale for your last drink

before your darling red cottage

was carried off into the murky grey

You would choose a Wildwood cream soda

the kind you could only get

from the magnet-covered fridge

in the tiny yellow and brown kitchen

at your Nana and Papa's house

the kind with the bright sky blue can

covered with vibrant green trees

friendly upright pines

not the broken and hurled maples

thrown like javelins by an angry Irene

And suddenly, having chosen a last drink

that could only be obtained

if you were to travel across the country

to sleepy Highland, Indiana

and then across time to the early eighties,

you begin to feel calmly confident

that you will survive this storm after all

For Papa

What a marvel it is to me

that the hummingbird

with its minuscule proportions

should remind me of my papa

who as a baby slept in a shoebox

but as a man could scarcely find a bed

long enough to keep his feet

from hanging off

What an enigma it is

that a shimmering insect of a bird

calls to mind the mill worker

who moved steel for a living

with bear claw hands

and hard helmet nails

What a mystery it is that I can see

the slow moving gentle giant

in the zig and zag of an avian wisp

And yet, when it flies overhead

the flutter of soft wind on my hair

reminds me of his cheek

resting on the top of my head

the glint in its iridescent feathers

is the wink in his blue eyes

Nothing can rival the hummingbird heart

save that of a hard working long loving

proud Slovakian whose hands

were large enough to hold forever

whose heart is light enough

to float on the breeze of eternity

Racing the Moon

With the advantage of of such luminosity

I am surprised when he falls behind

flickering like an old news reel

he must be swifter than I suspected

or perhaps he is more fallible than he lets on

he bobbles and falls from view

tripping over tangled tree limb laces

and I begin to believe that I might win

so I dig deep and press into my lead

lungs burning, tears flying from my eyes

the world blurs with the promise of victory

but when I round the next bend

he has somehow risen far ahead

titling now he sizes me up

and giving a nod of respect

he slows enough to let me gain

until soon we are in a dead heat

side by side we swim through the night

united by the fierce and simple love

of speed and wind and breath and sky

Growth

It is the very core of nature

yet how unnatural it feels

to be utterly broken

to be split like a seed

torn in two by a shoot

somewhere deep beneath the earth

to be ripped and divided

like a perfect round cell

making way for something new

life growing in the dark

conceived in uncertainty

this pregnancy is hard to bear

wisdom is a breech baby

born in the wilderness

with no epidural in sight

there is only deep breathing

and hopeful anticipation

to midwife the pain

only the flowers

formed beneath the dirt

to show the way

Saturday Matinee

Play for me oh wind and green

rustling raucously for a few bars

whilst the gold dipped paint brush

dabs and flecks the soft leafy stars

Dance for me old leaning fence

all smiles and chipped teeth

gliding with that Virginia vine

toe to toe and cheek to cheek

Sing for me chorus of barking spaniels

while falling petals pirouette

and nimble bees sway with the clethera

proving mother nature's triple threat

Act for me players costumed in wild glory

for this lavishly staged show

before an audience of newly shorn grass

and the angels who bid the blades to grow

Fishing with Terns

Float upon the wind

and then flap like mad

spot what you want

in the clear waters below

channel the hummingbird

as you hover overhead

while the wave breaks

back up and then dive

holding nothing back

let gravity drop you

like a stone into the surf

maybe you will come up

with a silver flash

thrashing in your beak

or perhaps you will come up empty

either way you gave it your all

you will get one next time

and when you do

you will throw your head back

and celebrate with a throaty trill

before beginning all over again

with the earned wisdom

that the only way to soar is to fall

Self defense

My father taught me self defense

when I was just a girl

How to twist my arm and pull down

if ever I am grabbed 'round the wrist

by some menacing assailant

How to seek the weak link

between the forefinger and the thumb

and break the controlling circle

in one swift unexpected move

But I have not yet learned

how to twist and break free

from the unseen grip

that encircles my heart with worry

Where is the weak spot

amongst the icy fingers of fear

The grace of gravity

Stillness is the key

to unlock this great green world

it is not until you sink

deep into the swing

through the wooden seat

into the wild earth

so that the breeze itself

becomes you breath

that the invisible door

hinged between two tall pines

opens just a crack

so you may glimpse

the world beyond

the dance of the dragonfly

part aerial dogfight

part Viennese waltz

the grace of gravity

guiding the twirling leaves

swirling like summer snow

it falls upon the pond

and the water holds its breath

there is a ripple of sheer delight

as sunlight brushes the surface

like a warm breath

on the back of a lover's neck

and you see now that humans

have much to learn of love

we think it is ours alone

but the shivering birch knows better

Waiting

Another crowded waiting room

more "important people"

