Wake up

Wake up each morning.

Step back and out.

There is life. 

There it is,

perfect.  

Beyond petty complaints, let it hit

like a big, fluffy pillow

widening

sleepy eyes.  

Consciousness.  

Movement.  

Sound.  

Vision.  

Senses. 

Fun.

Awareness.  

Wonder.  

Sky.  

Breath.

different 

new

sky.

sky.

sky.

sky.

sky.

sky.

sky.

seven layers,

seven heavens.

infinite blues.    

Persian Middle Name

Persian Middle Name

All night, you were in a slow string of dreams. 

Still shots from various places and times,

Tagged with names of people I did not yet know,

People I’d be destined to meet.  

All kinds of settings I fail to recall, yet some of which I’d seen before: 

Familiarities from the depths of the

Labyrinths of already-seen dreams.

A nearly forgotten dream of

A walk through a comfortable town,

Its residential hills

Gently rolling up and down

Favored with that preferred lighting

That graces and flatters the sides of buildings

Right around dusk.

A walk in the weather that’s most desired,

Leading to the café where,

In last night’s string of visions, we met again. 

Some black and white photos,

So classic and old

That told me of the future.  

The last I recall

Your face:  not shown

Your back:  towards the camera, a line straight up

Sitting with one other person

In a meditative pose. 

Faces unseen and

Places from recurring dreams

Delicately mixed. 

As this flower of life

Continuously unfolds,

So there you were

Amidst my familiarity

In places you don’t yet know,

Futures my inner eye

Playfully, dreamily showed.

Vague, unseen faces yet to be experienced

In a forthcoming worldly path

Through a world so             classic             and          old. 

Where my seabag is...

Across the Fields...

Across the sky, the clouds move,

Across the fields, the wind,

Across the fields the lost child

Of my mother wanders.

Across the street, leaves blow,

Across the trees, birds cry - 

Across the mountains, far away, 

My home must be.

~ Herman Hesse (1902) translated by James Wright 

"Home is where your seabag is."... a Navy-issued mantra of sorts, I've always liked it.  I look at the sky and see the half-moon, a black & white cookie.  I think home is where the black & white cookies are.  Then, I remember where my seabag is.  It's here with me.  Right where we should be.  

Keep moving

Keep moving

Finally, after being so sick
a husband has died.
At the appointed time
a baby was born.

You keep moving, coming and going
You keep moving.

Lock,
unlock,
lock,
unlock,
lock,
unlock

You keep moving with events
of your big, little life

And that’s it. That’s what it’s about.
You are alive. You are.
A bag full of blood, sweat, and tears.
You are
keeping it fun
With love, all around you.
With love, it’s all around you.
Love, if you let the world love you:

A mirrored rejoice.

What's going on

What’s going on

I am not yet awake, just dazy eyes
gazing out into reality, my world
which ends up being enough happiness
to make the day worthwhile.

That man who used to sell me coffee
has the warmest blood
flowing beneath his tattooed skin,
behind his smile, through his beating heart.
His brown hair is growing.
I thought of him as I thanked him for the coffee,
(and I think about him now.)

Later, as I wiped away the juicy remnants
of that fuzzy, ripe summer peach
I remembered the nature and conditions
and thought and work and tender care
behind its being: all that brought it to my hand.

In the nighttime I see the moon that everyone sees
if they look. I still wonder about those bricks
that make up the wall that supports the building
upon whose wooden floor I used to sleep.
I wonder about the men who made the bricks,
who laid the bricks, who drew the plan of that place, still standing:
and I love them.
I touched those bricks being rained on, being looked at by others.
I think about the other sets of eyes, the others who will look at,
who have seen those bricks.

The others, like all others, are not me.
The others, like all others, they are me. We are same.
Helping make the world go ‘round
with some, or a lot, of goodness within.