Meditate-Contemplate

meditate 08 18

 

how must we be
living underneath the ginkgo tree

does it shade our skin
or venture further therein

sounds of violins

how then do we meditate
when wearing a steel breastplate
our thoughts locked in the crate
waiting for our time of fate
or is it too late
can we ever fully clean the slate
is the task too great

how then will we erase

all the tears gathered in the vase
stained thoughts on paper plate
time to regurgitate
seasoned words of late

layered pages lie in state
sign of fate

august 18 2018

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Brave Little Lyon

 

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they go off in the night

when the time feels right

to find a place that is soft and permanent 

a place, hidden from passers-by

a place where they prepare to die

it saddens me

to imagine him alone

walking softly across the fields

so far from home

is it a trance or a meditative state 

when they know so clearly 

when they prepare and  take the walk

do they sit in the dark and gaze at the moonlight

sending meditative signals to the afterlife

then wait till the porthole opens

somehow I don’t believe 

that they review their life

that they sit in a pool of regret  

counting the mice or chipmunks that got away

 

he became a memory of himself

so thin and yet the hunter never left him

seeing him walk across the field with a large gift in his mouth

laying it on the wooden planks 

an offering, a gift  a great achievement 

he would then lie down with his back to it

shoulders off the floor like a sphinx 

so proud and worthy of praises he received 

how something so little in size

could fill so much space in my heart

the gap leaves me feeling weakened 

so many lovely, sweet pets I love 

the auntie that loves them 

while their family travels

I believe that we don’t choose 

connections with humans or animals

I believe in my Buddhist teachings 

that a soul is a soul is a soul

whether we are human or not 

the soul is what connects us

this little guy knew of his place in my heart

to look into his little face and feel his thoughts

not word for word 

but understanding 

compassion and comfort

last night I dreamt of a baby

I held it, wrapped it for warmth

held it so close to me

each with tearful eyes

believing that my heartbeat would keep its heart beating

the room, the blanket, the rooftops all white 

sleep my prince, my friend

till we join hearts again

July 18 2018

Thunder, Whispered In My Ear

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a whisper in my ear

air changes 

the night becomes still

standing by the screened door 

filled with the night sky

four shades brighter 

no stars visible in the grey 

a distance flicker of white 

followed by the roar of thunder

I have been waiting for you

where have you been 

the days have been difficult

hot, thick with little air to breath

what has taken you so long

the room lights up  

clear as day 

then goes away

I can see you moving from me

why not stay a while 

unload some of that weight

surely all that rain gets heavy

you can leave some here 

no one will mind

the grass  welcomes it with open blades

the trees with roots so large and long 

can store for you 

we do like the sound you make 

as you walk across the fields

the cheers can be heard for miles 

the leaves clapping with joy

sadly your thunder has no patients 

to sit and visit

always on the move

across the fields and over small towns

I can feel your impatience

the visit is almost over, this makes me sad

you are just a passing stranger 

blinking white light as you go by

I heard you coming from the north 

now you have walked over me 

to head south-east

yes I can hear you crackling 

clearing your throat 

your sneezing lights all the treetops

you come, you leave you never stay long

you rumble along singing the same song 

I’m glad you whispered in my ear

so I could wake and be here with you

thank you! 

you never leave without 

filling our buckets, pond, rivers and streams 

brimming with your brew

you are music to my ears and bring joy to my heart

 

look after our friend 

for he has just entered your world

the world of the sky

he wears a happy fluffy white beard with round specs

he writes from the heart 

maybe  you can show him the ropes 

invite him to follow you around a bit 

getting the feel of the open sky

hold his hand so he doesn’t get lost 

for the universe is a very big place

it’s dark again and your rain is fading

I can barely hear your distance voice

thank you for the gifts

stay for a day next time

I’ll get my rain gear ready so we can walk together

so we can chat 

remember the chats

we have had such great times

you rumbling your stories 

me standing beneath you 

showered by your laughter 

playing in the puddles you would create for me

I can’t remember how long we have known each other

I do remember 

you always came to my rescue 

when the fields got too hot to work in

I could hear you crackling across 

we would all run and sit in the big walnut tree 

and be so entertained by the dancing water puppets

the sky is now completely black

you’re gone 

have you heard anything I said

july 17 2018 3;23am

R.I.P. Poet Paul Lenzi

 

IMG_8887 (1).jpgproudly and effortlessly 

he walks to the heavens

on a golden staircase 

created of his words

to walk and feel as light as a feather

for every step is of his making

he leaves behind not a black hole of worthlessness

he leaves behind  the greatest of gifts

his heart, his thoughts, his wonder

never will he leave completely 

for he has built a staircase 

of himself, of his inner soul, of his aspirations

he has gifted all of us that did not know him

 

my Love Affair with

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once, I read from cover to cover

waiting for things to discover

of  late this is not the state

for  my mind needs an update

once, the pages were the main meal

something real, exploring diel

was that the appeal or learning to be genteel

when one is young there is no need to conceal 

the love of teal or reason to kneel

once, is now past for everything feels fast

quick plays from a cast performed to the mass

eyes feel glassed, purpose surpassed

thrown last from the blast

feeling die-cast or miscast

now, my pages are tasty treats

of pickled beets and other eats

to feast upon the sheets

or walking down the streets

there are no cheats with smiles from meets

would be no completes without our cleats and pleats

for we are not athletes or numbers on spreadsheets

we are not deadbeats that work on Bradstreet

for we own our heartbeats and parakeets

now, I cover myself with book and page

discovering many a stage without wage

for I adore my age and the smelling of sage

july 11 2018

The Line Of A Pencil

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If we allow ourselves to be free
will my drawings speak to me
free of shame
or self-imposed blame
Not all lines speak
from memories deep
from staring at our toes
to echoing early years of ‘nos’
If we allow ourselves to be free
will my drawing lead me through the trees
to follow the path hidden by the shade
to raise my pencil and sharpen its blade
for a pencil can lacerate
or draw a line for bait
causing us to think we are frauds
in truth, we are just a little flawed
There is no choice or well-conceived plan
for when the crow calls we run to where it began
some call it having the mind of a child
I prefer to believe, we never gave up being wild
even if it means being exiled
IMG_8873july 9 2018

State Of Mine

 

 

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4:05 the room feels awake
restless after a week of excessive heat

restless from concentrating on the positive 

natural hot yoga

movies in front of a fan

birds at 4:45am

singing their songs

parade of dark clouds 

feeling the tailwinds as they pass

clouds moving east and south

each taking different routes

hummingbird flying into the wind

surrounded by trees

the sky is open, the sky is free

wind chimes play their songs

soft pink line sits on a dark violet horizon

crows chatting in the forest

I miss the ocean, the sound of the waves

yet I am thankful for the shelter I am able to provide

for trees, tall grass and milkweeds

by letting nature be we can witness
a walnut seed grow into a tree

or listen to frogs singing an opera

it’s fine wishing for different things
if we still acknowledge the moments of beauty

the same sun rises everywhere

beauty is how we view and relate to our life

5:48 coffee tastes better when greeting the dawn

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