YEARNING

This morning I willed myself to sing a song
Remember, pussy pie how I sang my childhood lullaby
And sat at the grand piano to dream in B flat Major.

Those were our days of willows and vines,
where I pleaded, dear heart, for you to be mine
We played on the earth and sang to the clouds
and now the music has gone.

Our lyrics were lost, but I still can see
our feet are anchored,
our breath drawn deep.
I feel your breath on my skin

Was it heaven where we promised to meet?
Where music and beats yearn to sing us away
In our freedom singing our song

WIFE IS A CHILD

She among the fragrances struggles to free
her function of birth and life!
Along the shores
she serves the and feeds the needs
of those who want from her.

And another cycle turns.
But alas, no man’s lose is another’s gain
Such is the treachery of the sperm
That flows imprisoned by its shores

Sweeping with debris and waste
Reflecting no more lift
Than hits its’ surface
Absorbing no more than
It can give.

Time brings change
Such as the purple rose
A mutation — a form brought
And born out of necessity.

But in the beginning the full moon
Casts a shadow upon the ground
Beyond the grasping reach of the lions paw

Before the month is out
The riddle comes anew
We ask to be forgiven
For what we did not give
And accept death as the end of possibility.

WHEN I WRITE

Writing is like a way, a road
To feel my emotions
To hear the voice of the quiet self
who is seldom seen or heard but
speaks only through the silence.

For the curtain is closed
For now the pen falls silent, lying
quietly in my lap

Dedicated to Grandmother George and Elizabeth Wright

WHAT’S IN A NAME

Sue is your name?

“No, who is Sue,” I ask?

“Your are Sue.”

“I am he.”

“No, she.”

“she is me”

“yes, yes”

“Now, I am me, not she.”

“Well, then explain to me who is Sue?”

“No, not I, for if I do I’m sure to cry.”

“nor you will ever know: so let’s begin again.”

WEDDING DRESSES

My wedding dress was made of white lace,
a fabric, often crafted with stern yarn
by grandmothers to create perhaps
a beautiful pattern to hang in a window or
Weave a cloth to protect the table from scratches
or water damage.

But now I am the grandmother.
I am the lace-maker.
My words are my strings.
My patterns display the work of my hands
that invites the light from the rising sun
to play upon the window pane –
for brides today require great care and strong body.

WEAVERS OF TAPESTRY

The weaver begins by weaving a tapestry
to explore the dynamics of color, poetry and music.
He skips any sorrow spoils creativity
and sings his love songs in the dark.

Colors are called upon to spawn tonality
and to rearrange the notes.

The weaver watches as
Automatically the pastels blend at the increasing light.

Weaver then rises to balance the chord with his left foot
And skillfully weaves his tapestry being the right eye
Where there he calls for love.

WATER DANCE

I love you, this is a miracle
I am in that place
The only place I wanted to be

Alseep, you’ve touched me and I woke up.
Flooding my heart with our hands,
we touched in sweet surprise
and crossed to another space

I open my world to receive you
My heart flows like water
Turning fear into dance
the water dance
the dance of love

I walk into the light of
oneness
as mystery unfolds

I am who I am
And take refuge in you
You flow into me and I move into you
With stillness we hold hands and
Enter into the garden for prayer

WAKE UP

I have tried to wake up
To discover the taste
and feel and look of life

I ventured
to recognize who I am
and who you are
and what we might be together

Now, for the moment,
this quest took us into the reaches
of own beings

What’s next? Let’s go talk to ducks.

TUMULTUOUS TURNS

The changing times bring one
such as me to one such as you
who makes purple mountains majesties,
and running from and away from necessity.

The hopes and dreams
faded at the beginning of the week
are now new moon arising, but gone is
the fun of love stumbling
and grasping beyond its reach.

Yet on we fall.
Remembering we lost the puzzle,
but not the piece that
would never fit.

At one time we found, and at another place
we lost the chance to
solve the riddle

Now we stand and bow our
heads asking to be forgiven
For what we did not give,
and learn the end of possibility.

Take this rose.
It is only a flower
from your child-wife,
in your care, whose
wish to grow-up,
whose struggle is
to remain free, and
whose early function was to give birth:
deliver life along her shore line
and free – both you and she –
from time to time.

One man’s loss is another’s gain
such is the tracking of the spawn,
up the Carmel River flowing on,
impersonal to its depths
or curves, sweeping debris
and playing with the light
which touches its surface and
absorbing no more than it can give.

THE WEDDING

Damon and Two Foxes Sing
Where are now?
Take my hand and breathe.
Take in the air,
Breaths.

Two Foxes
Where were you when
I was born to be
Irresistible, magnificent,
holy.
Yet vines grew around
our door, and
The gate swung in the breeze.

Damon
Where were you when
clouds gathered at the
equinox.
And the wind stopped blowing.
And my heart skipped a beat.
God smiled,
even water refused to ripple.

Two Foxes
Where were you when creation sneezed,
and the bells rang,
and the seeds of sperm
swam to flood the earth
There was placed within me a temperature
that would melt the polar regions of my heart,
And there it rained pouring forth our sons.

Damon
Where were you when
I found the log in my eye,
So we lived with only grace
and the wind storms of the gorge.

History is but a flash of memories.
Today we are a new age of children.
Who will brand our hearts with fire to challenge us to create a new star—
A life delicious, gleaming in all its wonder.