A pocketful

When I was a young girl
after the night became very dark
I will stand on the backyard
look at the sky
and wait for showers of meteors.
I will put one in my pocket
and go to bed.
At breakfast
I had a pocketful of questions.
Some I put on my backpack
and took them to school.

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note: One more week before spring. Today is like a very warm spring day,80 degrees and the sky, so blue.

an orbit of one’s own making

What will happen if one of the planets
from our solar system disappear?
Or a new one appear?

I am on my way in to a bakery
for bear claws and cinnamon twists
She is on her way out, a cup on one hand
a folder and cell phone on the other.
In trying to avoid something on the ground
she loses her coordination
papers fly out in all directions
a gasp and curses I have not heard before
Instinctiv.ely I pick up some papers, she pursues the others
Hurriedly, she gathers everything,
goes to her car and leaves.

Saturday my ritual to visit the bakery
we see each other with recognition.
She apologizes and offers her gratitude.
“Can I invite you for a cup of coffee?’she says
I look at her bright eyes,
it’s not polite to refuse an invitation.

Why must I write

“There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple ‘I must,’ then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.”
-Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters To A Young Poet

Seasons of learning

It’s winter cold. Freezing.
Her hair are like icicles.
I wear a hat.
When the sun comes out
I take out my hat
Her hair melts as if
She just had a shower.
I like summer
We become real persons.
And spring?
We bloom like acacia trees
We are all sneezing
Even our dogs
Are afraid of us.
Of course in autumn
We shave our heads
Smooth like diamonds.
Wealth is a matter of perspective
Is a contention of our debate.
We read Goethe’s Faust
And practice the declamation of Mephistopheles
That’s our four seasons
Not unlike Vivaldi’s
Which we learn during our Art and Music class.

So we begin our poetry class.
Guess what we are learning?

Answers and questions

All the definitions are written.
Most of the questions are answered.
We can engage in games with abandon.
Find the vocabulary for vulnerabilities,
The intersections of passion and doubt
Jazz players deep in improvisations.

Good appetite surrounds pillars of well-being
Taste compliments strength
Like when a house leans where the wind blows.
Experts say music can shape lives
Research says exercise affects the heart’s cells
And make them younger.

When shall we start moral reflection
With purpose and effort?
How shall we face the inevitable
When we can’t breath together anymore?
How do we cry
When suffering is unbearable?

Always a change in climate for discussion,
Abundant snow and excessive rain,
Storms and violent winds
Nature is not the easiest to understand
The divine has a way to confound
Even when meditation focuses on awareness.

Where will you be

Creativity is unpredictable
unlike the hours of the tides
or like a warrior looking for a battle
decides to become a farmer
and grows the sweetest papaya in the land.
Or it could be a driftwood
that landed on the beach
can be carved as a piece of art.

Creativity is not to dream
of a white deer with crystal antlers
but to find if crystals and antlers
have something in common.
Tomorrow is Thursday
where will you be?
We can start a collaboration.