In the Rain

He smiles
sky tears running the wrinkles in his warm
smiling face
 
Drenched
he waits for me to speak
 
“Old man
why are you out here in the rain?”
He says
“My thoughts were a bit dry
Needed a little watering.”
 
“Aren’t you guys supposed to wear a pointed hat?”
He says
“I doubt it would do much in this deluge.”
 
A time passes
 
He says
“You are walking in a darkness
and though you can’t see it now
You are not alone.”
 
“Old man
why are you out here in the rain?”
He says
“A dear friend is standing in the rain
and she looks so lost and alone.”
 
“Maybe your friend is cursed
Has no right to happiness
Has no need for society.”
 
And he laughs
(might be a cough)
“Not this one, she lives on the edge
She is spirited and gifted
She is a swan raised by ducks. . .
Indignant, resourceless ducks with really bad attitudes
but she is not cursed.”
 
“Old man
get in out of the rain.”
He says
“I’m am far too old to do as I’m told
Never done it before
Not gonna start now
 
Gentle one, your soul, your heart are not dead.
Love never dies
Even if you resign
it will not leave you.”
 
And just like that the old fool starts dancing
Dancing in the rain

The Portable Electric Poet

 

Your portable cordless electric poet
is made with maximum materials
to the highest specifications of oral hygiene

Please be certain to rinse your poet after every use
to keep your poet fresh and prevent mold

Please be certain to store your electric poet
in a cool dry place when not in use

You can tell all your friends about the way
your electric poet pleases you and helps you smile

With proper care your purchase will give you years of pleasure
and very nice teeth

A Poetry Kind of Day

 

Oh such a lovely, lovely day
Perfect for poetry
Totally overcast
drizzly, miserable and occasional obligatory lightning
Helter and kelter, all that summer swelter
poof – gone

And what’s more in keeping with days like this
than the poetry of lost lovers and other pitiable creatures
All miserable and muttled and . . .
And me

The world outside the window is pewter fog
A crimson leaf slaps the window and sticks
I remember your hand on the railing
Why can’t I see your face?
Your footprint?

In dreams I run after you
On those rare times when I actually snag your arm
A stranger’s face turns to me
And I can see nothing in the fog
Your foot print in the driveway
leaving

Poetry
Totally drizzly, miserable stanzas devoid of summer swelter
And my whole body is hungry for you

I hate poetry

No Longer Afraid

 

Having spent a very long and stormy night
losing the ‘what if?’ game
For no reason at all
I decide to play the ‘mindfulness’ game

Here
in the trailing days of a lingering summer swelter
I become – unstuck
Somehow this moment falls away
swirling like that leaf

I reflect on the refractions of Autumn
Autumns past
Autumns to come

Yellow poplar
Scarlet maple
Rust red oak

And look
Pathways in the dancing leaf shadows
Pathways beyond number. . .

Shooting Star in Autumn

The cinnamon sky
The gentle brush-stroke, glowing ash clouds
A residuum of a fiery summer sun

Flash

A shooting star arching across the wispy vault
Quick, then gone
Was it real?
Did I imagine it?
A traveler moving above the horizon

Does it count double if the meteor cuts the twilight?
Did I even make a wish?

The silence of the coming night
says all that needs to be said
It is enough

Chapter 10 ~ Untitled

The Magician has not left the beach, except to hunt for food. He stands and watches as the tide rises and ebbs. He waits in fear and grief. There are no echoes in the dark chambers of his heart.
Suddenly!
There! In the shallows.
She fights for the surface. She fights to clear her lungs.
She bursts into the light, coughing and spitting.
He drags her to the beach. His tears baptize her.
She opens her eyes to a blue-sky world and in his chest, she hears . . .warmth.

Chapter 9 ~ Order Arises from Chaos

Silence . . .Silence . . .Silence . . .Eternity.
Silence . . .In a silent place, in a dark place, Silence . . .Eternity.
Silence . . .Silence . . .Silence . . .Eternity.
Silence . . . In a distant place and within the silence . . .Something . . .Something . . .
Something moves.
Something breaks the Perfect Symmetry creating a place where something is, and another where something is not.
Resonant chords crash and build within this place somewhere beneath the Sea. Currents and kelp throb in sympathetic cadence, interweaving with long silk rags of silt.
Within the sound, a self is born, a unique self, Stripped of all identity empty of all the things we mistake for self. Devoid of all thought yet a unique and sustaining self.
And it hungers . . .hungers for Being.
Silt and seaweed snakes writhe within the mixture twisting back on themselves knotting into arms. Twisting into hands, into fingers. Fingers that feel.
The world feels so smooth and cool, and slick.
Abiding within the Law, a newly aware self quivers.
Clear fluids congeal, calcifying into a lens, now this . . . she sees.
Dreams ossify. Fragile, brittle, frail structures seem to self assemble. Building layer upon layer.
“I want . . .I want . . .I want to breathe.”