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because

people said "why there?" with
a certain snotty disdain as if
cornfields and combines
straight roads and small towns
were uncivilized
and i smile
because they can't know
that my soul opens up on
the horizon
too vast for my eyes to rest
that every morning my heart stretches
with the land waking up and breathing in
the divinity of creation
identifying with beauty and that morning
devotions are just to open my eyes to drink
of goodness and ancient wisdom too magnificent
for mere words
and my cry of praise becomes the voice of the birds
the dance of the crane delighted to find a spot
to greet his friends on their annual pilgrimage and
catch up from last year
manure is often the perfume of the day or the fresh aroma
of damp grass struggling to live as death gives way to life
massive birds carpet the land not ready yet for planting
yet taking their nourishment as God has orchestrated
unknowingly enlarging our spirits with the symphony of
their presence and song, played out from simply being
living out their created intention
joyfully living without unnecessary ponderence and worry
dancing, embracing, playing, delighting
just another stop on the journey
a communal prayer

Take Care of Each Other

      This afternoon in U.S. History we saw a video on the Reconstruction period after the Civil War, and after Lincoln's assassination.  Slave owners were angry at losing the war, which affected their plantation and devastated Southern economy.  They were angry that their slaves were freed.  Many of them killed their slaves or threatened to shoot anyone who didn't keep working.  There were massacres in the streets and no one was held accountable.  Without Lincoln to follow up on what he'd started, it seemed like the country was having a free-for-all murdering spree.  

       I was sickened as I was watching it.  It's hard to dissassociate myself from the images and say, "shoot, the country sure was crazy back then!"  I think of Hitler, a mentally ill paranoid man who gained enough power to annhilate 6 million people just because they were Jews.  I think of the popularity of Trump, here in 2015, where we ought to know better. All this angry rhetoric and air-time for people who are just angry and want to draw followers who are also angry.  Watching the video on the Reconstruction era didn't feel so distant  We've got killing in our city streets.  Now we have more sophisticated weaponry so we can do much more damage.  We can kill more people.  

      Christmas is a hard time for me.  It seems that a lot of horrible things happen at this end of the year.  Eight years ago there was a mass shooting in a mall in Omaha close to Christmas.  9/11's shadow extended into December, of course, and beyond.  This year, take your pick as to what images of blood and massacre we carry in our minds and hearts.  

     In addition to that, people are fighting about the color of a coffee cup or whether someone wishes them a "Happy Holiday" with the proper wording according to them.  We allow loud mouth politicians to stir us up and encourage us to hate a whole group of people based on what the extremists among them do.  Dear God, I hate to admit out loud that I'm a Christian anymore, because I want to explain. 

      I want to say, "I'm not that kind of Christian.  I'm not angry or bitter or judgemental.  I don't want to kill anyone.  I don't want to set off a bomb or shoot someone in the head.  I'd be glad to wish you a Happy Hannakuh if you're a Jew or "Happy Holidays" if I don't know what, if any, religion you associate yourself with. I don't believe that Jesus was a pale-skinned, blue-eyed middle class preacher wearing a stylish suit.  I believe he looked just like the people we want to kick off our airplanes because he had dark skin, black hair and brown eyes and had a "funny" accent."  He didn't speak English!  

       I get discouraged.  I'm glad I'm not leading a Church right now.  I don't think I could go to meetings where my parishioners might wear a T shirt that expresses a desire to shoot an Arab (I had parishioners like that before).  I don't think I could endure any more fights over whether or not we should have a projector in church or whether the songs are unsingable or how many bags of potato chips we need at the Vacation Bible School picnic.  I don't think I could handle parishioners coming up to me and saying, "Thank you, Preacher, I agree with you, but I wouldn't say that too loud or I'd get in trouble...."   I don't think I could listen to a sermon from another preacher talking about the comfort of Jesus and how he loves us, but a sermon that doesn't demand that we live our lives in radical obedience to his teachings of grace and mercy.  

      I don't know the answers.  I just know that repeating the same things over and over throughout history doesn't fix anything.  I know that killing and more guns and more hate only causes more blood and more pain.  I know that Gandhi said "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth leaves the whole world blind and toothless," and yet we still don't listen.  It's too hard to think about what we can do in our small corner of the world, so we just blame all our problems on one group of people.  Just because to us they are "strange" or "foreign" or different.  I'm so tired of not wanting to say I'm a Christian because I'll be lumped in with all the mean, angry, unhappy, judgemental, ignorant people that get all the attention on T.V. or in best-selling books and who even run for president.  

