Summer Triolet

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.

Genesis

Where did it go, the first poem

before the keeping of things?

Did it just evaporate in a summer’s sun,

or incinerate in a winter’s fire?

Where did they go, those poems

created before the written word?

Were they, like dreams, soon forgotten,

fading in their fragility, simply fallen away?

How did they begin, the first poets,

walking side by side on a summer’s day,

or sitting alone, staring at the flames

in a cavern, free from cold?

What happened to those poets,

the beginners of the craft,

did they simply die alone, in reverent solitude,

a mere glimmer in a summer sky?

Getting Over Things

We are all

just passing through.

What’s now so old

was once quite new.

Things rise and fall,

they come and go.

Such impermanence

is just what’s so.

This is a happy thing,

not one of futility.

It can bring joy to one

practicing radical humility.

So, please awaken,

discover your Right Stuff,

be content in learning

how much is enough.

Feelin' Groovy

As inevitably as winter leads to spring,
leads to summer, fall follows.

Today looks to be a good day,
nothing too grand, nor magical
simply a few hours of quiet enjoyment,
some idle conversation with friends,
cheered on by the crisp sunlight of early summer,
hands shielding eyes against the glare,
smelling the ocean in the thin clouds,
down here, close to the border with Mexico. 

The frigid mornings of winter are gone now,
but summer still sleeps,
not quite ready for her big entrance.
We are just past the solstice, and she’s still young,
so, satisfied, we capture bits
of today’s breezy brilliance,
enlivened by the simple pleasure of it all,
grateful for this good day.

As inevitably as spring leads to summer,
fall must follow, and then again winter.

As assuredly as heart leads to joy,
love soon follows.
As completely as love leads to sharing,
peace eventually follows.
As securely as peace leads to calm,
life truly follows.
As predictably as life leads to death,
new life always follows.

And so it is. 

Our Love

Like Hippolyta and Theseus,

with our love unfurled,

we bring order, stability,

steadfast loyalty,

bright light in a dark world.

Ours is not a dream,

there’s no magic in our art,

though to others it might so seem,

we simply play our part.

Cupid’s arrows never struck,

with mysterious love potions,

no magic flower picked by Puck,

creating dreamlike notions.

No accident, no stroke of luck,

we do not bumble,

seldom stumble,

satisfied each day

with what life has had to say.

No star-cross’d lovers,

hoping for do-overs,

no need for enchantment,

T’would just impede our way.

We’ve turned our dreams into reality,

true visionaries, we let life be.

Even if our love were a dream,

it would need to be embraced,

but no golden palace, no silver hill,

no white elephant need be chased.

Our love, like life,

though not a dream, remains

unfathomable, indescribable,

it simply sits there, glowing.

We cannot grasp it,

so we simply

bathe in its perplexity,

revel in its complexity,

be content in never knowing.

Okauchee Summers

It was a small town, just a village,

not even incorporated,

but it had elm trees and lilacs, a big lake,

and back then,

the homes weren’t yet outdated.

We were poor, but it was all of us,

 so we didn’t know it.

Everyone had gardens, fished and hunted,

wasted nothing that cost nothing,

shared their bounty, their friendship,

and neighborliness, they showed it.

Daytime fun was free, mostly in the lake,

but there was also tag and war and hide-and-seek,

and man oh man, the noise we’d make.

Neighboring farms had silos of corn and piles of hay,

and you don’t know kids if you think

we couldn’t turn that into play.

Nights were for crabbing, and fires and more,

on holidays, sparklers, marshmallows,

 y’know, non-chocolate s’mores.

But the best parts of the nights were reserved for the skies,

the stars and Milky Way, the awesome fireflies.

We’re blessed with more bounty now,

perhaps more reasons to smile,

yet, if I could go back….(oh, just for awhile).

Here and Now

There are no angry winds

in the Pure Land

of the Present Moment,

merely soft breezes to caress

as we walk,

hand in hand

with all living beings,

living fully,

cultivating compassion,

gathering flowers

of mindfulness.