Us, Niagara Falls, 1990
Our love is a true love.
Not a perfect love,
but an unwavering bond.
From good to great and bad to worse,
even when at odds,
we cling to one another.
Our love is not blind.
Our love is not selfless.
It is strong enough to be honest
with ourselves
and one another.
For you and me and
We to be.
To our last we are
inseparable as
the clouds and sky.
Ours is a true love.
Slainte,
Paz
Bone White Moon
Little stir has the air,
Yet a great noise it makes
As it rattles – like bones –
The dry leaves on skeleton trees.
A veil of vapor rises
From a bog not far away,
Like a specter drifting skyward,
Aloft on nightly haunts.
Underfoot the leaves crunch,
Arid and bleached,
Like the dry, taut skin
Of rigor mortis.
Alone in the sky flies a
Bone White Moon,
Peering out from behind
Passing shrouds.
Silent, and steadfast,
As The Reaper.
———————–
Boo from Chuy, too!
Happy Halloween!
Seek peace,
Paz
A little change from tradition, as normally I would post “October Piece”, which is actually “October Piece 2”. These come from a 1996 project wherein I would compose a poem about each month, written within that month to truly capture the mood. This one was first, apparently, and met with less favor, but it has some good qualities.
October Piece 1
Patchwork hills, foggy mornings.
First frosts invigorate, fetch your coats!
Geese on the wing, their song denotes
The campaigns of Winter forming.
The dry and crisp smell of the air,
The rustling leaves, their songs they play,
Arid cornstalks in rank and file arrayed,
A cacophony of the Autumn Senses Fair.
Squirrels hurry, preparing winter stores.
Deer on the move seek to fatten their flanks.
The creeks become less creek, more banks.
Ash and Hickory litter forest floor.
October traditions, goblins and ghosts,
Scarecrows and gourds in earthtone hues,
Pumpkins and apples bring the news,
“Welcome winter at every porch post.”
Happy Autumn!
Paz
I think it started at the coffee maker.
“Joy in the task of coffee…” Nin’s words rushed into my morning mind.
A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun.
A bird settled on the fire escape.
Joy in the task of coffee; joy accompanied me as I walked.
– Anais Nin
I recalled the last line, before referring to the written quote, as “joy followed me as I walked.”
Joy followed me through my morning ritual. The soap brought a lovely fragrance.
The cat loves me even if I’m not giving her snacks. Joy found me again.
Sassy June is a beautiful and happy animal. She looks me in the eye, wags her tail.
I am warmed within by these simple things. Joy in the love of a dog.
Joyful Wood
The commute today was through a perfect example of a September 25th morning.
Joy shined on me as the sun rose.
Colorful trees and wispy remnants of silvery clouds cast with the slightest pinks and yellows.
Joy sat on my shoulder and reminded me to look out the window. To not stare at the roads or the cars ahead.
To drop the UV-tinted glass and see the real glory of Mother Nature. Joy in color.
At work, my sparrows gathered around the Fun Bus, and starlings joined us for the morning breaking-of-bread.
Joy in the lives of delicate creatures. Joy in sharing.
Small V’s of geese transit the sky. On the road, we can smell the ripe corn standing tall and golden and tanned.
Joy in the honking birds, joy in the smells of autumn.
Sweeping the floor. Looks so good when it is done.
I kid you not, the simple task of cleaning the toilet brought joy.
How shiny and clean the bathroom is. The porcelain sink, the antique mirror.
The soap is red and smells of apples.
Joy in the simplest tasks. Doing.
Once I found joy in writing a little thing titled “Three Q’s”.
Can I really be this happy?
Or am I crazy?
Does it matter?
As beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so too is joy in the heart of the joyful.
We can choose to be joyful. We can choose to see the beauty and the joy.
It’s easy, it’s fun, it’s free.
Joy brought me to my journal. Joy in expression.
“…joy accompanied me as I walked.”
