Truth

A beautiful dawn
breaks for me
as too many of my friends
live in twilight,
assured night will come,
soon enough.
The world could end
by lunchtime, but I’ll
leave this moment alone.
Let it breathe.
Allow it to flourish.
Grief will come in time,
in all its untidy dress,
complicated and deep,
feeling a lot like fear.
Before that, however,
lifelong friends may
think enough of each other
to lie once in awhile,
even as they traverse oceans and
mountains and valleys of emotion,
preparing for a final sunset,
certain there’s another way
to be in the world,
even without a remedy for death.
Uncomfortable as it is,
afraid as we are,
we can only listen to our breath,
find a calm corner inside,
engage with the world as it is right now,
and live with an open heart.
In the end, I think,
our lives are
simply stories,
the world proceeding
with its plan.

Poems and People

Poems are like people,

at least in some ways,

at least on some days,

improving sometimes,

(perhaps)

if they are treated 

to some nourishment,

a little touch up.

Not all poems are loved,

many are not noticed at all.

The same goes 

for far too many people,

and even those noticed 

are sometimes not remembered,

not as the poets

or those unseen people

would prefer.

Some poems are 

not allowed to grow old, 

(perhaps) 

tossed in a box,

or burned in a fire.

And not all people

grow old,

some get the box,

others the fire.

(perhaps both)

But here’s the truth.

All poems, all people,

merit attention.

Without it, they become

shadows of what or who

they were.

Lost.

Empty.

Starved.

Forgotten, except 

in our memories,

in the stories we tell of them,

in the words and nuances we recall.

So, add a comma,

or take one out,

but always, always

add a remembrance.

Then they’ll live forever.

November Daily Zen’s

When I don’t like what I am painting, it’s not the canvas’ fault.

Just chill. Let yourself heal.

I only hang out with people who love me.

As long as you can sit quietly in a room, you’ll be alright 

Simplicity plus proportion. Balance matters.

Living spiritually requires patience

Peace will prevail

If you want satisfaction, you need to heed those last six letters 

Speak your truth, but do so kindly

You can’t fake success. Talent will out.

It’s not about acquiring. It’s about expanding and sharing.

Relax. Take a little time for the truth.

If you are going to get stuck somewhere, make it in your dreams, not your worries 

When a tree dies, plant another

May loving thought prevail

Must every decision for something also be a decision against?

Reality is simply there. How you see it is something else.

One can always depend upon the kindness of home cooks.

How far I have come. How wonderful this life is.

I’ve made many mistakes but none of them involve loving too much

Whenever I look in a mirror, I smile. Sometimes I laugh. I’m funny that way.

Foreign objects enter oysters and make pearls. How it is with my scars.

I am not a Buddhist. I simply choose to not argue with reality 

If you are at ease, write. If you are uneasy, write more.

Create or perish

Love your life, do good works, be kind, trust your gut, and keep in touch

First pave the road, then start the car.

Integrity is a road without end, a mountain without a top.

I am not squeezing every drop out of my life. I am, however, caressing it.

Fall Clothes

Nice Threads, Mate

is something no one

has ever said to me,

and they probably 

never will, you see,

I’m a tee-shirt kinda guy,

put on the pants

I took off last night,

can’t be bothered about

how I look, really can’t,

try as hard as I might.

I don’t focus on my looks,

just make sure to,

brush my teeth, 

wash my hair.

Is that so wrong for

an old guy like me?

I mean, what’s it matter,

why should I care?

A simple approach is

the one I chose, 

as my joy has nothing 

to do with my clothes,

so it’s tee-shirts and chinos,

maybe shorts, for me.

They work fine.

The too-warm mornings 

of summer are gone now,

but autumn still sleeps a bit, 

not quite awake,

not quite ready for her big hurrah.

We are well past the solstice, 

but she’s still young,

and I am satisfied to 

comfortably capture bits

of  breezy brilliance,

enlivened by the simple 

pleasure of it all,

commonplace as it may seem,

grateful for this good day.

