LATEST POSTS
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Fear and hope are like two wings of a bird
Today I woke up afraid,
hope struggling to be born
on this very brink, for my sons,for my city, for my unborn
grandchildren (who may choose
to never come forth, so unpleasantare we), indeed for my world —
for all that is prized,
hard fought won concededcherished revised
overturned allowed to decay
corrected preserved.It is all in my hands, right here,
opening in its fullness,
unready, burgeoning forthan infant sure to walk steady
someday, but falling, tripping,
needing guard rails, baby-proofingand not knowing it. I offer
my small helping of kindness
to this disquieting child,encourage his fear,
give him reason to hope,
so that wisdom can take root,
dampen his exuberance.—————-
I am grateful for a very thoughtful post at Fourth Chakra Yoga that gave me new perspective on the churning sadness we in the US feel right now as we see ourselves anew, again. -
Be it ever so
The light that morning came
through a crack in the ceiling
with me squatting over a pool,fed by some endless spring
running far under ground,
unseen, always present.The water made images of our faces
flat with shadows, asked us
to pause, fed us with wonder,perplexity, confusion,
hope, disconsolation.
I rose as alwaysto face every small triumph,
every chaotic disaster,
aching towards the routine,but changed by an inch: I harbor
now this spring trickling inside,
unseen, always somehow present,inverting images, translating
between what I can touch
and what I cannot all day long. -
In the sea
Sometimes, my wife thinks
she is still a saber tooth.
I call to her to come backand we rock slow,
to and fro, in the sea
of here and not here.She turns to quiet me,
to make me believe,
and I lie that I doin our unquiet sea.
Shifting away again,
she abandons me in soul,in body, in mind.
I await her return,
drowning, sour, impatient.She does not surrender,
rejoins me at will,stirs the tea,
tends the bread.We are old now, hard
swimming past the line,
keeping the sail trimmed.I wonder, is this what it is,
have I always been wrong,
hiking out so bold?—————-
Helped out by this wonderful poem from the 8th century Japanese collection known as the Man’yoshu, posted by Leonard Durso. Thanks, Leonard! -
After a long hot afternoon in the city
cooling breath tumbles
across acrid plainpresses away heat
steaming concretemental stagnation of
shuttered windows, locked doorsgrass no longer sticks that way
or browns, wilting crispall the relief of life,
a sometimes song, rollsin every direction
awakening the lakewhite tips to horizon
prairie, swaying seaup into sky
encircling earth
Poems from in between 