        So I go home and I hug my daughter and my husband.  I watch "Downton Abbey" and feel really good that Mr. Carson loves Mrs. Hughes or neither of the Bates' are in prison.  I read books by intelligent people or about intelligent, courageous people who weren't afraid of being unpopular because they believed in what was right and good and of God.  I write and read poetry.  I try to be spread kindness and peace in my little corner of the world and help where I can.  I tell people I love them and why I see beauty and light in them whenever I can.  

        I will not march to the drum of hate and anger.  We were put on this earth to live and breathe Light and Love in the image of God.  I believe God delights in goodness and beauty and joy and connection.  God wants us to know the fullness of joy and part of knowing is sharing it, spreading it, fighting for it, but not with deadly weapons.  By giving our hearts.  

       Sometimes I hate Christmas.  I get tired of all the rude people in lines at the store or who cut me off on the road.  I get tired of all the buying and all the greed.  I get tired of the meanness and the "me, me, me-ness" of it all.  That's not why we celebrate it.  Who cares what we say to each other as long as it's good and kind and loving?  Tell me "Happy Holidays" if you feel so inclined.  Tell me "have a great day," "I wish you love, I wish you peace," or "here's a great cup of coffee".  You don't have to give me anything but a smile, and if appropriate, a hug!  Because I believe Jesus likes that sort of thing.  

      I think Jesus is trying to say, "Take care of each other.  Take care of the world.  Take care of those who can't take care of themselves.  I don't care what words you use as long as what you are doing is Being Love.  Being Kind and Merciful.  Reminding people of me by your actions. Take care of each other."  

      This Christmas I'm going to turn out the lights and keep lighting candles.  I'll keep hugging the people I love and telling them how precious they are.  And I'll keep asking God, "Help."  And I'll also thank God for all the good stuff I already have, the kind of stuff I can count on not to break down or malfunction or require an expensive upgrade.  

        Let's be the sane ones and the corny ones and the naive ones who still believe in Love.  Take care of Each Other.  

transition

early morning
the air is crisp, cold on
the lungs
the world is lit by

a mixture of oranges
across the prairie horizon
clouds stretching here
and there to make it interesting

leaves crunch under my feet
a tinge of frost icing on
the yellow, browns and greens
that couldn't hold on one more day

winter coats in the morning
windbreakers by afternoon
it's the season of adaptation
preparing, gathering muster

how can the dying be so
beautiful?
trees shedding so casually
unafraid, knowing that this is

temporary

necessary, even

my eyes tear up in the cold
nose running
a cat runs across the yard
and down the drain for shelter

autumn is comforting with
its bright colors
shining just before
dying, letting go

as if to tell us that it's ok
this changing, moving forward
letting go of things that no longer
serve us and give life

trusting that when it all
comes around again
new life will emerge
blossom and shine

making us forget
the cold, the darkness
the shedding of what we love
season of barrenness

if only we hold on

just my imagination

(the writing prompt for today was your favorite toy of childhood)

there were teddy bears and dolls

spirograph and lincoln logs 

charlie the giant stuffed dog that 

was too big to sleep with (though i tried)