taking their sweet time

as if Time were something

they could option and own

But they can not buy

the rights to Right Now

Right now there is thinking to be done

drifting daydreams to follow

deep breathing to attend to

sounds and sights to absorb

There is a Hollywood icon

sliding out of her matted frame

under flickering florescent lights

how long has she been here

butterfly wings pinned to paper

Unobserved by a dull eyed assistant

who discusses her next weekend plans

quietly into her bluetooth

even though it is only Monday

Her grey pants blending in

with the grey carpet squares

placed diagonally and cross grain

for some kind of visual interest

or perhaps to draw attention

away from the unsightly stains

How many hopes have been spilled

upon this waiting room floor

How many dreams laid down

like Yeats's coat to be tread upon

by polished shoes with shredded soles

Cracking nuts

I open the creaky drawer

in the tiny cabin kitchen

looking for a spatula

to turn the grilled cheeses

when I come across a set

of silver braided nutcrackers

In a flash I am sitting

near the stone fireplace

at Christmastime

seven years old and marveling

at how quickly my father

can shell the pecans

and uncover the bumpy

flesh of the walnuts

that we all agree

look like tiny brains

Now here it sits

the hand powered appliance

looking foreign in its antiquity

and I can't help but think

that no child today

would be able to identify

the strange two-legged utensil

Nuts come in green cans

on supermarket shelves

don't they?

