Quantum Soup

I do not make resolutions 

in January anymore.

No point, I’d just ignore them,

quickly, that’s for sure.

Instead I pick a word,

one commonly heard,

to remind me what to see,

how to act, who to be.

It started with Gratitude,

which truly improved my attitude.

What followed was Generosity,

reducing my pomposity.

The third year was Compassion,

quite helpful in its fashion.

Last year was merely Empathy,

oh what wonders did I see.

As New Year’s Day draws near,

what will I choose this year?

Peace?

Faith?

Grace?

Repose?

I think no, not this year,

it will be none of those.

Instead I’ll aim for civility,

stability in my increased fragility.

For 2020, it will be

Humility.

That’s my aim, my 2020 plan,

the Universe supports a humble man.

A New Year Approaches

December 31

is so arbitrary,

yet nostalgia rules.

I’m leaving behind

what does not serve me,

doesn’t fit 2020.

I’m grateful, 2019,

for every door that opened,

for every one that was closed.

I value my mind,

but I am following my heart

in the new year.

When I want more,

I will give thanks for what I have.

It’s a fair price to pay.

Preparing for what’s next,

knowing I am beating against time,

hoping I am ready.

In 2020, as in every year,

only one question matters.

Will one work for peace?

2019

We might not be as swift,

but our marriage remains a gift.

Even as our bodies waiver,

our love remains to savor,

one year more marked in our favor.

Years one through forty-seven

were indeed a bit like heaven.

And a quiet forty-eight 

was slightly more than great.

This year, we had to strive

somewhat, just to survive,

but hey, we’re still alive,

and life is looking nifty

as we approach big fifty,

so we’ll declare it extra fine,

our anniversary number forty-nine.

Hannah

Hannah Gosselin is a special soul who posts many special photos of nature, accompanied by her own special words. I have never met her, yet I love and appreciate her special self.

Hannah

Ever receptive,
always responsive,
she looks, sees,
she listens, hears,
making herself available,
open to the magnificence
around her,
taking in the incomprehensible
beauty of nature,
making it accessible
for all of us.
I am touched.

The End of November

The month seems to 

have had wings,

here in America’s Finest City,

where the locals are old, 

the snowbirds are grateful, 

and the poets are all in good form.

A month of happy returns

and thanksgiving, 

of many old friends,

a new few. 

We live mostly for today, 

knowing the gods will laugh 

at foolish plans beyond 

breakfast or lunch.

Winter’s not yet here, 

at least not officially,

but we know all too well

how wise we were to move,

yet how much we miss 

just a few more weeks to 

the midnight kiss at nine p.m..

Yes, winter’s not here, but

don’t tell that to 

our aching legs and

shoulders at dawn. 

That’s our breath we see 

in front of us in the morning,

leading the way to the coffee.

No complaints, though.

There’s much to be learned at this age.

A little loss of sound can be a blessing,

a chance to return to the

self-absorption of youth, even as 

December is a time for connection,

visits, phone calls, letters, cards and

e-mails, in that very descending order 

of intimacy, and it really is too bad,

what e-mail thing has done to

letter writing, ancient and loving art.

Visits require some degree of readiness,

at least a clean bathroom, but

phone calls, especially the random ones,

can find you in your pajamas, 

heck, even on the toilet. 

Cards are okay, when one does not

have time for a letter, but 

letters have more heart, give more time

to the writer to be reflective,

like a poet, 

searching, reaching, looking

for just the right words.

A writer of letters gets to reflect,

to muse a bit about the addressee, to

remember precious moments, to dream of

better moments yet to come, 

maybe even to plan some, and say so.

It is a peaceful activity, letter writing,

perfect for the cocoa and comforter

days of year’s end. 

We’re older now, 

no longer big consumers;

rather, giving stuff away,

the things that have piled up 

in closets and storage units over time,

so Black Friday means nothing, 

Cyber Monday even less. 

We might still go to the parties, 

ooh and aah over trees and menorahs,

eat too much cheese,

drink just the right amount of wine.

