Scissoring

Breaking down confinement, letting in fresh air

Scissoring pieces of manuscripts, selecting the words,

The correct capture, the clear release

How can we know treasure if surrounded by excess

Trim and, trim intelligently, creating more space

To flourish, more fulfilled and free

Will dreaming make us happier?

 

We look for the hidden charms

I can only see you from a great distance 

Blurred and incomplete.

 

I continue to work

I continue to dream

Though we may live in parallel universe

The distance gets smaller.

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.

To thread a needle

It will be difficult to thread a needle

If you are farsighted.

 

He loses his temper and throws the dental floss

He doesn’t want to talk or smile.

 

She doesn’t chase the last word anymore when she talks

She observes the three bees on the rhododendron.

 

He drives in the forest and along the coast

He is calm under the redwood trees.

 

She drops the vase filled with water and flowers on the living room

Her right hand is bleeding.

 

He helps her clean up

They decide to make amends.

 

“Seize the day,” the poet says

Helping others is the crowning praise.

 

It’s wonderful when verb and adjectives are used together

I like crabs dancing under the candle lights.

 

When pronouns drop in , it’s hilarious

All the nouns scatter.

 

They are laughing walking on the beach

Beethoven is a pianist, then a composer.

 

Experience of loss and sad endings are dispersed in life

They are secret ingredients of freedom.

 

She runs alone, alone with her own thoughts

The hardest challenge.

 

Failure, triumph, dried tears, lost tracts of time

In sepia then autumn raging with colors.

 

Embroidery is a sacred craft

We welcome new threads.

Good things

I walk to the river

My mind filled with doubts

 

Standing on the riverbank

The egret watches ducks pass by 

Like thoughts

 

Somewhere I lose my way

After solid struggle I find the correct turn

 

Imagine

If I can do now

The good things I forgot

To do before.

 

Hope

Sprouts during moments

When the desert looks completely

Deserted.

.

The length of day

The day is new, let’s wave and embrace morning

Watch the fronds unfurl from sleep

Sun’s salutation, the first definition.

You are awake, look for the spider

Hungry and watchful and subtle

Experimentations in few moments of being:

A hole on the fence to see a world

Wide, bright, and far reaching

Turning a page, empty, eager to be filled

Words, sketches, and bouncing minds.

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And you think the day is short