We are waiting for the time
When what we are expecting will come true
The relevance has changed.
We don’t need a camel to cross the desert
I sit content
Watching the tide flows upstream
It’s 66 and sunny
Maybe you will come for dinner tonite.
note: Books I’m reading:
on the Road with St. Augustine by James K. A. Smith
and The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius
Sometimes fog can swallow time
Flying in circles while waiting
To see the land
The mountain can become a monster
Time fades, the land disappears
The plane loses its bearing
Wandering in the mist
We always wonder about the weather
We are surprised about the answers
Sadness comes unexpectedly.
The Lightness of Carrying an Epidemic
New drink from the ginger roots pulled out from the garden
A glass, freshly boiled and rich with honey
You plan to replenish your depleted immunity
The storms of microbes are dousing the plane passengers
All coughing now and feverish
Chinese medical reports an epidemic in the chicken farms
Spreading from airports to airports
When they arrived home children will carry the virus with their books
From class to class, backpacks, playgrounds and sleep overs
The virus travels like a seasoned wanderer, unhindered and silent.
Forgiveness
I plant a tree
I help an old man cross the street
I walk with others
who walk in the park
heads down, heads up
smiling, withdrawn
a day in the world
to gather love in the basket
and give away
“universal forgiveness” of what we have
and what we are.
Ordinary Things
I will not need a hammer
to make a yogurt
I may need a loom
to weave a tapestry
To find lost civilizations
I have to dig hard and deep
The ordinariness of routines,
struggle and perseverance
The devoted hours of monks:
prayers, sleep, work
I will have to master my hands
may not need a trowel or shovel
to work my way through
to find a needle, diamond, or poem
hidden inside a haystack.
Love
Walking around the kitchen, dining room
She notices words on boxes, objects on the walls
On papers lying around the tables
She hears the sounds, sees images, juxtapositions
She remembers her mother
making wreaths out of corks
She arranges her own
Made of mushrooms and marshmallows, crackers and fruits
She remembers when her mother took her to an art museum
They saw Monet’s paintings of haystacks and water lilies
She remembers her mother
took her and toured a pineapple plantation
She imagines Monet painting
rows and rows of pineapples
How about rows and rows of olive trees
Will he get tired of them?
She wishes she can ask her mother
She will know.
When the fields ripen
The gray and golden grains gathered in sacks
The guitars will freshen the air
Children will dance around the stubbles
The farmers will wash their hands
Gratitude written on their faces
They will tell the stories
How the rain filled the thirsty land
Balanced the summer’s dryness
Like when the maiden peeks through the window
After hearing a serenade
It’s him, she says.
Thin clouds cover the blue sky
The stuffed lion left by someone yesterday is gone
Cool breeze touches my face
The blue heron waits on the other side of the river
The riverbank is empty of fishermen
I will walk back home
Take a bowl of ramen from the fridge.
After a few days of rain it’s sunny and an enjoyable day to walk to the river. The meadow is green again and the blue heron is back. The roses are still in bloom. Someone forgets a lion.
It’s a new year and a new beginning.
A Task
A point is tiny
but can make a difference
After a long series of words
can make one weary
a point or a period
can be a savior
a place to pause, rest
You can try
after a long succession of tasks
to breathe deeply
have a drink of water
a moment can brighten
you are ready
for the next task
or even kiss a girl.
edgarone2
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