what my mother couldn't give in presence

she gave in things to ignite my imagination 

i had a dollhouse made of wood and wallpaper samples

tiny rug samples and homemade furniture

my barbie dolls had a luxurious life 

with a fancy camper and sports car 

their own airliner for their private use 

and a couple of horses  

with all of that at their fingertips 

their lives were most often tragic 

once i learned from beth how babies were made

barbie and ken worked hard at making them 

but then that wasn't interesting enough 

all that moaning and rolling on plastic beds 

so  ken took on different personalities 

of villains and criminals lurking in shadows 

the women never had a chance in the wooden house

but were raped and beaten, left for dead 

covered, at times, with vampire blood in a tube 

until ken resumed his identity and saved them 

sometimes they were run over, fell off horses 

crashed their  sports car or fell from the roof 

i have no proper explanation for the horror suffered 

by my innocent, but very sturdy toys  

there was yelling down in the kitchen 

slammed doors by adolescent boys lost 

in a maze about which i knew nothing  

drinking and wreckless driving, high school abandoned 

i only knew the quiet of the kitchen when i 

came in, no one about, nothing disturbed 

smiles and laughter as my mother made supper 

a fist-sized hole in the bathroom door 

boys, all boys, me the only girl trying to grow 

and learn about the world and when it got confusing 

i played with my dolls in the backyard, the horses 

carrying them far across the vast backyard 

running away 

free 

until they were caught again 

in the spiral of violence, secrets, and horror 

their faces always smiling, even under the blood 

everything was ok everything was fine 

the other bedrooms locked upstairs 

loud music blaring from beyond ancient doors 

mysteries occuring on the other side 

sparking my young imagination 

barbie and ken went at it again 

never making that baby but 

having a lot of fun 

dinah got raped again out on the prairie 

but everything was ok 

everything was fine 

their painted faces 

just kept smiling  

what i know

(the writing prompt was overwhelmed, in the poetry from of Ballad.

this is my attempt)

as a child I loved to play
in the powerful mysterious waves
and pretend i was a might sailor
with stranded passengers to save

i teased the water crashing down
daring it to show its power
back and forth, back and forth
i played my scenes for hours

but the water was too much for me
and grabbed me off my feet
the undertow pulled me down
i knew that i'd been beat

i flailed my arms and sucked in water
suddenly frightened for my life
nothing to hold or grab onto
as the sand cut me like a knife

i sucked in water as i tried to find
a way to stand up straight
i fumbled back to my feet
still unbalanced by my weight

when those days come to me
and it all fades into black
when nothing's really prompted it
but the demons come on back

no one can know just how it feels
to have no sense of control
when the darkness gathers 'round again
and i cannot redeem my soul

it feels like when i was a little girl
 tumbled by the tide
with nothing to grab onto
but all hope in me has died

i say my mantras, i say my prayers
nothing seems to be
as powerful as the curse that haunts
 relentlessly pursuing  me

but so i live and hope and love
followed always by a shadow
learning how to ride the waves
and hope in what i know

what we have

(the writing prompt was what would you do if there were no limits?)

what would I do if 
i could do anything?

i'd get on a plane 
and fly here and there 
i'd visit the oldest places 
to remember who we are 

i'd go to art museums and 
tour cathedrals 
i may stop in that place my 
father never talked about  

shove my way through the crowds
look into the eyes of the children begging 
on the street 
visit the wise ones who lost their teeth 

but whose eyes shine with a peace
unknown to westerners so tied to 
technology and speed and success
through wealth  

i'd take off my shoes 
and visit the taj mahal 
go to the river where sinners repent 
and wash themselves clean 

i want to touch stone that used 
to be houses thousands of years ago 
where people lived and 
loved and did their best to make sense 

out of their existence 

just like me  

i'd go to the henge of stone
sit among ancient rocks
listen to the silence 
wonder at mystery 

i'd do all of it with you 

and then i'd come home 
with you 
write my poetry
listen to my music 

i'd go back to work 
come home and cook supper 
sit by the fire with you 
read our books 

because if i could do 
absolutely anything 
have everything i wanted 
except for a few trips across the world 

i would want 
what 

we already have 

finding my way home

i thought it was normal
it had to be because if it wasn't
then who was i? what was i?
who would deliver me from madness?

you strutted like a king the wisest of all
people reached for you needed you
put you up on a platform that no one
could reach if they were mere humans

the higher you rose the lower i sank
i was nothing i was nobody i was
invisible
in the negative numbers

when i tried to speak truth they
accused me of being crazy ungrateful
a woman born of eve, perhaps
banished from the garden of perfection

i  choked on my own darkness yet you
kept shining your own light in my eyes
confusing, disorienting
twisting any sense of reality i had

into mayhem

i was not alone
people came people heard me people listened
some believed me some lifted me some
sheltered me and even saved me

all unlikely characters emerged in my
dramatic play wearing funny hats but
loving me, redeeming me
inviting me to the horizon the sunrise

you dismantled all my tools deflated any
confidence damning my core
but somehow
somehow

there was just enough breath
left in some hidden corner some obscure
light that would not go out
and suddenly i could walk

i could run

i could go far away

right into the sunrise
the garden that welcomed me home
arms that would love me empower
me strengthen my legs heal

my center

and roll away the stone
that blocked any possibilities
of life
and I

was

free

scary sky games

(writing prompt is the elements; fire, rain, storms..)