We’ll arrive late, leave early,

talk about the coming films,

and wish each other well.

We’ll tiptoe through 

these next few weeks, and

soon, the new year will come

and we’ll make it our peaceful own.

My sweetie, the cats and me.

Thanks

Thank you for the friends I meet,

also for the foods we eat,

every liquid drop, each seed,

and thank you for the love I need.

Thank you for our lovely beach,

the ocean so within our reach.

Even though it’s not the norm,

I appreciate the occasional storm.

I’m thankful that it comes to mind 

to smile a lot, and to be kind.

It’s great to see, with honest clarity,

I care enough for flawless charity,

and I’m reminded every day

I’m grateful that I’ve learned to pray,

since it’s the perfect place to start,

to ease my soul, to warm my heart.

Thank you for my new found health,

what I now know as my true wealth.

Thank you for the clean, fresh air,

and sun and laughter, quite the pair.

Thanks also for my art, my books,

our older cats, their goofy looks,

tee shirts, sweat pants, my faith too,

and nothing’s better than our zoo.

Thank you for my meditations,

those middle of the day vacations.

Thank you for our lovely home,

and each and every published poem.

Mostly, thanks for my awesome wife,

the greatest part of a grateful life.

Middle

Not Bottom, Nor Middle,

but serene top shelf,

mostly calm, sometimes placid,

in high-grade mental health.

So there’s my current total, 

a pretty decent score,

I like it a lot, I really do.

Please, sir, may I have more?

No alcohol crossed my lips,

and I stayed away from chips,

eating a lot of veggie food,

which helped elevate my mood.

Daytime protocols I kept,

as more peacefully I slept.

Lunched with friends, a nice repast,

It really was a blast.

Thought of my friend in a monastery,

which left me feeling very

happy, with aplomb,

this lifestyle, it’s the bomb.

Name Calling

So many names, titles, appellations, epithets, designations, descriptions, 

pseudonyms, some by choice, others by chance, a couple memorable, a few a bit annoying. The certificate says it’s Daniel, father went with Dan, later Daniel Boone, while mother preferred Danny. Tough name to pronounce, so some young friends liked Danny P, others stuck with Pieface or Greek. Aging, it became mister, then Sergeant, hero, counselor, boss. Next in line, highest in import, Honey. Now it’s mostly Daniel, sometimes Ely the Eel, but the all-time favorite is Dionysios, after a grandfather never met. Not the Roman god of wine, Dionysus. My drink was ouzo.

The Joy of Peace

Life is wild, 

wacky, 

wonderful,

in process, 

totally, 

completely.

Turn toward others,

live with an open heart.

Peace begins with love.

Slide on into love.

Ease on into joy.

Less stressed, 

more blessed.

Personal Reflections

I envision an afterlife 

with cats and birds and dogs, 

and of course, my soul mate

and, oh yes, with comfortable clothes.

I usually picture nothing

as a good thing to achieve.

I do, however, believe in

a source, a power, an omnipresence,

which some call God, others Spirit.

Doesn’t matter what you call it.

It’s here, there and everywhere,

working through me.

I mean, can one think that

we are merely accidents?

I don’t remember exactly when or if

I found this power.

I just know that It found me.

I grew up with It.

I was surrounded by It.

It just looked like something else,

perhaps like lakes and trees,

or several small town taverns.

I am at ease not knowing,

feel no need to prove it.

I simply enjoy reflecting on It.

Open Eyes

Embracing uncertainty, one might

see the world more clearly,

achieve a growing insight,

hold the view more dearly.

Opening one’s heart

opens the ears, the eyes as well,

toward happiness it’s a calm start,

toward peace, perhaps, but who can tell?

The truth always remains 

even in a world of lies.

Because the bulb is broken,

does it mean the power dies?

One must use their heart,

with the truth mostly unseen.

One must surrender the drama,

through trust come completely clean.

Something good is about

to happen, open to it and see.

It won’t come loudly, with a shout,

it will simply, suddenly, be.