Candles

For a Simple Guy, One Small Thing

Not for me, the grand concepts.
I mean, I know that poverty
is cyclical or situational,
but that guy on the corner?
He just wants a sandwich,
maybe a beer.

Not for me, the great concerns.
I mean, I know that orphans exist,
and child care’s too costly,
but that girl on the swing?
She just needs a push,
maybe a hug.

Not for me, the larger issues.
I mean, I know the snowcap is melting,
but insomnia won’t help.
All I can do is turn off some lamps,
light one little candle, and hope others do too,
that the sum of the candles will light up the globe,
maybe my life.

Veterans Day 2018

Being a part of the community of veterans, especially the veterans of foreign wars, is both an honor and a duty, with a sacred obligation to past, current and future generations of our country’s warriors, its protectors, and I do not take it lightly. Veterans’ missions did not end with their active military service. They all remain steadfast in their comradeship with one another, even while at home, awaiting further orders. Many of them have dealt with and continue to deal with illness and injuries which changed them and their place in the world. For some, the pain has not ended. For others, as many as twenty each day, the agony was too great to continue in their current bodies, in their current life. Now, those of us who have found ways to live in peace, in Spirit’s hands, must be a shining example, a lamp of hope, a light at the end of the tunnel. It is the least we can do. We all know what war costs, whether we were in battle or not. We all know that memories linger and, unless we continue with courage and find a way to change our thinking about the past, the pain will persist. The nightmares will continue. The burden which our friends and families must share will grow. We joined the military for different reasons, some were drafted, many volunteered. After boot camp, however, we all learned that we had become part of a new family, one bigger than our previous, solitary lives. We had become larger than before. We mattered, and others depended upon us. It is no different now, even for those of us who long ago qualified for our AARP cards. I have, personally, lived with pain and turmoil, found some answers, still seek others. I do not, however, regret even one day of it. Not anymore. In my middle years, regret, remorse, shame and anger ruled the day. Now, the fog has lifted. While some of the pain lingers, I have no doubt nor confusion about the special gifts which military service afforded me. Whether I like it or not, I am now duty bound to ensure that all veterans are appreciated, all wounded heroes are cared for, and that all invisible injuries are brought into the light of day, so that treatment can be provided. The value which I take from camaraderie with my brothers and sisters does not have a number. It is incalculable. I hope to plant the seeds of appreciation, honor, encouragement and sustenance for the rest of my life. It’s a lot to do, so I’d best get with it. I know that I am not alone in these goals. Many institutions, associations and individuals are doing so much more than I will ever accomplish, yet even though I am like a single raindrop in an ocean, I will continue to find the drive to be of help, to do my part. My brothers and sisters, the veterans, deserve nothing less.

Costumes

Summer’s Final Breath

Here in the true southwest,

summer has departed, but 

autumn’s full arrival awaits,

offstage, in the wings, 

visible but not yet tangible.

Down here, near to both

Mexico and the ocean,

autumn chooses her colors

slowly, carefully,

not combining just any hues,

until one morning in

early November,

as the sun creeps over 

Mount Woodson,

she decides to show herself.

Her outfit is muted,

unlike the garish gear 

of early summer,

more suited to satisfaction

than excitement.

For that, we must turn to

the migrating flocks,

the departure of the tourist families,

the return of the Snowbirds,

and the squawks of the crows on

their daily trips to and from the dump.

For a simple guy,

whose joy has nothing 

to do with clothes, 

this is all good.

Other thoughts on Crimsom

When my eyes are filled with blood, my mood far from sanguine, even as I contemplate the vast ocean of wonderful writers, the crowded sky of prolific poets, it is easy to slip into insignificance, but when I sometimes say something which alters another person’s perspective, perhaps on a day when they needed it, I realize I am significant, along with everyone who dares to express their soul, and when they respond with love, my heart beats a little stronger.

Crimsom

New Life Always Follows

Summer’s final breath,
ravens scout in blushing skies,
monks still pray for peace.

