This photo has nothing to do with the poem. See all the bugs splat on the windshield? We were driving in Canada or possibly even farther north, and seeing how often we needed to clean the windshield on this trip reminded me of childhood. And I wondered if something was very wrong that I hadn't seen so many bugs since childhood. This idea is especially worry-some for a beekeeper. I do not keep my heart full of such worries though, letting them pass I have room for new ideas to come and inspire me.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
This is life
Pink ribbons in the sky,
I remember from last evening
at such times when there is no rush
a scene may reach out and please me.
Unhurried I may even gather wisdom.
This morning, from the neighbor’s windowsill.
I read a square fortune torn from a tea bag:
“Life is a chance,
love is the infinite,
grace is reality.”
And at the dishwasher’s altar a
Pretty pyramid of rose quartz,
a touch of sunshine
for the tiny magic Buddha,
in the window.
Seeing this I take life’s caress
as I rinse the flowered teacup
and put it away.
Through my days
a carefree heart there
inside to keep my treasures in.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Umbrellas everywhere, my blue umbrellas
I gather them up and twirl the excess water off
Each shelter on a stem scattered
Apparently one for every situation
Rains hailing from the North, or
Super drops plopping out of the South
Even gentle rains of the East, and
Windy rains from West.
Some of my ducky friends have wandered
into other peoples hands -
But it’s my army
of coping skills, and I’m not sure
even one troop can be spared
for the lady over there
holding one of my stray umbrellas.
When I go to collect it
she willingly hands
the umbrella over.
I twirl the excess water off,
and attempt to close it when
a man darts out of nowhere
and grabs the umbrella.
He takes it and runs off a cliff
opening the umbrella as if
he were a cartoon character,
expecting to enjoy a slow and easy ride
down, down , down…
But I hear a loud “Pop!”
and know the umbrella has turned inside out.
I turn to the woman and say,
“I really wish he hadn’t done that.”
And she replies,
“Yes me too, I really wish he hadn’t of done that”
I look over the edge of the cliff and see
He is swimming in the water,
The umbrella failed
at placing a man so gently
he could walk on water.
After such a demonstration
What should I do with my all umbrellas?
I’ll smooth my flock together and make them into a
goose so loyal it’ll follow me everywhere,
and be my blue umbrella standing by the door.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Even more, this passtime
Ping-pong has an amazing allure
I can’t stop wanting to get that hollow tap back
on my lollipop palm
I’m desperate to feel the immediate feedback
and to give my wit miraculously
to my challenger
I like the ambiguous loyalty across the net
My delight when making it hard for him
and glee when he returns it, empty egg, tap, to me
an ongoing dance.
I desire to win,
but more than that to keep playing.
There’s no limit except what
can be flipped back.
The rules bend
the table is not our end
of tossing back and forth
the oldest game, placebo, in the world.
I feel smart, elegant, equal,
This poem was inspired by