So, out your doubt,

dissolve it, send it packing.

Seek your healing thought,

see there’s nothing lacking.

Be calm, breathe and realize 

that this much is certainly true,

with self-love and open eyes,

you’ve done all that you can do.

The Zoomies

I look into the cat’s eyes

and he tells me there’s a storm coming.

Not the purple-black skies of

Sedona monsoons,

more the unleashed whirlwinds

of Kansas and Oklahoma.

Joey is his name,

possession is his game.

An only child for so long,

lived in microclimates of his own,

a couple of cages in 

a couple of shelters,

not having to live with

the updrafts and downdrafts 

of another pet.

But he’s here now,

cuddly with the humans,

in his forever home.

At first, not so cuddly

with Max, another tuxedo,

usually warm but sometimes 

given to a cold front,

sometimes a cyclone.

They’re fine now,

waited each  other out,

but their eyes tell me,

always just before my bedtime,

there’s a storm coming,

it’s nearly time for the zoomies.

Will it be a gale,

or is an haboob on the horizon?

Stay tuned.

Laundry Day

And for the “ Tradition” attempt...

Sunday Laundry Day

with acknowlegement to Dharma & Greg
************************************

Hurray, hurray, it’s Clean Sheets Day.
No time to read, no time to play.
Tasks abound, they always do,
grocery shopping, ironing too.
I promised, after all those miles,
to be of service, wearing smiles.
I cook the meals, sometimes well.
I love it when they cast a spell
of happiness, unfettered glee,
it really means so much to me
to see the pleasure it gives you,
it’s truly selfish, what I do.
but the  cleaning is, at best, not bad,
but we need those visits from the maid.
I know it agrees with my honey,
I need help, the maid needs money.
The dishes are an easy chore,
it cleans my fingernails, what’s more.
But nothing seems so much like play
as Sunday, known as Clean Sheets Day.
It used to be a mid-week chore,
but honey took over, does it better, what’s more,
The undies, pants, towels, a shirt
don’t mix in with their nasty dirt,
as I always saved the sheets for last,
for honey, they’re the only item cast
upon the bed before we sleep,
their clean fresh fragrance ours to keep
in memory as we drift off,
our daily aches so soon to doff,
remembering at last to pray
we’ll make it to next Clean Sheets Day.

Sunrise, Sunset

There are no more dragons,
so they say,
and we are all the poorer for it,
come what may.
What wondrous flight
they might have taken,
by day or night,
on some far isle alight,
to lay down eggs, begetting
life of power and might,
with fiery roar
upon that distant shore.
The ancients toiled
in fear and strife,
eyeing magic in the sky,
a daily challenge to their life,
with majesty at wing,
lustrous green and gold,
but not for you and I, they sing,
there are no more dragons,
we are told.
How sad for modern man,
facing the sunset of an
evolutionary scheme,
or perhaps, it is
simply in God’s plan
that we don’t grandly dream.

Clouds

We are cheered by the arrival
of August, July having been
a time of monsoon survival.
We wake to early morning
onshore flow,
okay with the grayness,
we have no where to go.
Sunrise will bake it all off,
creating our wispy sky,
down here close to Mexico,
in the sweet by and by.
Nothing too dramatic about
our change of seasons,
clothes remain the same,
whatever our reasons.
We’ll soon have sandy feet,
be smelling ocean,
mixed with number fifty
sun protection lotion.
Our thoughts are
like clouds, just passing by,
some looking like bunnies
in our rain-free sky.
Sometimes those clouds weep,
forcing some indoor rest,
some good rain, roots-deep,
long-lasting, the best.
On those wet days we’ll find
an aura of calm,
with Grace-filled revelations,
a spiritual balm,
rejuvenated, enlivened,
renewed, for that matter,
eliminating the need for
deafening mind chatter.
Putting life’s doings on hold,
no electronics, maybe a book
from our shelves.
We’ll allow boredom to set in,
perhaps recenter ourselves.