"I've seen fire and I've seen rain, I've seen sunny days

that I thought would never end..." 

--james taylor

out on the prairie

the world seems so much

bigger 

the little irritations 

so much smaller

standing on a gravel road 

i can see forever this way

and that 

the sky comes down to kiss

the land

i am sheltered, covered by

the dome of the sky 

sometimes blue with white 

decor 

sometimes overpowering

i can smell the rain before 

it comes

freshness on the wind

dampness, quenching 

a slight breeze can speed 

up into a gale, powerful enough

to knock me over

the trees wave to me to take cover

the air gets darker and heavy

instead of running people come out

on their porches to watch 

the sky do its dance 

there is power, unsolicited anger 

threatening, filling the whole canvas

above 

and i feel the solidity of the earth 

under my feet 

the ground vibrates

as thunder surrounds 

water drenching the earth in 

sudden release 

colors darken and lighten 

sirens scream across the roar 

go back inside you fools

we huddle in the bathroom

listening for the fatal train 

coming to shred our dwellings 

that are no match to the 

power 

so much noise, beating 

like god dumped all of his baseballs

on the roof 

just for fun 

then 

silence 

outside rivers run through 

the streets, people crawl out of

their homes to inspect 

see how lucky they were 

when other's didn't fare so well 

cars drive past surveying 

seeing what chaos the skies left 

roofs and houses shell-shocked 

time to call State Farm 

clouds disperse, giggling 

i imagine 

revealing the blue behind the black

the air silent, still fresh, still heavy 

with damp 

the sky demons go off 

to play their scary games 

somewhere else  

it's all beautiful

(The writing prompt for today was to write about a color and 

the memories attached to it)    

"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field 

and don't notice it."  

--Alice Walker, "The Color Purple"

you lived your life 

like a paintbrush on the world 

bringing vibrant color to the day

enveloping us all in joy 

i was always relieved to see you

knowing everything would be alright

now that you were here 

to bring calm and humor in equal measure

your dream house exuded the colors 

of the rainbow, a daring expression 

of your spirit that to all of us was 

so 'out there' 

you invited a gathering, people drawn

by your easy grace, feeling safe 

sharing in the sparkle of 

the hues that surrounded you 

every setting of your life was a 

medium for art and creativity 

always shining, the art itself 

your smile into the world  

toward the Last Days your audience

dwindled at your request to just 

me and your beloved as we sat 

vigil with you 

you insisted i have a cup of tea 

and a cookie as if this were a social 

call and not your grand bow as you

prepared to leave the stage

taking your paints and brushes with you

as the sun set upon the lake you

laid in your bed by the window 

watching the ducks, the water, the 

leaves softly dropping, unable to hold on

against november 

you'd had things planned big things 

everything with you was big even the 

little things but you- and therefore all of us-

were interrupted  

through occasional tears you looked out 

onto the soft, chilled air outside 

the many colors of the sky and earth 

as they faded for the season 

and in the midst of all our sorrows 

you said 

"it's all beautiful"  

all of it 

the geese leaving town for warmer climates

the leaves falling in death to winter-cold water

the squirrels clamoring for nuts to stash 

to get ready for what was coming  

"it's all beautiful" 

the vibrancy of autumn 

the harsh cold and snows of Nebraska winters

the beauty of spring
 a time for planting  

all of it 

beautiful  

i think of all the colors 

purple was one of your favorites 

for it's beauty and yet sometimes darkness 

its lenten ambivalence of death and life 

and so the color purple reminds me 

of you, the soothing smell of lavender 

your giggles and joy and silliness 

your defiance of stifling boundaries 

something as inconsequential as death 

i wrap myself, adorn myself in purple 

making peace with the paradoxes 

the sorrow amidst the joy 

the light that dawns in the darkness 

there's so much color 

so much intense color

and it's all 

beautiful

looking back

there was a time when
it was all one big scary ride
but i thought that was normal
no one told me different

i followed the voice in
the cornfield and it was good
the magic kept unfolding and
everybody cheered

it was a path that gave rewards
but when the music became noise
and the ride kept taking me high
only to fall so sharply

i had to get off
lest everything within me
shrivel up
die from shame

at never grabbing the golden ring

the institution the Eternal Parent
separating the sheep from the goats
and i always ended up in the
goat pen

