Category: Poems

Van Morrison said it best

Rain is falling.
Incense is rising.

“So quiet in here. So peaceful in hear. So silent in here.”

This worn chest empties, tears flow, nothing to cling to, calm and fearless as the Buddha’s face.

Tap the bell and bow,
Beneath the weight of gratitude.

Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching says WTF

No it doesn’t. He doesn’t say WTF, and don’t make fun. From him came her, the oracle, the moment, the open gate. Cast pennies on the ground and keep your thoughts in check.

From mind to hand, from hand to ground, then rummage through the leaves to read what this mute mother has to say …

“Difficulty arises from the previous state, which was easy.”

“Somenabitch!” Again? WTF

She is Recently from Everywhere

I scratch her schedule on the back of envelopes;
San Francisco, San Diego, Newark, Dallas, and Portland.

She calls while she unpacks, or packs while calling;
And calls from busses, or rails, or terminals, or restaurants.
… sometimes she does not call.

“Will call later,” we say, but talk is cheap.

“How good of you to call,” I say, and text ILU and TTYL

C U Later she texts and I say K,

But instead I draft another poem.
Instead I write the day away.
Instead she flies from place to place.
… and I worry she will be alone.

So Long Michael and Night Song

I think you will not stop, Michael, as I did long ago. How foolish not to play the notes, to touch the frets, to feel the light beneath each string, beneath the stars while hidden in my room, on stage, forever hidden here amid it all; the sounds of here and goodbye, the blue of never ending rain, the gray of cities and places and people gone behind.

A tribute to Michael Dawes, Pierre Bensusan, and the endless line of musicians who remind us, generation upon generation, to hear more, to listen deeply, and care about each moment.

And Martin Taylor, recommended by brother Peter

So much more: Django Reinhardt – Tears

And again from Peter: Trevor Gordon Hall – Bach to the Future (Guitar Duet)

Apple Blossoms

Photo from our porch.

They spring beneath each drop of rain,
sway joyfully in a passing breeze,
first pink, then white, then open, then gone …
… each blossom would become tree.

Nothing more precious, nor quite as brilliant,
as bright and charming can be found,
as amid apple blossoms where rain just stops …
… then sun rests briefly in each one.

Across the way these trees are boundless,
bright as novas in the sky.
But here we rest, in shade, in shadow …
… helpless as our petals fly.