“The Power of Waiting”

Reaching beyond the morning musings of living one more day
I oil my feet for my daily walk of miles to destinations yet
Dawdling on my horizon…
I stretch and massage, I
Groom and dust them off from yesterday’s missteps—

My hands are empty but full of phrases and thoughts needing
To be sown, maybe even pruned by another’s wisdom.
I limber them up in anxious prayer,
Asking for more than gentle hands but delivering hands—

Life is a tide of salt mixed with seashells you can pick,
Look at and toss back into the revolution never quite seeing
The magic, the dainty intricacies water plays upon them…

Or it can be Revelations that spin, and awakenings that
Splash upon your face with a baptism of fresh eyes!

Its too sad to overlook the singing Oriole and miss a
Full moon along the path of coming to Know
And all because you forgot to wait.

“Squinting”

Late,
when “later” feels early
when a minute stays around for more than a
commercial break—
I face the shadows that tend to crouch during
Daylight’s stint

And as they loom beside me like redwoods
I look up to see their limbs are nothing more than
Twigs
I
Can
step on
and break
If I only gave up to squint!

“Evaluating”

History repeats itself…

Life rarely gives you a break…

Time rolls on its regiment tic-tocks,
And seasons bear and blossom their seeds…

But Love,
Love demands metamorphosis at every curve,
New dealing of events,
Circular equation and flowering;
It bends but follows its geometry closely
While everything that beats within,
That weighs, that renders salvation and willows
Softly
Has to listen
Then crawl on sacred ground.

"September’s Arrival at my Doorway”

I ravish the evenings arriving sooner like a
Passionate lover absent for too long—
The mooting of summer’s perfumes and the closure of
Full-blown light every morning—
I tremble to pull out my spring bulbs and bury them
Like gold and silver unseen—
Moonlight whispering cold and fondue parties with
Soft candlelight of apple spice—

September vivifies the introspections of soul like
The glaciating mountains in silence—
Ruminating, finding their niche so to sleep and then
Shake at springs kissing—
It embers gently, suspiciously as if someone would
Snuff it out too soon—
I travel alone into plotting hopes and reduce ice cream
Bowls with oatmeal’s cinnamon--

Miscreant as it may some times be with the unexpected
Heat and elongated sun-kissed troubling—
Days are slightly shorter for most living breathing ways,
As I turn down the lights,
Pick up Keats and Dickinsen, Rumi and rosehips
For morning simmering decadence.
September wears sandals but shuffles a little slower
For my hands to pick the last sun-flowering.

“Developing our Talents”

I am compelled to voice my temper in tantrums at times
Just like spilling a glass full of grape juice only
You can feel—

Tenderness is not always my talent though I try…

But ask me to love you
and Dante couldn’t convey it explicitly enough!

That’s your evident talent!

“Timing”

Crunch!

Did it break?
Did it crack only?
Did it get smashed?

Oops!

Dropped it on the freshly mopped floor,
smudged it,
spilled it;
threw it.

Splattering is a talent on canvas they say…

He turned his peachy face around and teeny tears welled
Up in his gigantic brown eyes,
Then stood up all by himself—a soloist!

Timing is so important!

“Have You Created Any Dirt Lately?”

It never stops to amaze me how far from the heart the
God of creation is--

Have His trees become less important for breathing or the rain less
Vital for the roses, the dandelions and peony petals to perfume;
Or do corn and wheat feed the hungry less than do
Apples and sweet round peaches because we waste more?

Have the oceans stopped roaring or mesmerizing lovers,
Mountains and hills erased from the skies canvas without notice?
Have children ceased smiling or widows weeping as though
They belong to somebody else and not you?

Are we so deaf and blind that divinity has been
Be-laboured,
Disenthesized,
Mulled and chewed over then
Nullified beyond recognition?

What has happened to the heart, which understood the unseen?
Heard the buzzing bee,
Found the song through the storms,
Watched a baby sleep;
Dreamt new possibilities,
Hoped impossibilities;
Sowed the mustard seed and then sheltered the fowls?

Why are we so distant from God?
What demands the conscience to a labyrinth of no sorts--?
Of no Voice that identifies Whose You Are,
Of no quiet reflections,
Or why grapes grow on vines and coconuts are coarse?

The questions are all around us
Like a hive never ending its
Production!

And the answers are refuted by the “intelligent”
Which, co-equal themselves
With God but have yet to create dirt!