I determine then and there

to track down a set and buy it

so that my children will know

that not everything in life

comes pre-shelled and easy

but sometimes it tastes better

when you crack it yourself

Stories in the sky

Grecian statue clouds

mailable marble above

first a goddess on high

her noble profile

swept with curled tendrils

of a windblown mane

strong sure Roman nose

tall thin neck

stretching longer now

until woman becomes swan

beak from nose

wings born of lustrous locks

graceful swift bird

swimming through the air

she tries to escape

the rabbit turned fox

stalking up from behind

finally he leaps forward

and upon landing

is engulfed by the swan

predator and prey merge

begetting the angel

messenger of heaven

ablaze with a holy call

flying higher and higher

and the cumulus minstrels

keep telling stories in the sky

The constellation of caring

Galileo Galilei famously declared

that he loved the stars too dearly

to be fearful of the night

and it is an enviable sentiment

But what of those dark hours

when the fog is so thick

even the nearest garden lamps

are cloaked in mire

Where are those glittering promises

when the torrent batters the roof

and knocks out the lights

both inside and out

It takes a rocket of imagination

to carve a path through the blackness

and the unstable fusion power

of faith as a propellant

But when no fuel can be found

to blast through the ominous clouds

one must seek closer heavenly lights

to love and hold dear to dispel the fear

There is the luminosity of tender words

the brightness of back rubs

and the warmth of cold compresses

there is the constellation of caring

The small and the mighty

An assembly line of worker ants

pass the pale pearl larva

up the Everest of my swing set pole

like a baton in a relay race

a processional of glistening offerings

headed to the mountain top

a sacrifice to the god of the small

and the mighty

they have abandoned the mound

for a pilgrimage in search of sky

how sure footed they are

carrying translucent sacks

twice their size up and up

as if their ignorance of gravity

had made them immune to it

the pace speeds as dusk descends

soon it becomes a race

between these purposeful insects

and the turning of the world

but this large and lumbering planet

has never stood a chance

in the face of such zealous efficiency

If only

How that caboose must have sailed

must have chortled and chugged with life

compartments filled with fancy luggage

walls brimming with bawdy laughter

over after dinner drinks

and unfiltered cigarette smoke

How silent it sits now

on its piece of track to nowhere

retired to the woods, left behind

rotted siding like missing teeth

cataract clouded windows

rusty hinges, stiff and stuck

How expectant it seems up close

with that wheel in front that can still turn

the empty stove just waiting

for a shovelful of coal

and if only someone

would lay some track through that field

it would ride the rails right out of here

How the trees would cheer

how the bayberry bush would shiver with envy

Dog Years

I wonder why a dog's life

must be so truncated

when they keep so well

the doctor prescribed

lifestyle for longevity

plenty of rest

plenty of exercise

no anxiety nor stress

no sugar nor alcohol

not a single vice

save loving too much

and peeing on my roses

yet there they sit

shelf life getting shorter

with each wag and wiggle

blissfully unaware

living a guru's life

each moment full and free

quality if not quantity

and while I watch their

eyes squinted with the pleasure

of a well placed scratch

it becomes very clear

that they have already

out-lived me

Out the window

Porcelain dinner plate sun

more moon than star

extinguished by the miasma

of an indecisive summer day

neither rain nor shine

just a cold white ceramic disk

Summer Street

The smell of fresh asphalt

carries me back to summer parades

hard candy thrown from homemade floats

red wagons with crepe paper tails

melted vanilla ice cream on black top

invisible snakes rising to make the world swoon

near a booth of ruffled purple parasols

with embroidered monograms for sale

next to swirling vats of frozen lemonade

in a town that time screamed past

like police sirens in a parade

officers in cop cars waving

while firemen sound the horn

upon request with a pump of the fist

and the dip of an elbow

the tissue in my bra didn't keep its shape

but it did keep me dry when the sun

reached it's apex and the grown ups

took cover under cool green awnings

while the kids continued to roam free and wild

and I endured the scorching pavement

waiting for a boy in a blue polo shirt

to buy me an airbrushed t-shirt

with our names emblazoned like comets

when I turned a bright shade of pink

it was not a sun burn

but the tender pain of summer bliss

that tasted like a watermelon Jolly Rancher

urban wasteland

the water torture beeping

of an unseen truck backing up

mixed with muffled rap music

from a passing low rider

drowns the frenetic beats

rising from the Greek cafe on the corner

while bats squeak overhead

hunting mosquitoes, seeking blood

and a plush coffin cover of clouds

slides over the day in this dying town

as a seventeenth century steeple

rises above it all

to administer Last Rights

to the soulless box of a strip mall

and the abandoned deli

with it's blue pleather seats cracked

with sun exposure and unfulfilled dreams

all while a bumble bee tries in vain

to find some peace and shelter

in a neglected hedge before the frost

settles unto his wings

pulling him from the sky

like a helicopter with a broken rotor

and all of the aerodynamics

of an iron anvil

just as the neon lights

of the electronics store pop on

with a hum and a flicker

This Waning World

If you would only stop long enough to hear

the great whooshing of your life in your ears

You would be graced with the Daliesque sight

of the river birches stretching their legs

knees wobbling like champion Charleston dancers

Geese rowing in lines across the twilight sky

while the coxswain calls to keep them in sync

Upside down seagull wings flapping towards the surface

of the liquid mercury etched with black silhouettes

that could be boats or unknown behemoths of the deep

While across the bay the reflections of three orange lights

flicker like miniature novas in the haze of the humid night

Tiny droplets of storm suspended in mid air

See how the currents ferry away

the last sweet notes of the dying day

If you would only stop and look

you would fall in love with this waning world

Saturday Date Night

I remember sitting on the toilet

fleece covered feet kicking the air

watching you in the mirror

slick tube of color pressed

against your lips

worn flat with the precision

of your careful application

then the snappy sound

of the eyeshadow case closing

and the sweet smell of powder

followed by the danger

of the jagged black wand

you held so close

to your soft blue eyes

that we held our breath together

the tension broken by the clang of bangles

as you reached for your best purse

with the shiny A emblazoned

on the wine colored leather

you called it burgundy

and it sounded like some exotic language

that only fancy ladies knew

how I hoped to earn the right

to say it myself some day

and finally we came to

the crowning moment in reverse

as you slipped on those high heels

with the elegant curve of wood

beneath your slender arches

and the thin strip of nude leather

across your toes and nothing else

so the sole slapped your heels

when you walked out of the room

forever the sound of womanhood to me

and I could not wait

to grow as glamorous as you

Mary Grace

How embarrassed you were

when your grandmother

left the discount grocery store

pushing the metal cart

straight through the parking lot

and onto the sidewalk

You tried to tell her

that she was stealing

but she only cackled

asking if you'd like to

carry the groceries

for the next eight blocks

adding that it's not stealing

if you give it back

How hard you tried

to distance yourself

from her and her muumuu

and her clanging cart

hanging back a few feet

pretending to be interested

in some invisible ants

only to hear her snap at you

to stop lallygagging

You worried what would happen

if someone you knew saw you

complaining that people

might think you were a bum

"Like that guy" you pointed

and she stopped and looked

following your finger

to a shoeless unshaven figure

across a vacant lot

You prayed desperately

for the squeaking wheels to resume

because the silence hurt your ears

nearly as much

as the look she gave you

"But for the grace of God"