kicking, butting, defending
explaining, draining, fighting
bloodletting until i was so faint
i couldn't stand

i remember longingly the sweetness
of the fruit on my tongue the
body and the blood  feeling blessed
nourished for the journey

the magic of words forming
through some sort of holy incantation
creating, shaping images, conjuring
the scene so we felt the sand

beneath our feet, felt the Middle Eastern heat
upon our heads, touched the sheep grazing on a hill
hearing life-giving words from his mouth
touching just the hem of his robe

i miss those moments when heaven
and earth touched so briefly and i was
in the midst of it, feeding, blessing
singing, holding, waiting in the dark

for the light

offering just enough grace
to chew on
but

i couldn't stay
the yoke became too heavy
cutting into my flesh
sucking my life

between the Powers and
some people whose pain
made them mean
i couldn't

offer up my life
i could not allow the nails
to pierce my own flesh
i couldn't bow to the stones thrown

i couldn't allow them any more
of my blood
and when i died to that life
i truly rose again

it's been a new morning
ever since

something good

(the writing prompt for today was love)

i must have had a wicked childhood

i must have had a miserable youth

but somewhere in my youth or childhood

i must have done something good... 

--the sound of music

where did you come from? 

who are you? 

i remember asking you this 

when you first snuck into my life 

your soft brown eyes looked at me

and in those moments i felt 

so beautiful, so strong, like i 

could do anything 

when i first hugged you i 

remember it felt as if i had come home

that there was a space inside your heart 

in the shape of me 

where did you come from?

i asked because you seemed other-worldly

so precious, so what I needed 

your love healed all the broken places  

you breathed life into my tired soul 

you made me laugh and it was ok to cry 

you said when you read my words 

it was like reading your own heart 

i knew 

i knew i had come home 

i knew that i could never leave you 

i knew that you are gift 

we've lived a lot of life you and i 

we've trudged through major obstacles 

found our way through long, dark alleys 

we've built a life with many twists and turns 

but all of it, the dark and the light 

the ordinary and the extraordinary 

the living and the grieving 

the joy and the sorrow 

all of it is beautiful because 

it's with you 

morning coffee with you is paradise 

the tiny simple rituals of everyday 

is communion 

you've wrapped me up 

infused me, enlivened me, 

loved away all the scarred places 

and given me a home 

in your heart 

i did nothing to deserve it 

because nothing i could do 

would match the treasure 

that is you 

you're my blanket of peace 

at night,

a solid warm hand in the day 

that allows me to be whole

i am so much more 

as part of you and me 

as us 

than i could ever be alone 

life 

is so much richer 

delicious 

holy 

with your eyes 

loving me

invocation

(the writing prompt for today was: magic) 

we lay our hands on the head of a child the sick the dying and

we say words, calling for help asking for some intervention of unseen

spirits presence an invocation an invitation to the Unseen be it the saints 

or Jesus or loved ones that still seem to linger 

we say words to empower to break up the dark things that keep the good

from getting in go away cancer be gone draining spirits let me child know 

she is loved protect envelope give wisdom 

we're surprised when it happens when the depressed get up and dance 

when the dying decide to live for another day when a devastated community

responds with love instead of hate 

words thrown up and out to who-knows-where pleading with whoever's-out-there

to help to save 

and there is that unseen hand in the dark that person who drops into our life who

changes the landscape of our lives there's relief and breath and hope a way 

made out of no way a path in the wilderness in the madness there is shelter a gentle 

push on the back to keep going believing in the invisible the wonder the hidden goodness

the light that never went out but we couldn't see 

we invoke we lay hands we plead we raise our fists we implore and sometimes

sometimes all the cogs of the unverserse kick into place the light gets through a door

opens a darkened window bursts open with light and it feels 

like 

magic

what is Truth?

