Storyteller

Hours whisper sighs
as the birds swim by
a marigold cuts cartwheels
some angel is digging
a trench. . .

And then, you drop words
like a farmer planting —
dig the earth, turn,
trembling hand
fleck the seed

a story springs
to vibrant life, turn
of phrase or memory
or living life a life
living still the images
coalesce and pictures
move to the memories
flowing like water toward


the sea and I See
the past open
like a crevice drops
away from the land above
into dark otherworld caverns
of muted light and hours
pass this way — open opening
opened heart that hears as I

Listen…

Answer Words Symbol

 

man and woman pose on a cross monument

~for Peter

 

The Words are only
and always
only
a symbol
for the truth emotion energy
they seek
to convey
hieroglyphs forms symbols
we forget
they never truly say
anything
this artifice of speaking
writing
symbols iconography
for the internal aspect
of human divine knowing truth
that
mute words can’t speak
these mute donkeys that plod
the garden of living
trying
to reach
thoroughbred status
this
is not possible
but
like us
the words do
the best they can
and I find
they are
the one place
where honesty shows up
in mystical magic
the words speak
a truth
we viscerally
know
and I
would never
take back
any of the words
I bled for you

 

 

~Photo Credit:

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Pexels.com

wet trail of falling

pink and white flower with white background

Drizzle of raindrops
across a broken rose
its sunburnt edges
of yellowing leaves
green grass blades

Drip and drizzle
moves shimmers rolls
plops to another petal
falls drifts streaks wet
trail of falling —

like the trail streak tail
of a comet burning

like the sloshed snow
trailing the skier

like the tear glistens
a trail as it wets the cheek

Slow pour cacophony
of water and pain
that floods and fills
with deep misery
or flushes and flows
with deep catharsis

this wet trail of falling
Deeper
Deeper
Deeper

Into

the unknown

 

 

~Photo Credit:

Photo by Evie Shaffer on Pexels.com

 

One Touch

person holding a flower

~June 2020, for my friend Peter

 

One touch.
Handshake a million years ago
meaning — only
the imprinted energy remained
your signature
written
in the palm of my hand.

One touch.
Brushstroke upon the canvas
meaning — only
that memory would keep you
vivid bright color stroke
painted
in the memory of synapses.

One touch.
Melody rolling across deprived days
meaning — only
that you sang the hours
a song of calming
solace
in a soft whispered breathing.

One touch.
Illusion and Truth and Seeker
meaning — only
that variegated thread of being
runs through us all
weaving
a tapestry of disjointed discovery.

One touch.
Heartbeat tapping ka-thump
meaning — only
we are living moving flowing life
blood body spirit soul
one
essence divided into many.

One touch.
Begging arms reach out
meaning — only
the tears we cry dream dreams
of yearning and growing then
disappear
into a deeper realm.

One touch.
We have this gift
meaning — only
we are this gift
of chance chaos beauty
expanding
to touch one another.

~Photo Credit:

Photo by Valeriia Miller on Pexels.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Take My Hand

adult aged baby care

~for Peter & Mickey

Gulls drop down from a darkening sky —
knowing the land is temporary — sky
their true home. As they fly away again

I walk the sands of shells and time changing
from day into dark into day again- changing
is the flux of dying and living and dying

in this one lifetime — A heart-child cries
in the dark hours of storm and shadow
reaches — toward the shimmering-sparkling

lights shinning on a new horizon – those
bright-built heart diamonds of love light
answer the cry with a gentle-soft whisper —

Come, baby girl, they say, take my hand.
You don’t have to be afraid, storms passing
and a blazing new sunrise is coming soon.

 

~Photo by icon0.com on Pexels.com

 

 

how she loves

love heart flowers spring

As the mirror loves
The face reflected –

As the water loves
The sun that warms it –

As the lake loves
The night that chills it –

As the air loves
The lungs that breathe it –

As the peach loves
The mouth that tastes it –

As the word loves
The pen that writes it –

As the poem loves the poet
That hears it speak –

 

~Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

the old bones of the past

autumn autumn leaves blur close up

~of Michael

We talk over the old bones of the past,
The way people sitting beside a campfire
Take a stick and poke the dying embers of flame
Licking the last log-remnants
Burning in the night air of endings.

We sigh over how it makes sense now
The scenarios once locking us all in blindness
Show themselves clear and sparkling
As light dancing on water
Their jagged-edged episodes
Blistering clear in the light of passed time.

It is how a mother and daughter pick through the past
Of a husband, father, grandfather – his absence
Like a leaf we hand back and forth
Turning it over and over again
Examining its veins and edges and discolorations —

As if this examining will somehow tell us
What made it turn loose and drop from the tree.

 

~Photo by Valiphotos on Pexels.com

 

 

 

the God of your Soul-Self

books on the table

Walking toward Photography in search of
a How To book that isn’t there — I turn
toward the whispering shelves of poetry–
Hafiz, Billy Collins, Rilke, Rumi, a chorus
calling me to take them home. I do.

A million sparkling lights of hope and
friendship — voices, voices, voices calling
out a hum of knowing, living, being. Yes!
This chorus of light vibration wisdom is
the Holy Ground of libraries and bookstores.

I often tried to explain to friends:
On bad days or during times of sorrow,
I walk into a bookstore and ask God —
Help, give me the words I need to hear.
And He does. And they laugh, Yeah – Right!

And I further tried to explain the science,
the physics of vibration, energy, contraction
Einstein’s universal laws lived out in reality —
but they couldn’t understand my language.
I explored the topic in deep sharing:

Everything is energy and movement — atomic.
Voices in books are the writers Being with
me in conversation, friendship, vision.
The books are just un-bodied people I know.
But, my friends laughed — Yeah, okay! And,

I stopped trying to explain with explaining.
The God of your Soul-Self will come to you
in the way you can know Him, love Him.
He will meet you in the Space between
longing and faith and call you Home.

Each thing carries Him inside it.
Each breath a confirmation.
Each need an answer to Union.
Each cry a step closer to Wholeness.
One — into many — into One.

The spectrum has many colors
but there is only one Light.

 

 

~Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com

like the wave loves the ocean

ocean wave

You sing me songs through the air.
You say every word I’ve cried to hear.
You run to me when I long for you.
You put your normal life on a platter
Toss it into the sky, Turn
And hold out your arms to me.
Your circling spiral of energy
Tornado and whirlwind breeze
Heat, turning calm, knowing
All at once in my soul
You hold me, meet me
In the space of vast seeing
A place both foreign and home
In this instance (we are flowing)
Like the way we breathe —
Sometimes with knowing focus
Other times    Naturally-unaware
That life pulses through us
With us — Is us.

I love the way you love me
Like the wave loves the ocean
and the ocean loves the wave.

 

~Photo by Simon Clayton on Pexels.com

the heated promise of a new day

flight landscape nature sky

Sunset comes in the bright fire
of disappearing earth and atmosphere
meeting like lovers
like hushed voices
and loud laughter
fall, roll, tumble
in lovemaking and tenderness
cream skin caress
hot frantic need to
touch everything within you
heart, soul, mind, spirit, knowing
Being Love
consumed in fire
the cool darkness holding
the heated promise of a new day
and an I love you vaster than time.

Meet me at sunset, my sweet Beloved,
at the portal of life becoming Divine.

 

 

~Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com