Listening

Sometime I am blinded of what I know

Prevents me from listening

At the end of the tunnel, I hope, is another way

And in the ocean, after I hoist a sail

The wind will pick up

And carry me to a wider reality.

 

I start putting words in my pocket

The birds start picking and scatter them

Some fall on front yards, others on the river

Fish snatch the floating words

The fishermen jump with surprise

People come out of their doors and greet me 

I feel embarrassed, I answer with greetings

I’m thankful, their dogs like me

Tomorrow I will take a basketful of words to the Farmer’s Market 

I will sit next to the mushroom grower

She tells stories about creatures in the forest

I will be a good listener.

Whistle

I am walking to the river.

Sometimes I whistle when I walk Inviting the breeze to come.

 

The birds whistle to each other.

They hide within the branches of the trees when it rain.

Their wings become heavy when wet.

 

Some places flood when it rains.

Places next to a river.

Houses along a river.

Even after repeated floods people don’t want leave.

 

Some mountains have frequent fires.

People who live there also don’t want to move to another plane.

 

Some people have perseverance.

They have courage to resist.

 

The cool breeze comes.

I continue my walk.

Sometimes I think of you. I wonder of what you are doing.

 

I will see you on Thursday.

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note:Color my heart with cookies.

A moment of each day

Thud, thud, the thudding sound 

of a luggage sliding Inside the car’s  trunk, 

a car driving fast the curves

that’s how my head spins

when I clean the sink of unfulfilled writing promises

I will try again

a new concept of a New Year

to tell a moment of each day

a gathered thought, an instant click of a camera 

not a memorized notion of what a day should be,

maybe a spark of enchantment.

Will it make the day meaningful?

Or trivial?

But questions do not meant to be answered

only understood.

I will begin today.

Note: Like a mantra I walk to the river today. The day is spring-like low 60’s, blue sky, flowers and acacia trees are blooming.

The photos from my mobile phone capture the moment. 

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The day as it happens

My day starts late with a walk to the river

Counting the black birds on the tree

They come down to feed on feeders

Thrown by a woman on the sidewalk.

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Our activity continues to the downtown

Where children and adults parade their lanterns,

Light attires, jellyfish lighted parasols, costumes. 

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Their route passes along where lgihted arts

Are projected on buildings complete with music and narrations.

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We end the evening under the huge moon

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As if it falls down from the sky

Which is what one child asks her mother about.

The Seeds

 

The seeds get strayed from the garden 

Travel in miles of air

The petals fall like kisses

Or is it kisses like petals falling

Landing on your hair, shoulders and dreams

And I waking remember the fragrance

Of the place where you once walk.

 

I remember you telling me

Not to get anchored in dreams

“Shape your future in reality,” you said.

The egret standing on the riverbank

Remains like a statue

When a boat passes by

The egret looks at me

as if asking a question

Will a rose remains a rose

If no one looking?

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The friendly egret

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The sidewalk where I walk

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My Holy Moments

 

Today I went for my walk before I had my breakfast. It was 53F and the sun was trying to peek behind the clouds. A light brown, tall poodle lumbered out from a door and ran ahead of me. I heard a young woman called out, “Mozart, Mozart, come back.” The woman and I exchanged pleasantries. I remarked that she has a beautiful dog. I met a walker with his dog, a smaller one thanMozart. We greeted each other, Good morning. They were walking on opposite direction.

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I continued my walk to the river. A few fishermen were socializing among themselves. Their lines resting on the riverbank.

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Two towering palm trees across each other on the sidewalk greeted passerby’s. They remind me of a warmer place somewhere. The yucca plants did not give me a similar memory. 

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Perhaps because of a rain for the last 2 days the street was fairly clean. The birds sang joyfully.

 

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By the time I turned around to walk back home the sun has burst out. The top of the hills has risen above the clouds. The breeze 55F grazed my face like a whisper. 

My morning of holy moments.