Connections

Even a fox can get exhausted

straining for all the sounds.

The world will shrink if it doesn’t change

Opulence doesn’t guarantee happiness

She learns from an Indian friend

A butterfly can tilt Indra’s net.

Delight when scenery 

unfolds before you

wherever you are.

You may be alone 

but you will not be lonely.

Her silence is a conviction 

not to judge others 

by any standards.

She will pass by a garden

and admire a flower

for what it is.

A neighbor will ask her, 

Did you see Mary today,

going to church dressed 

improperly?

It is a warm weather finally,

she will answer.

She may not be precise,

that’s what she sees.

Why

She goes to school.

He goes to church.

Others look for their birthdays in the zodiac.

There are other ways of learning.

People are confused.

Life consists of many parts

Some parts are broken.

Then life changes enormously 

Like shifting shadows in the afternoon

Turned into giant mass of dark clouds enclosing the world,

Silent, hidden, and stilled.

People do not understand why

After they learn to spell catastrophe

They are not happy but distraught.

Pilgrimage

A pilgrimage of the heart,

an errand of the spirit

I will take a morning walk 

and knock on my friend’s door,

lean on a tree, feel the root’s vibrations.

I  will fold my hands and listen to stories:

People walking, their pockets heavy with stones,

birds singing sad songs and hiding  their wings from the sun

riverbeds with broken porcelains,

multi-syllabic prayers uttered in silence at Angelus.

A child and a lady smile and wave 

when I pass by on my way home 

on the sidewalk with wild flowers 

blooming next to the iron fence.

I have been walking to the river again since 4 days ago. I did not walk today.

Tide and Consequences

Low tide, 

59 degrees 

fog lines the hills

a plane overhead, 

sounds like distant thunder

I’m walking behind

a woman in red running 

mild breeze shy on my neck,

kayakers riding towards the ocean

I pass an empty bench

an invitation, a luxury

I’m too old

to sit down

Mrs. Abstract will find me frozen

I have other ideas

like loose leaves in my notebook

come, 

let’s ride the tide

let’s go upstream

come.

Flirtations

Should I haiku

my way to you

light bends

The apple falls

flowers attract butterflies

bees circle around

Mothers wonder

children run to sounds of  a waterfall

does enthusiasm measure distances

The kite laughs with the wind

free and unafraid

a boy watches

Inquisitive, often in motion

a bird moves from from to branch

to opening spaces

I decide to be better

procrastination flirts

catches my curiosity

The splendor of order

my thoughts and a nightingale singing

a pebble and thunder

The swan’s wings sweep the air

clouds coalesce like a quilt

the pond and I mirror the scene

The swan, lovely and silent

unruffled by wakes of passing boats

somewhere, a monk in contemplation.

Unafraid, swelling with confidence, she prays 

the snow falls on top of trees

first week of December

My strength begins

paddles breaks the water

the ducks glide

The bell’s sounds of angelus

a moment of remembrance

farmers stand silent on the field

With darkening sky

poetic storm enters her vision

sharp and exhausting

Bowls and fields catch raindrops

seasons of need

umbrellas cover workers’ heads

note: The photos were taken during my walk to the river. Books I am reading. Our Book Club decided to read Moby Dick.

Metaphors in Idleness

Sometimes you want to spend a day to idleness

Some people are not for greatness

You have to know which one to elevate, which one to endure

To choose one character is an act of courage

Dancing when you should be praying

When procrastination awakes doubt enters

You fast while in the temple of Weeping Women

To cleanse yourself

Tomorrow morning, early, you will visit the waterfalls

And enter the cave behind the falling waters

A shelter for you till beauty

And strength thread in your consciousness:

An armadillo waking

An astonishing reflection in its eyes

note: photos are from my wlak to the river on Thursday. The day is sunny and warm. Beautiful day to go out .

Sunny Day

63 degrees, sunny, the tide is going upstream

Maybe 

the scope of your vision is narrow,

the field is wide, memory may falter,

movement, persistence, diminishes

distance between remembering,

words will come in baskets

no barren day or empty life

even dreams have voices

do not cease 

to take care of yourself

Rise, go, where nature lives.

CHOICES

“Joy like a river in her soul”, words of a young boy

Sharing his mother’s state of being. 

A town nestled next to a river

How does one tear down and build anew?

River dredging begins Flood Control Master Plan.

Town awakens, sounds of bulldozers and cranes, 

People wearing helmets working

Design to demolish, preserve, develop, convert

Empty complexes, aging structures, dormant land 

Long deliberations in what the town needs:

Hotels, shops, restaurants, or something abstract

Community park in summer turns flood diversion space in winter.

Building a promenade on riverfront, 

Passageway along railroad tracks,

Connecting Vine Trail, continuity without impediments

Collaboration with artists and role of the arts,

A time for coffee and twisted cinnamon rolls.

One accent, the Passages, a segment of passageway 

Once a haven for graffiti’s passion and restlessness

Now a channel for artistic expressions,

Vivid, vibrant, living project

Come, look, linger, get involve.

Walking home I hum a Dave Brubeck’s tune

I prepare smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwich, 

A bowl of peach yogurt and blackberries for lunch.

I take my time. I do not eat with haste.

Like town dreamers, like my friends

I, too, have choices and concerns

Should I join the frenzy of high technology

Pulsing reminders of “constantly possible productive moments”

Or walk with artists and pilgrims in shared humanity

Learn value of life, bear the task, persevere?

In my solitary walk, my mind can’t remain still

How will the young boy paint the river?

Let image follow imagination like spells of delight

Art’s idea whispers, shouts, bends then leaps to clarity

A journey of praise of what one truly loves.

In art and life, one will leave one day, the other stays.

I will write my praise.