Marriage

Homothumadon

There is no one else,
not another soul,
who could have married me
and made me theirs,
lived with me
and remained with me,
loved me so at the start,
and even more later,
so patiently, she
waited me out,
a long, long time after
it all began.
My love keeps her
when my madness would not.
She is accustomed to me.
She did not need to
stay with me,
yet she did.
We are one.

Faith

Everyday is truly special,

each a part of new beginnings,

living in this temporary vessel,

ever more so in life’s final innings.

Even when pain is so replete 

that all else disappears,

I’ve learned that there is

but one useful answer:

sit still, be quiet, trust in what appears.

I’ve learned to live with pain,

some of it complete,

stabbing, burning, numbing,

sometimes red hot heat.

If I could transfer this learning,

would that help to

Make America Love Again?

If I could teach this stillness,

would it heal our civic pain?

I  see my body is really nothing

more than thought itself,

and everything is brief.

It works to see that as the truth,

it always brings relief.

Let that be enough.

Don’t be so hard on you.

You’re strong enough, you’re tough,

You deserve pain-freedom, true.

You deserve to be forgiven,

totally, quickly, sweetly.

Life is wild, wacky, wonderful,

in process, totally, completely.

So, out your doubt,

dissolve it, send it packing.

Seek your healing thought 

within yourself, see there’s nothing lacking.

That which is really crucial,

only the heart can see.

Something Good is about to happen,

open yourself, just let it be.

The eyes are not useful to see this,

since the really essential is unseen.

Peace requires one to look within,

surrender all the drama, 

through trust come totally clean.

Be calm, breathe and realize 

that this much is certainly true,

with self-love and affirmative faith,

you’ve done all that you can do.

And Then Some

She is at her very, very best 

when I am at my very, very worst.

I came to her a tangled string, 

she patiently, steadfastly, worked to

straighten me out, even as I 

held fast to my unhappiness, 

clinging to anger, shame, remorse.

Now, nearly fifty years on,

I have fallen in love many, many times

Always with her, 

my caretaker,

my protector,

my advocate,

my Earth Angel,

and I know to a certainty,

I will love her forever.

And then some.

On A Mission

Walking through our world,

it is possible

for every living soul

to have innate Buddhist wisdom,

being and acting as harmless

as one knows how to be.

It is possible

to smother anger and hate,

to cover them with

charity, tenderness, benevolence.

It is possible

to practice radical humility,

to notice what is convenient for us

is inconvenient for others.

It is possible

to slow down,

walk more slowly on the earth,

be healing and strong,

rejoice in the day.

It took awhile, but

I have learned

to go slow, observe.

Quite Zen.

Of course, I’m also 

quite old.

The poet I wish I was

taylor graham

Walking through meadows or

hiking over hills,

sensing it all through

her special will,

she tells us of the wonder

of sight and sound and smell,

the beauty of old things,

some new stuff as well.

What I know about her poems,

her masterful inventions,

while certainly pleasing,

all merit attention.

I don’t know her well enough 

to give her a label, like clever.

I simply know this about her,

her works will live forever.

Yesterday, Today and Maybe Tomorrow

That day long ago when

for a little while, I died,

thought I was going home,

no sadness, no more fear,

no clinging to what’s here.

Day and night,

the bombs had cast their light,

yet from tunnel bright

a chiming bell,

not of hell,

just a call to

the work undone.

That year I’d gone to war,

all thrumming energy,

rising above the cacophony,

struggling beneath the fear,

wishing mightily to be invisible,

knowing I had put myself there,

all the elements of ego

so visible to God, 

if not to me.

Those long months in 

hospital, reflecting, thinking that

some warriors fear nothing,

but this does not 

make them strong.

It simply makes them,

I think,

too foolish to be afraid.

Now, when I consider 

bravery, and fear,

I see the absence of one does

not define the other.

Today, I have declared freedom 

from fear and darkness. 

Life is always present.

Grief has had its time,

in all its untidy dress,

complicated and deep,

feeling a lot like fear.

Now, there is 

less force, more flow,

less stress, more ease,

less fear, more Grace.