We here
in this moment
Microcosm
of wider world
How do
you like it
We ask
each from threshold
We issue
answer in a thousand tongues
Language
grunts moans murmurations
Signs
we carry lead us on
Colours
rainbow bold or fading arc
Humanity
naked beast still loading
On the day of first yellow mango
came the prophet in form of grand smiler
He stood glowing as I lay sleep wandering
He bore gifts of bright abundance
songs of camas and white fawn lily fields
Colours luminescent like rainbows
With a voice like a choir of ethereal children
he weaved my comfort blanket of story
painted walls of wonder unfolding the day
You can’t depend on their presence
You cannot summon them with command
Sky faces drift on a time outside of time
They carry messages from places of knowing
Just out of grasp
Speaking a language you’ve yet to learn
Obscured from sight by light step dancers
Sky faces are playful tricksters
They swoop in close
Breath sweet spearmint and clover
On silent wings they glide low and high
Leave you wanting
Promising—-
In time, maybe when you’re older
On some still early morning mist rising
As a new sun spreads life to shivered earth
Sky faces will linger, sip of your offering
Whisper words in the language of your heart
I could have left a note
but it’s windy over there near the bay
You’ll be back before the melting
they remind us every day anyway
I listen to Neve and The Deer Children
sing songs in a language I do not understand
Which path did you choose at the crossroad
I wonder over morning coffee
Where is her other hand you’ll probably ask
when you arrive and find my sign
Why are there no footprints
either coming or going
clarity
contemplate your resurrection path
winds are strong today
avert the fragile makers
empty vessels travel weightless
anchors having all rusted away
your hair obscures your view
yet you see what needs be seen
a blurring
a sign
a single thread
soft speaking from the edge of
a craggy cliff
a hem of your old sweatshirt
Who among us thrives
when one philosophizes
while the other feigns deep listening
Thanks for the adjunct, I said
though to myself not aloud
We were sitting together on a bench
You opining
I half listening
We two half friends
balancing between true life and mediocrity
🎵Sing it.🎵
From where you now stand
Verdant fields appear friendly
You’re ready to leap
Some days I think
I’ve learned
I don’t call it mastery
I don’t call it
Quiet, though
takes effort
Practice perseverance
Resistance restraint
Breathing at precisely the moment
my mouth opens to utter some advice
Coughing works, too
though noiseless is my preferred mode
Hold steady to the Present
I want to say to sorrowful suffering worriers
It’s no platitude
I am a true believer
Ask me
Yet here I am on this rainy Sunday
digging through a box of cassette tapes
Stories without labels
Chapters with broken plot lines
Their players lost or names misremembered
Escaped from out of necessity
Dead
And this one of a whole radio show
I sit cross legged in my present moment
listen close to my heartbeat
deciding how its rhythm jives with evidence
another me existed
in another time with another voice
Crackling through radio waves
telling stories it seems I knew well
A voice of youth and confidence
Reverence for music
I am not yet sure I want to meet her
sip any of that Was medicine
or revisit messages sent through the tunes
she played for ears she imagined might
be listening for choice cuts from the radio
Stalled here in the present past unable to say
either hello old friend or please just go away
I was tapping out a rhythm with my cutlery and my glass
He was sitting on the shady side of the road
I slipped him into a plot where it seemed he belonged
He sat there looking at three hungry dogs searching
I wondered if he was working up to something good or bad
His boots did not look like they’d been walking in the field
I decided he must be waiting on a woman named Gabrielle
He had the gaze of a patient but expectant man
I craned my neck without revealing my serious curiosity
He took off his hat and with one palm smoothed down his dark hair
I started humming to a tune I was strumming in my head
His fingers started twitching like he might be running out of time
I looked up at the waiter who was looking down at me without a smile
and in that flicker of an instant that cowboy vaporized
I tried to finish the story while my fork turned a tasteless meal
He left me there on that sunlit veranda like it was a fair deal
Pencil Notes 