Long time

Inspired by Tamara

He vanished for a long time
hopped aboard a train to who-knows-where
like a vagabond or perhaps
like a monk seeking solitude in movement
I wondered where in who-knows-where
he learned to see that way, in the silence
Then one time after a long time
we met again in passing and
abandoning our silent ships for a moment,
He thanked me for the eyes I gave him.

It was then when I really
heard music for the first time
in a long time.

"Miracles," Daniel Berrigan

Were I God almighty, I would ordain,
rain fall lightly where old men trod,
no death in childbirth, neither infant nor mother,
ditches firm fenced against the errant blind,
aircraft come to ground like any feather.
No mischance, malice, knives.
Tears dried. Would resolve all
flaw and blockage of mind
that makes us mad, sets lives awry.

So I pray, under
the sign of the world's murder, the ruined son;
why are you silent?
feverish as lions
hear us in the world,
caged, devoid of hope.

Still, some redress and healing.
The hand of an old woman
turns gospel page;
it flares up gently, the sudden tears of Christ.

"Come Dance," Hafiz

Every child has known God,
Not the God of names,
Not the God of don’ts,
Not the God who ever does Anything weird,
But the God who knows only 4 words.
And keeps repeating them, saying:
“Come Dance with Me , come dance.”

-- Hafiz

"Lament," Rainer Maria Rilke

I would like to walk
out of my heart
under the wide sky.
I would like to pray.
One of these stars
must still exist.
I believe I know
which one
still lasts
and stands
and stands like a city, white
in the sky at the end of the beam of light….

– Rilke

Marigolds

Assembled from scraps of prose:

I wonder about the saints around this time of year.

I wondered about your Mama, about your sisters and your Papa.

I wondered about your house and the marigolds.

I went to the cold church, but I only shivered in the cold pew.  

In there the pews were cold and the air was hard in there.

Marigolds on every year the day means more.

I never really knew you, Salvador. 

Inside Out

May I offer my insides
warm muscle
grisly tangles
gooey wounds.

May I open myself up
like a treasure chest
or an open heart surgery
or a game of Jumanji
or a stubborn clam
or a hoarder's bedroom closet
or a sudden bottle of champagne.

May I scoop out my heart
and cradle it in two hands
May I give myself away
without leaving
an empty shell?

Scrap paper thoughts:

Up is just out.
The 21st century is a terrible time to be a control freak.
Less together is better than more alone. (Thanks, Victor Wooten @Stanford NSO)

Upside Down

When I look at the world upside down
everyone's hair sticks up
and all the money fall out of their pockets
fools are a thing of the future,
growing up is a thing of the past.

People stick to the earth without taking it for granted;
we could fall off at any moment, really,
there's something attractive going on here.

When I look at the world upside down
the sky seeps from the ground,
the ground was here first, not what we put on it
and the ones who reach into the dirt are
closest to heaven.

pre-breakfast

i woke up
in the night
and now i'm
writing love
poetry
and eating
cereal
3 o'clock
in bird chirp
before-dawn

Mindful

By Mary Oliver

Every day
   I see or hear
      something
         that more or less

kills me
   with delight,
      that leaves me
         like a needle

in the haystack
   of light.
      It was what I was born for—
         to look, to listen,

to lose myself
   inside this soft world—
      to instruct myself
         over and over

in joy,
   and acclamation.
      Nor am I talking
         about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
   the very extravagant—
      but of the ordinary,
         the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
   Oh, good scholar,
      I say to myself,
         how can you help

but grow wise
   with such teachings
      as these—
         the untrimmable light

of the world,
   the ocean’s shine,
      the prayers that are made
         out of grass?

Messenger

By Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

Love energy

Quote from a friend: "It's love energy, and that's like a hundred times stronger than coffee!"

Sometimes

there are just no words,
and all that can be said
is spoken through
crinkled eyebrows
and
heartbeats