Slainte,
Paz
Frost’s Road
I have no problem moving over,
And letting the
Younginahurry people race past me.
Let them dash off to their
Younginahurry lives.
Despite their velocity,
They will never catch up to me.
I’m not in the slow lane or the fast lane,
But the now lane.
Traveling at the speed of zen.
Let them speed past me in the
Younginahurry lane.
And I’m not talking about the highway.
Slainte,
Paz
On The Ridge
I raced after my life for a long time, trying to reach it, without realizing I was in it.
Barn At Sunrise
I have vague recollections of the transitory whats and wheres I thought I was trying to get to.
Thistle Down Shower
Alas, I’m glad I didn’t make it.
Wonderstop
This destiny, this destination, this here and now is more spectacular than ever I could have dreamed,
and has come to me in ways I never would have imagined.
Chuy’s Trail
Slainte,
Paz
Summer morning
The winds of July will find me,
For we have places to be.
She rustles leaves outside my window
‘Til I wake to the morning glow.
She calls for me to follow,
For we have places to go.
She brings with her the smell of rain,
And flowers sweet, and breath of life.
She tags along with thunderstorms,
Rides along their anvil tops.
She wraps herself around me,
“Hurry!” she calls, “Before it stops!”
She sways the growing sunflower
And fans the cottonwoods, tall and green.
Puffs skyward the dandelion seed
And waves the blackberry, bended low.
Then snows a storm of cottonwood down
Tossed gaily to and fro.
Whilst bumblebee and butterfly
Do not prefer to share the sky
There’s little we can do or say
When the summer wind flies our way.
She beckons me to join them, too,
For we have so much to do.
There are windsocks and weathervanes,
Sails of ships that she must fill.
She casts about the smell of campfires,
The plaintive call of the Whip-poor-will.
There are kites at beaches to be held aloft,
Summer rain to usher in, gentle and soft.
Into the mild evening she accompanies me
For we have so much yet to hear and see.
Nighttime clouds that pass the moon.
At the lake she carries the sound of the loon.
Not far from home, a pungent smell
Of the skunk who loves the wind as well.
As quiet night sinks dark and deep
The rustling leaves call me to sleep.
On silent wings she carries the owl
And brings to me the coyote howl.
Outside my window she tells again,
Of all the places we have been.
Slainte,
Paz
Why Can’t People
Why can’t people just be people,
And leave each other alone?
Then every child would have a home
In the sunshine.
Why can’t all my brothers and sisters
Reach out a helping hand?
Why can’t they try to understand
‘Cause we’re running out of time.
(People, we are running out of time.)
Why can’t people just be good neighbors,
Learn how to get along?
We gotta teach a newborn bird to fly.
All by itself, we gotta teach it how to fly.
If we could only realize
We’re all just God’s children anyway,
Maybe he won’t seem so far away.
Rest in peace, Charles Edward Daniels, 1936-2020
He leaves wife Hazel, and son Charlie Daniels, Jr.
Heaven’s chorus now enjoys another voice.
Seek peace,
“‘Cause we are running out of time.”
Paz
Wild Tiger Lilies
It seems as though we’ve just watched
The last of the snow fade.
Now we cut the growing grass
Blade by blade.
We keep watch for hummingbirds
And the peony’s blooms.
We can open our windows (at least in the day),
In our sunny summer rooms.
Summer Solstice brings promise,
Today the day is long.
We turn to see the rose’s bloom…
And June is gone.
Slainte,
Paz
Doone The Cat
Just keep feeding the cat.
Sometimes our lives feel like whirlwinds.
Sometimes we question our very existence.
Our purpose.
It can be mind-boggling.
Meanwhile, we must keep feeding the cat.
It is a Known Good.
Duty and regimen.
Not-thinking.
All things must pass.
Some days it’s all we have.
Until things settle.
Until we sort things out.
Until things become clearer.
In the meantime, keep feeding the cat.
A Known Good for the cat, too.
Seek peace,
Paz
