A Simple Solution

 

Even the worst of days 

come to a close,

and the best ones,

same thing for those. 

So can one always get what they want?

Well, sure, of course, you bet.

Simply follow a simple guide,

just want what it is you get.

Free to Be

 

At 82, he’s feeling,

free to plant

whatever he desires,

free to create a world

he’ll not see mature,

free to be the all-father

of his environment,

free to be the seeds, the mulch,

the water, sun and shade,

even as he knows he’ll miss

the ultimate harvest, 

still pruning and weeding,

still talking to his seedlings,

still thinking of Saint Francis.

Now

 

I’ve become an old man,

at best, an elderly gentleman.

Some blood has been involved,

yet there’s time to heal.

Yesterday had it’s chance.

I will enjoy today, today. 

Tomorrow can wait.

I won’t worry about

Spirit intending good for me.

It’s all good.

Changes

 

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.

Taking My Time

 

There’s this little book,

the title is Zen Seeds,

given to me by a monk,

and it’s all anyone needs.

She told me not to rush,

to not be too greedy,

just a page now and then,

no need to feel needy.

So I read that book,

every word, some with tears,

all one-hundred-plus pages,

filling a fulfilling nine years.

Maturity

 

True-Love survived

the upsets, the rages,

saw us steadfastly 

to our now golden ages.

Breathing in with love,

I absorb your pain, 

exhaling peace,

I send you love, again

Blessings and grace,

love overflowing,

joy in our place,

our contentment showing.

Witnesses

 

If you can’t stand the heat,

says the one with the fan,

but even he is an hallucination.

Had I missed this turn of the wheel,

what matter?

Someone else would have gone to war,

another might have written peace haikus,

many more could have done my work,

it is all simply chopping wood, 

it is all no more than carrying water,

it is not mysterious,

the thing we call our life.

I think for a  moment

on my poetry fans,

on my own eventual nonexistence.

Does the earth fall from my feet?

Must I reach for my balance?

No, I go on.