Presence

 

Living within the grace 

of one day,

this day,

today.

Love overflowing,

Joy in this place,

Spirit is showing,

No longer searching

for what I already have,

allowing my heart to

feel gratitude,

less stressed, 

more blessed.

I am here.

I see you.

Someday Soon

 

The elms of my youth

might be gone,

but those firs we planted are living,

or so I’m told by old friends.

The pines an uncle helped me plant,

even the one that was struck by lightning

on its very first day planted in the earth,

bam, like a spank on a newborn’s bottom.

That one is the tallest, no sign of early scars.

There’s a lesson there, I’m sure,

and maybe I’ll get it one day.

A New Year Approaches

 

December 31

is so arbitrary,

yet nostalgia rules.

I’m grateful, 2025,

for every door that opened,

for every one that was closed.

Even so, I’m leaving behind

what does not serve me,

doesn’t fit 2026.

I value my mind,

but I will be following my heart

in the new year.

When I want more, first

I will give thanks for what I have.

It’s a fair price to pay.

I’m preparing for what’s next,

knowing I am beating against time,

trusting I am ready.

In 2026, as in every year,

only one question matters.

Will I work for peace?

2025 Christmas Card Insert

 

Dear Friend,

We find ourselves thinking

of you, of us.

It’s a lovely, gentle thought,

leaves us with a smiles. 

As busy as we know you to be,

I’ll only take a minute,

just to tell you to a certainty

that the world we know is

better because you’re in it.

Thank you, friend. 

Judy, Judy, Judy

 

She has always been my friend,

even when I did not see her.

She is special in an ordinary world.

She has always been my friend.

Though we are parted now and then,

by work or play or wanderlust whim, 

she has always been my friend,

even when I did not see her. 

What’s there or what’s coming, who can know.

there might be some bad, maybe some good.

Perhaps we’ll make of it as much as we should.

What’s there or what’s coming, who can know,

some rays of sunshine, some days of snow.

We’ll bask or we’ll shovel as well as we could,

preferring the good days, like anyone would.

What’s there or what’s coming, who can know.

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.

Spirit of Reflection

 

First thought this morning:

breathing in brings gratitude,

breathing out brings Grace.

I’m blessing, caring,

forgiving with all my heart,

being love in action,

wondering what I

was worried about last year

at this very time.

My friends, may you be

safe, at peace, happy and free

from all suffering,

rest, regroup, recharge,

reflect, recover, round off

all your rough edges.

New year soon, same old me,

contemplating, writing of

brightness, hope and peace

Have I expressed love,

today, yesterday, ever?

Now’s a good moment.

Have I forgiven,

today, yesterday, ever?

How about right now?

I share my Good now,

in spirit, thought and action.

Life seems pleased by this.

When there is unease

in my life, it is because

my thoughts are fearful.

Sometimes I just have

to hit the pause button twice.

Then my view improves.

Time spent communing

with Spirit gives me moments 

of deep clarity.

In touch with Spirit,

I co-create my purpose,

my aim for this life.

Adding peaceful thoughts,

feelings, words and right actions

to a needy world.

Awake or asleep,

I have no doubts in my faith.

I trust the future.

I give thanks for friends,

for how they all enrich me.

I treasure their love,

hope they hold onto their dreams,

make them grand, magnificent.

Nothing less for them.

Trees

 

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.

Our 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.

There is a Santa Rosa plum tree,

which I planted,

on the 118th day of 1975,

over the septic field

in the more-or-less-an-acre 

at the end of Hyland Way,

a cul-de-sac in

Penngrove, California.

That tree still lives,

at 50, well past its plan,

somewhat like me at 81,

yet we both still bear fruit.

I am certain that part of who 

I am is in that old tree 

and that tree is in me.