Poetry and Whine

 

Only One 

 

First the Master.

I say I can only be

 

second-best.

On the crest of hill, apex

 

—the Master is below,

deep in the valley.

 

—snow still on the ground.

 

 


 

Who’s to Say

 

The dream was a kind one
—I wrote it all down.
Page after page,
word after word,
the details kept coming.

 

Compassion found in a small grocery store.
The backbone wrapped in a soft sturdy brace.
Long red hair, and an innocent quick kiss.

 

“All of them rotten apples”, she says.
—Taste just fine to me.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

The Muse Returns

The sun is shining again today.
There must be joy in the world somewhere,
for such warmth and light to even exist at all.

 

Somewhere people are smiling.
Somewhere people are with others who
love unconditionally and with honor.

 

Simple honesty remains. Hope still remains.
Joy is here and now, peacefully.
I feel it all, and allow it to just be.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Thank You for Being Akiane 

 

‘Work of God’ enters the world again, freshly born anew into the womb of time.
Innocence and a message, color and sound— creation knows its own true becoming.
From within the vast ocean of a single drop of water, eternity unveils its mysteries
through the eyes of the child now grown into youth, and continues. Such beauty
unfolds, gives, and lives in the eyes of everyone and all things— faces showing
their radiant reflection of what is seen, what is known, and what exists. The slow
arrival we took for granted yet so desperately need, wish for, and hope, the joy
of its own life-presence already here— do we hear the song? Do we know
the words? Do we see the vision unfold? It is there in all times and all places,
as we look outward into the eyes of another or inward into the eyes of ourselves
and a bird or the lovely bee—and blesses us with its grace as you bless us by being
just as you are, that which exists forever, reminding us of our own true selves to be.

 

____________________________

 

Dream

 

Someone told.
And now the child spends his time collecting rocks.
Every one he can find.
For money.

 

Someone told him they are worth something,
the ones painted on bottom
with a symbol.

 

It is cold outside.
He doesn’t mind being

 

in the field.

 

______________________________________________________

 

(for Lucille)

 

i formless night.
i starless sky.

 

cannot still this
starry flight.

 

i reach,
but cannot still

 

these stars.

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s