(the OctoPriMo daily writing prompt was 'draining'- what drains you?)

too much information demanding 

what do you think?what will you say? 

picking, picking, picking scabs, poking the 

lion, daring it to roar and attack 

noise, noise, noise, chaos, yellling, spitting

god gives me the right to hate you and I'm 

his favorite polls and debates and senseless numbers

dividing the sheep from the goats goading goading goading

poking, testing, pushing  too far 

why aren't you more like me? selfish people spewing hate 

people who are supposed to love you use the word to 

manipulate control shame not seeing you for who you are 

but what they want you to be 

facades, lies, fabrications, it doesn't matter anymore 

what is Truth?  nobody cares anymore words all crashing 

hurting, splintering, crushing, killing there are no rules 

nagging nagging nagging me me me mine mine mine 

people people people sucking sucking sucking 

you are never enough you are never what they want or feel

comfortable with you are never who they need you to be to 

feel good about themselves you never know what is true and right 

and good they will take and take and take and it will

never be enough

you 

will never be enough

The Barbaric Yawp

(the OctoPriMo writing prompt for today was to write about a favorite scene from a movie. Mine is from "Dead Poets' Society) 

sweaty palms, musty air 

breathed by students for the 

last two hundred years 

recirculated for the next group

he sits up front, yet is 

sure that no one can see him 

invisible, unimpressive 

not the One Expected to Do Great Things 

he adjusts his tie that is 

cutting off his oxygen or is 

it the knowledge that he is here 

to become someone he is not  

he slumps in shame afraid 

to admit he didn't do the work 

he tried, he worked, he ached 

but the words of his soul 

weren't worth repeating  

every day he is bumped along 

against the shoulders of the Future Doctor 

Future Lawyer all tied up in suits and 

ties and polished shoes 

he repeats words that fall like 

dust on his tongue, words his father 

treasures but evoke no passion 

no heart no life for him 

be a man not an amoeba

Seize the Day 

just rubbish, he sighs 

sweeping the dreams out of 

the corners of his heart 

he must be clean he must...  

sitting there, shrinking, dying 

the weight of institutions, of society 

of his Parents or some benign God 

invoked reverently at meals 

bear down him 

he can't breathe 

surely he's going to die 

because living is so hard 

he believes everything inside of him 

is worthless 

as the spotlight shines in his 

darkness, publicizing his shame 

his terror his failure 

the varnish on the old desk 

sticks to his clothes 

his chest constricts as he's pulled 

out of his darkened room where it 

is safe and he's propelled into being seen

and viewed as the Other Son 

misfit, crazy, pushing against institutions 

and structure and stabililty 

dancing on the edge of madness 

challenging decorum and tradition 

the man pulls and pulls

holding him firmly 

pushing his face to look up 

at the picture of 

the Mad Man, the Misfit 

the One who'd seen the horrors of war 

and shoved the words, the truth in faces

that turned away  

degenerate, angry, daring, 

trampling on the storage places of 

the grapes of wrath 

o captain, my captain 

seize the day this moment 

all time suspended clocks stop 

the universe holds it's breath 

the din of the masses are silenced 

Uncle Walt in his grave turns to see 

the desperate souls longing, aching to be 

born into who they are, the misfits 

the artists, the lovers all longing to be free

the madman dances with him, pulls 

his song out of his soul with his eyes closed 

spinning, swirling, seeing only the Now 

This Moment, This Breath 

it is yours we are listening for 

your unique verse, your part in the grand play 

that holy second when you dance free 

without fear to the rythm of who you are 

as he spins, his heart breaks free the tie

is loosened and he feels like he could fly 

he opens his eyes and people are watching, 

watching him come to life, watching him be born 

he is alive

seize the day, boys, seize the day 

the old man whispers from the earth

seize the day

Nature's Hologram

(For Day One of the OctpoWrimo Daily Prompt: Clouds)

when i was little
clouds floated up above
the tall buildings
like meringue on a pie

faraway, unreachable, transcendent

now where i live they reach down to
the ground, tickling the edge of the
horizon
not above but beside, a cottony boundary

seedbed for the thirsty earth
friendly and beautiful, an orchestra pit
for angels serenading
rows and flows of angel hair 

flying above them, visage from a window
i want to step out and bounce on the
billowy white surfaces, lay down in their
encompassing embrace

commune with their weightlessness
sink into their depths
pull off a piece like cotton candy
and squeeze it in my palms

from below there are days those unmenacing
billows turn yellow and black
and twist, turning Jekyll into Hyde
swirling, spinning, touching down

and destroying
dismantling
making a way where there was
no way leaving only devastation

as walls tumble and foundations cave
there is a silence after the train wreck
and the soft, baby's butt innocence returns
to a blinding blue canvas

as if nothing happened

ice cream castles in the air 
feather canyons everywhere 

after the storm there is peace again
a smile from the heavens across the
horizon with orange and purple and light
the moon in the wings waiting to go on