you hear her say

mostly to herself

before rustling through

the paper bags in the cart

and producing a slightly

dented orange

How you wished you could

crawl inside the bag

as she leaves your side

marching across the weedy asphalt

to where the shadow is propped

up against a chain link fence

You are terrified

that he will lunge at her

like you are sure he will

(he is a bum after all)

you want to run

but you don't know the way home

you don't know the way

to anywhere

So you stand frozen

watching as the fearless woman

holds out the offering

to the broken man

and you are stunned to witness

that there is no vicious attack

no bark or bite

there is only a smile shared

between two people

And you know you will never

look at an orange the same way again

Midnight in the control tower

Here is what it was like

voices soft as the hum of a fan

on a humid night

far off stars coming close

lining up in a heavenly parade

coffee in a green thermos

or perhaps it was silver

reflecting the radar screens

blinking, always blinking

There you were high above it all

a princess waiting

for the King to take his break

so he could roll the dice

and land on Marvin Gardens

where you strategically built

all of your castle hotels

You did not know then

about the insane hours

or the debilitating stress

and there was not even an inkling

of the terrifying storm

called a Strike

that was to come

All you knew was that you were up

way past your bedtime

wrapped in your favorite sleeping bag

sipping contraband hot chocolate

delighting in the knowledge

that your daddy had the power

to keep the sleeping world safe

with a whisper

To Audrey on her birthday

They say daffodils can flourish

in nearly every kind of dirt

(of which you knew your unfair share)

and I suppose it was the daffodil in you

that captivates us so

the bulb you dug out of the earth

and devoured as a child

to quiet your empty belly

when the Nazis ate

your carrots and your cows

leaving you to die

but you did not

would not

and that daffodil grew within you

infusing you with its life

teaching you to be

delicate yet sturdy

effervescent yet grounded

and that style and substance

can coexist in one form

until like those scrappy happy flowers

you rose up time and again

even after the most desolate winters

to bring joy to weary workers

trapped in the traffic of their lives

who stop at a light long enough

to gaze out the window

and smile at the sight

of something truly transcendent

the bright beauty of you

dancing in a green field

swaying with a breeze named Fred

on a sunny spring afternoon

Get low

You notice over the course

of a warm sunny week

in late April

that the new leaves

fill out the maple tree

from the bottom up

it is a surprising observation

you assumed

(they say not to, but you do)

that the buds at the top

would grow strongest and fastest

being that they are closest

to the sun

but then you stop to consider

that the lower branches

are closest to the earth

to the dirt and the darkness

the hidden sources of life

and that's when you fold up

your wings of wax

and begin to kneel

no longer afraid

to get low

in order to grow

The Mid-morning ride of the butterfly

With pure white wings

dipped in onyx

the elegance of spring

gives way to furious flapping

up and over the skunk cabbage

past the peeling bark

and the branches swollen

with impending life

Paul Revere returns in insect form

to ride the wind once again

to sound out the warning

"The yellow jackets are coming"

"The yellow jackets are coming"

Long live the underdogs

I would like to be a dandelion

with a wild yellow mane

adaptable and sturdy

a scrappy Jesus flower

judged and despised

by people with power

(those fancy pharisees)

but beloved by appreciators

of the underdog

it is no respecter of yard

rich poor gay straight

brown black or white

probably a few tax collectors

and prostitutes in there too

and even though many

try to murder it

again and again it returns

it's very life carried

by the wishes of wind

which moves as the spirit

we are told

until victorious it rises

stout face to the sun

Morning on the Metro North

Burnt tongue on a cold day

they forgot the cream in the tea

but it's too late to go back now

the conductor clicks my ticket twice

then stumbles backwards

legs not quite seaworthy yet

I wonder if this is his first day

I wonder if he can tell it is mine

I wonder if anyone will

take the empty seat

next to the girl writing poetry

in a small magenta notebook

staring out the window

past the appirition of herself

to the golden arches

that shine through

the barren treeline ahead

it is hard to tell

if it is late fall

or early spring

the wet bark offers no clue

there is a donut shop

spelled "Doughnut Shop"

which seems strange

even though it is correct

it is much too formal

for the early morning

and the exposed back yards

that we speed past

are much too informal

an evite to voyeurism

with their over turned

plastic play sets

and leaf filled above ground

swimming pools

I don't see a single person outside

as if the Metro North could outrun

the Apocalypse

and just as I begin to fear

that I may be the only person

left behind

a man with a green overcoat

green umbrella

and carefully shined shoes

sits serenely beside me

he says he doesn't mind

I can keep my purse where it is

then folds his hands neatly

over the wool hat in his lap

for some reason I thought

that he would be cloaked in white

Sinus pain

Yellow plaid rainboots
automatic umbrella
Marc Jacobs trench coat
and a new roof
guaranteed for thirty years
all carefully designed
to keep nature out
but with one blustery front
her fingers reach under
my waterproof fedora
and into my head
to remind me I am hers