Vice

Beach Bunny Rag

Just twenty miles from the beach to our home,

yet a change in our mood readily comes,

only thirty minutes away from the dry local air,

savoring moisture in our oceanside lair.

We love our two nests, both seasoned with love,

Spirit surrounds us, within us, above.

Our friends like it too, their joy adds a spice,

three parts of playful, one jigger of vice.

Our lives are perfect as any fine thing,

no matter the season, it’s always our spring.

Autumn

Autumn of My Years

A thought arises, lingers not, departs,

as our summer too soon becomes the fall.

This is true in writing, in all the arts.

A thought arises, lingers not, departs.

We must soon act on what is in our hearts,

lest we would forget, lose our soul, our all.

A thought arises, lingers not, departs,

as our summer too soon becomes the fall.

Aroma

Fall-ing

I don’t always know

what will happen when I act.

I know, though, 

what happens when I don’t.

We all fail sometimes.

(It stinks, doesn’t it ?)

We all fall sometimes.

When you do,

give me your hand.

(Ah, the sweet smell of succor)

Fall

Fall of ‘67

October 27, 0230, 

I’m falling, then flying,

perhaps from friendly fire,

death surely on its way.

I see my mother in the light,

dead these nine years.

I am no longer matter,

floating high above the

firefight below,

clear even in the darkness

of this early day.

Go back, she tells me,

you are not to stay,

still work for you to do,

important matters 

to attend to.

Easy now to understand,  

no matter the task,

the work is peace, 

all that really matters.,

all for which I pray.

Leaves

Peace in Late Life

My summer did not

change me, leaves are falling now.

winter’s close behind.

Cornucopia

The Work is Peace

I’ve been poor before,

no food, money, job, and no

ideas, fear-filled.

So happy for the

joy in my life now, as I’m

filled with abundance.

Breathing in with grace,

exhaling with gratitude,

life is just too good.

Grace, gratitude and 

generosity seem to 

work just fine for me.

There remains much truth,

even with this awareness,

left to discover.

Abundance is our 

right, prosperity a state 

of mind, effortless.

Giving is often 

based on happenstance,

yet it’s easy to be kind.

Not why we give, but

a cornucopia of

joy always follows.

Orange

There Remains Much Truth 

I’ve written before that

Elm Avenue in Wisconsin

no longer has elm trees,

only the brittle twigs 

of our memories,

much like, I suppose,

Orange Tree Estates, 

Orange County, CA

has no orange trees,

only the faintly remembered 

aromas from youth,

the sweet citrus dreams 

of SoCal hipsters.

Many pines remain 

in Pine Top, AZ,

and you can still find birches 

in Birch Tree, AR,

but, for most of us,

we only have photo albums

to take us back to our roots.

The elms are gone

but the palms remain hearty.

Thank goodness there was no

Dutch Palm Tree malady,

although I’m pretty sure that

it wasn’t Dutch Orange Tree disease

that caused all those uprootings in SoCal.

If this global warming thing,

or some other planetary sickness

gets to the palm trees,

we’re in real trouble.

but that will be for

a different poet’s despair.

Windy

Doves Love Brittle Twigs

Autumn’s first breezes,

neighbors spy as we build homes,

doves find love mid-air. 

Comfort Food

Mis en Place

(Umami is my comfort)

Our new neighbors spy on us, 

over the fence,

but I think we’ll soon be friends, 

maybe when I cook for them.

Umami is already my friend,

and I like to cook like I mean it.

I’m no gourmet chef,

but I find it a holy thing

to serve food to others.

In some ways, every meal is a miracle,

especially when eaten with friends.

Beauty can be coaxed

out of the ugliest of vegetables,

if the preparation is done mindfully.

It’s all in the details.

Harvest

Feeling the Change of Seasons

As comfortably as sowing leads to harvest,

faith summons us to follow.

As faithfully as spring leads to summer,

fall must always follow.

As assuredly as heart leads to joy,

love presently follows.

As completely as love leads to sharing,

peace eventually follows.

As ultimately as peace leads to calm,

life truly follows.

As predictably as life leads to death,

new life always follows.