you can't grasp it or hold it
or control it you can't touch it or
bounce on it's soft billowy surface
or play harps with the angels

you can only look and wonder
knowing the power that lurks in the beauty
a power to respect, a wonder to embrace
i really don't know clouds at all

bus stop

people crowded

buses running this way and that

barely missing each other

in passing

city streets

women with burqas

hasidics with curly sideburns

cyclists wearing helmets

people with eyes

not seeing

ears not hearing

for the din is beyond capacity

and a boy

loving his mamma

she talking to a friend

while he grasps her arm

lays his head on

her shoulder, stroking

her hair, tugging on her

sleeves

he grunts loudly

stomping his feet

mama! mama!

people turn

the invisibility of the crowds

the mass cut down to one

his body too large

for his behavior

people look

trying not to be noticed

as the boy yells words

that aren’t words

demanding the attention

his mother withholds

and instinctively we turn

our faces away

embarrassed, we say

for her and the spectacle

her son makes

but she visits with a friend

unruffled by his demands

unperturbed by his outbursts

a day in her life

and we all just fold

into the anonymity of

the masses

trying not to see

pretending not

to hear

I Fell In Love With Another Country

i didn't mean
for it to happen
it just
did

the narrow streets
ancient buildings
as old as
God

creating a
passageway to travel
through past
and present

co-existing

organ music
thundering in sanctuaries
carved miraculously
expertly

centuries before
columbus stumbled
into a land
already inhabited

history permeates
the air i breathe
dust mites of Romans
atoms of the saints

my bare feet
travel over
the Queen's sand
and flint

walk
in the footsteps
of Sir Arthur
the fiction of sherlock

feel the chill
of the Ripper's
savage
ghost

the smell
of old wood
and stone
modern and ancient

transfiguring
time

hot tea
in the afternoon
clotted cream and jam
on scones

walking in
the country
strangers
in a small village

tip their caps
and say hello
don't single
me out

as american

double decker
buses
advertising
american films

perhaps a
guilty reminder
of where
i am bound

but here
is where
it all began
the country

that formed me
the faith
that nourished
me

my soul
feels a
strange
sense of home

ancient beginnings
source
birthplace
origin

and when
the plane
leaves
the achingly familiar

i weep

changing tides

opening the car door
I immediately inhaled
the sea air
heard

the sounds of the white
and grey birds
felt the coolness
of the air
within the summer heat

my feet awkwardly
traversed the hot sands
littered with slate stones
making my gait seem
that of a drunk
always unsteady

the gulls
     the gulls
screeching and gliding
     teasing
showing off
     or pausing to insist
            on a snack

years melted
      time confused
as I immersed my land-locked feet
           in the eternal waters
on the edge of the world.

little girl
         sand in her bathing suit
I could hear her unburdened giggles
          her undisciplined play
kicking up water tasting salt
          when caught in the undertow

momentary panic
           clenching  lungs
as the watery world turned her
           on her head

in my daydreaming
       she emerges through the foam
triumphant
         relieved
exhilerated
         by the imbalance
skidding butt-first
          along the tide

in all the changing
       tides
shifting sands over years
        that smell
               that unique smell

fish and sun and sun lotion
        that salty, sandy taste
              the sound of waves
                     Landing gently
all touchstones
          constants

Home
        in a topsy-turvy
                unpredictable world

I've been away too long

I closed my eyes
          standing knee-deep
in timelessness
          sands sifting through my toes
                    gulls scolding me for my invasion

and I want to sink down
         allow the womb-like waters
to enfold me
            carry me

remind me
      that Home
           is here
deep inside

never so faraway

Now

dark clouds
hang down like curtains
in front of me
from the dome-like
sky

shadows engulf my car
as i move forward
rain splattering
Pollack-like designs
on my windshield

looming tendrils
of gray
are somehow comforting
molding the world
into a small sheltered
cave
a manageable size

respite
from the angry
clamor of seismatic shifts
in the story of our world
knocking every two-legged
creature
off-balance

it's raining
creating retreat from chaos
a refreshing hug
form Mother Nature
a tender reminder
to not worry about
the world
today

but to breathe deep
of the soothing newness
the cleansing
of trees, streets, grass,
cornfields

a reminder
from the Source of all Life
to
just

Be
Here
Now



pmr