To be other

When I learned to shave at eleven

I cut myself right up the shin bone

because I was in such a hurry

to be older

When I said "I do" sophomore year

I cut my tender young heart deeply

because I was in such a hurry

to be faithful

When I made fresh latkes years later

I cut the tip of my thumb clean off

because I was in such a hurry

to be worthy

When I shaved my shin smooth this morning

there was no injury, cut or gash

because I was not in a hurry

to be other

Rebellion is natural

The silver maples have graduated

from the tender pink buds of childhood

to the wild red spikes of their teenage years

selfishly soaking up the sun for themselves

giving none back to the tree that bore them

(they lack the chlorophyll and the compassion)

they only care that the wind

is playing their favorite tune

turning them into a bobbing mosh pit

of arboreal punk rockers

and all they want to do is dance

Cloak of Holy

While gathering sticks

felled by the storm

you come across

a large patch of plush moss

carpeting the base

of a blossoming silver maple

and for a reason

that can not be named

you kneel down

and rest your hand upon it

feeling the life

spring up beneath your fingers

with such vitality

that it vibrates

through your whole being

until the green of it

reaches your heart

filling it with the verdant

love of creation

and now you know why

Buddhist monks in Japan

would clothe themselves

with pelts of moss

when they traveled

between their sacred sites

a cloak of Holy

for the journey

The Robin

May I learn from the robin

who races into the rain

instead of hiding from it

for her it is not a nuisance

it is nourishment

and when her wings are wet

she does not fuss or preen

but delights in hopping

upon the sodden earth

searching for the worms

knowing the slime and dirt

will only make her stronger

understanding that when

she deigns to stoop

she will be fed

Aware

It is just a glimpse, really

a flutter of gold

a faery wing

or wind blown leaf

they are the same

time slows

the world glows

heartbeat of the pond

pulsates in ripples

the moment is fleeting

as they all are

but even so

the breeze has shorn

the dust off the pane

and for a breath

you were aware

Desert Pelicans

Once a decade in Australia

a small group pelicans leave their safe harbor

and the lure of fast food from dumb tourists

to fly towards the fiery center of the continent

as if they had never heard of Icarus

They begin before a cloud has even formed

with no guarantee of rain

journeying to a place

that has been parched for nine long years

called by intuition and a deep yearning

As if the flapping of their wings

and the certainty of their faith

could stir the atoms in the air

a thousand miles away

(like the butterflies and their hurricanes)

the first drops begin to fall in the desert

enlivening ancient riverbeds and tributaries

which, contrary to all reason,

begin to flow inland

instead of out to sea

Soon, the transient lake begins to form

and with the magic kiss of rain

the brine shrimp are awakened

from their decade of dormancy

like sea monkeys in the wilderness

They will be food for other types

of Rip Van Winkle marine life

and with perfect timing

the pelicans arrive at the promised land

now teeming with fresh fish

Forget the milk and honey

there's bony bream and saltwater here

and plenty of room to build a nest

to raise a chick and teach it how to soar

how to be wild and free and full

All the while, the pelicans who stayed behind

can't even imagine what they are missing

they are happy to live the life of least resistance

content with wildlife welfare and trash heaps nests

until they have completely forgotten how to fly

Oh that I may always be a daring desert pelican!

Breathing lessons

My yoga instructor

breathes in and out

with the sound of a

rushing Colorado river

when she nods to me

I inhale and exhale

like an elderly man

with a prostate problem

she tells me that I am

holding my breath

that I must let it

flow freely

I try, but it makes me dizzy

and soon I have forgotten

how to breathe entirely

I fear I might drown

with her hand on my stomach

she tells me to breathe

with my diaphragm

not my nose

which makes no sense to me

suddenly I am an alien

with a malfunctioning respirator

and earth's atmosphere

threatens to crush me

could there be anything more

elementary than breathing

it is the first thing we do

when we enter this world

and the last thing we do

when we leave it

and yet here I am

stuck in between

trying so hard

to get it right

as if taking a breath

were like taking a class

and respiring

the newest Olympic event

how do I become a babe again

like before the storms came

and taught me to hold my breath

to survive the unexpected waves

that forced me underwater

tossed me like a stray sock

in a washing machine

I learned to gasp

when I had the chance

quick sharp breaths

for long hard times

and so air has become

a commodity for me

and I am a miser

holding on for dear life

feeling like I am keeping it

when really it is keeping me

the only way to be free

is to be generous

and in letting go, I am inspired

Allergy sufferer's haiku:)

the box of kleenex

is covered in bright flowers

a cruel irony

Timing

The snow melts on contact

all of its icy intention

disintegrating upon impact

I feel sorry for this snow

and its ill-timed birth

just a few short weeks ago

it would've risen

to impressive heights

in all its glittering glory

but today it falls silent

inspiring only annoyance

where it might have inspired awe

what a powerful fate timing is

creating stars from soda jerks

during the lunch hour rush

one day

and sending a waiter

into the black waters of obscurity

because an agent orders delivery

the next

a triumphant crystalline palace

or a soggy patch of mud

all determined by a few degrees

and the direction of a gust of wind

The First

Sir Edmund Hillary

is born anew this day

in the crocuses

that rise against all odds

adventurers blazing a trail

through the snow

while the timid wait

for more hospitable conditions

content with the comfort

of solid ground

but the tiny white buds

push on with the goal of

touching the sky

upward they climb

stretching towards the peak

flags unfurled

and so gain the glory

of the first full bloom

Losing battle

Winter won't go down without a fight

death, it turns out, has quite an ego

like one of those self-important types

who has to have the last word

as if there is ever a last word

what a blow it is to discover

one's impermanence

and so it rages while it can

clawing the sky, spitting with fury

at the troops of buds advancing

with the battle cry of singing birds

desperately it tries to defend its reign

declaring war on the world

and foolishly spending

all of its resources

on a losing battle

too blustery to understand

that death is no match

for Life

Let sleeping gods lie

Oh to sleep how a dog sleeps

all puffing jowls

and limp paws

wholly dedicated

to the most comfortable

position possible

lying on the back

legs stretched long and free

eyes rolled back under closed lids

or sometimes open lids

doesn't matter if the lights are on

doesn't matter if the TV is on

they are deaf and blind

to the whirring world

such dedication is a wonder

how must it feel

to engage in the kind of rest

that is unhindered by guilt and worry

no thought of tomorrow's bills

or the present state of politics

and unemployment rates

rising in the year to come

there is no year to come

there is only this fleece blanket

there is only this moment

and this moment is for sleeping

so here they lie

furry little snoring buddhas

The blessing is with you now

"The blessing is with you now"

was written on the rectangle

of flimsy yellow paper

that the kid handed me

through the window of my car

after I gave him a crisp bill

while waiting at the stoplight

I took it to mean I would sell my project

at the meeting I was on my way to

as if my twenty dollar offering

on a street corner in Beverly Hills

to three black kids with cardboard signs

about their dad being out of work

was enough to buy prosperity

because surely to be blessed

means to be successful

But at the meeting they weren't buying

and in the wake of the ashes of my effort

my mind goes back to that

coupon for a blessing

and I realized I was trying to cash in

that blessing, as if it were redeemable

like a check I could deposit

at a bank during business hours

or maybe I could use it like food stamps

and exchange it for some processed cheese

as if I could turn a verb into a noun

How often have I tried to buy my happiness

not understanding that a blessing

isn't a bottle of spring water

to be grasped and gulped

but the spring itself

The loon

The loon ducks beneath the waves

then bobs back to the surface

reminiscent of an orange ball

on a kid's fishing line

but he hasn't got the advantage

of bologna and cheese on a hook

so he keeps ducking and bobbing

ducking and bobbing

until a rough set rolls in

and he disappears from view

I hold my breath

as if it's a competition

like when we took turns

being timed at the bottom

of Penny's pool

this crazy bird would have beat us all

with his satisfied expression

looking very much like dad's

after he's gotten his money's worth

at the Hometown buffet

and having eaten his fill

the bird turns and swims out to sea

curved and black against the sun

a shadowy Loch Ness monster

in a blurry photograph

Walking meditation

I would like to be the sand

somehow liquid and solid

at the same time

able to absorb the water

and still stay solid

beneath bare feet

soft and movable

with the strength

of ten million rocks

yet never rigid or fixed

inspiring visions

of mermaids and castles

radiating warmth from the sun

reflecting its light

with a wink of magic

I like how it sticks with you

months after you've left the beach

there it is, still in your shoe

reminding you of that day

where the whole world

was at peace

and heaven was within reach

of your outstretched toes

Season of revelation

Prehistoric perfume

bewitches the bees

who are working hard to fly

their pollen pouches

full as saddlebags

weighed down

with powdered gold

while spinach sprouts

from unsown seeds

multiply like magic

and the queen calla lily

unfurls her creamy robe

a royal pronouncement

that the season of revelation

is upon us

The Knee

I keep waiting for a recall

on the knee

with it's accident proneness

and misshapen design

all knobby and clunky

like a crankshaft

on a sleek Aston Martin

it is completely out of place

with the grace of the human form

jutting out asking for trouble

prone to bashes bangs and bruises

painfully attracted to sidewalks

and forever the mortal enemy

of the women's razor

Prisoner of Hollywood

The parking meter makes a face at me

judging me for hiding in a parked car

on a side street in Hollywood

Don't you see

all the pretty young things

in boots and cool jackets

crossing the street to meet friends

they are having fun

why can't you

It chides me while I retreat

feeling weak as rice paper

as everywhere I look magnifies

my puny state

the iron gate around the parking lot

the bouncer under the red light of a club

menacing in his mass

the bright neon sign that reads "WELL"

mocking me with it's inanimate health

the concrete

the buildings

the asphalt

the SUV's

all bragging of their strength

while a helicopter circles overhead

and suddenly I feel the spotlight upon me

the escaped prisoner

but they can not drag me back in

I am free now

free to be weak

in this place where strength rules

I will wear my softness as a shield

Parasite

How did the malaise

get in this time

I double bolted the locks

shut the windows

turned the Welcome mat face down

put a Go Home sign on the door

turned off the porch lights

and yet here it is

didn't even bother to knock

this radon of the soul

seeping in through the walls

unseen unknown unwanted

I keep looking online

for a malaise trapping system

something that hooks up to the sump

to pump the invisible intruder

back out into the cold

but it hasn't been invented yet

so the paralyzing parasite

keeps draining my heat

and sucking my energy

I wish I could burn it off with a match

suffocate it with nail polish remover

twist it counterclockwise

and pull the head out of my heart

Ocean Park Jam Session

The sun weathered trio

plays an impromptu gig

strumming beat-up guitars

and breathing harmonicas

into the salty wind

singing with the abandon

only history together can breed

Old timers in flip flops

with shaggy hair and ripped jeans

today they are twenty two

croaking out some Dylan

'cause chicks dig musicians

especially ones that are freewheelin'

breaking hearts just to mend them

They don't seem to notice

that their audience is a bunch

of pigeons on park benches

and restless toddlers

trying hard to escape

the prison of their prams

and exasperated nannies

It's all about the music

for these dudes

and you can tell by the way

they nod and sway

as they slap their thighs to the beat

that the applause of the palms

is all they need

It's not a cold

A cold is an inadequate moniker

for what happens when your head

feels like a brand new aspirin bottle

stuffed with unnecessary cotton

and everyone around you

sounds like a grown up

in a Peanuts cartoon special

and you yourself sound like

Kermit wearing a Darth Vader mask

if snot were a currency

you would use every last cent

to buy a new nose

you would be poor but happy

because breathing easy is priceless

it's not a cold

it's a bummer

Negligence

The movers say they've got it all

packed in boxes and ready to go

But on my final walkthrough

I'm shocked to discover

that they've left everything behind

The first kiss on the second step

The water stain on the ceiling

that looks like Mick Jagger's lips

The angel trumpet that we replanted

and brought back to life

It's actually blooming now

Then there's that patch of marble

that I was lying on when I learned

about the importance of a good neighbor

And I don't know how they missed

the scratches on the hardwood floor

from umpteen games of fetch

or the steam hearts on the shower glass

I mean how could they possibly overlook

all the Jason Mraz songs in the kitchen

and the sunset view from the balcony

If you ask me, it's blatant negligence

and somebody is going to hear about it

The plunge

You must not test it

with a timid toe

the icy emptiness

will only shock you

into withdrawal

and you will never start

at all

you will stand on the edge

frozen in indecision

listening to the voices

shouting from the shore

telling you that you are crazy

begging you not to go in

those hecklers

warm and cozy in their parkas

will warn you that you

could die

and it is true -- some have

the ones that tried

to walk on the water

with sheer will alone

not realizing you must

be baptized first

full body immersion

into the deep

the cannonball technique

is best

because there's no way

to keep your hair dry

when you are holding

your knees so close

that you have become

a circle

no beginning, no end

which is as it should be

with the plunge

come freedom

clocks can not keep time

under water

and it may be necessary

to forget that you have

an appointment at three

to forget the meaning

of three

and in fact it is best

when you do not even remember

your name

The vine

His love like Honeysuckle

grows fervently and unpredictable

taking over the garden of my life

that I have so carefully cultivated

The fragrant vines wind around

the perfectly pruned trees

of my piousness

reducing them to unruly

clumps of growth

And I am so terrified

that the climbing ropes

will obscure the pretty path

I have created for myself

that I hack at them desperately with shears --

wrestling the tendrils reaching for me

until I am left panting and sweating

exhausted by my efforts

to tame what can never be tamed

And there is nothing left to do

but to lie back and rest

in the wild beauty

of his unrelenting love

Me and Mary

I sit alone on Christmas Eve

a blanket over my knees

plain bread stick in my hand

the nausea set in

before we even left for the restaurant

an hour more on the hump

in the backseat didn't help

I stand in the bathroom

patting my face with cold water

begging my body to give me a break

it's Christmas Eve for heaven's sake

and my husband and his family

have all been sat at a table

near the window

for a celebratory meal

before anyone can order

I excuse myself to the car

fighting the putrid waves in my stomach

and the tears in my throat

the anxiety creeping in

doesn't know it's not welcome

especially not on holidays

but as I sit in the sedan

nibbling Italian bread

I notice the lights

on the old fashioned lampposts

they are rooting for me

and the glowing star

atop a tree near the stop sign

winks at me

everyone has off days

the storefronts assure me

no matter how many "special" signs

you post in the window

sometimes people just aren't buying

and sometimes the body

just wants a day off

from the Christmas spirit

I suppose Mary must've felt

pretty darn overwhelmed

with all of those people

cramming the streets and hotels

I imagine her waking along this main street

pointing out the mattress store to Joseph

maybe we can sleep here

it's closed but the beds look so inviting

I want to tell her she can sit

in the bucket seat beside me

I have some extra bread

and even an old blanket in the trunk

my Papa always said you never know

when you might need

an extra blanket in the car

I smile right now, finally reaping

the reward of his wisdom

Me and Mary

away from the crowd

just a couple of girls

far from home

hoping Christmas will come soon

Lost Boys

The snow blankets

the oscillating twinkle lights

strewn across the hedge

making it look like a wild

fairy party is going on

behind the glistening white curtain

and I imagine thimbles of champagne

and wee people dancing on the ceiling

as their wings flutter in time

with the banshee band

I am mesmerized by the magic

until an old school bus drives by

that has been painted a bold cobalt blue

and stenciled with the words

Barry County Corrections

across the side

beneath the shadowed faces pressed

against cold window panes

I wonder if they notice

the twittering Tinks

beneath the snowy bush

waving to their lost boys

Lost at sea

Harsh the ocean rocks me

tossed upon the turbulent sea

floating flying falling free

on a ledge too high and dizzying

cloudy skies frown angrily

limbs hanging limp beside the tree

heavy trunk thick icy freeze

whirling wind bullies the breeze

oh wake me from this frenzied dream

Cartwheels at Stonhenge

I can not help but turn cartwheels

in front of the ancient pillars

of The Great Stone Henge

the magic of the place

raises the hairs on the back of my hand

and I must express the thrill somehow

so I leap and twirl and press my hands

onto the sacred turf

while the sheep bleat in a nearby field

as they have for generations

I find that the wind is different here

alive and spritely

making sure with a flicker of mischief

that your hair will not lie flat for pictures

no matter how many tries you take

I breathe in the smell of

moss and rock weathered by

innumerable raindrops

as the earth and grass is trampled beneath

great snakes of humanity

in multicolored windbreakers

winding round and round

each having their own experience

on this once communal ground

what would happen if we put down our cameras

and black plastic audio wands

what if we joined hands as was intended

in the beginning

what if we noticed one another

maybe then we would understand the mystery

that the sheep already know