Making One

it was one of those times when the wind

was blowing just right and the moon was in

her appropriate phase so that as these women

came together each utterance danced with the

next then combined with the sweet doce on their tongues

they made love to the music in a movement so touching

each one felt as if some goddess lived in her

bones writing the scripts of the paths they were

taking one by one they lay their burdens down

in front of each other on the table which swallowed and turned

the heavies into  daffodils you might say not one of these writing

women left walking so light…each took to flight in her own connected way

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Is The Universe A Friendly Place

two days past my determination

to get this memoir published

this is my take on life lived from

the dimension of spirit

 

go quickly forward not knowing

how or when, just following the

small signpost you can read from

where you stand, then if everything

blows up in your face and you melt

and wail, don´t worry itś just a loving

universe touching your cheek holding

you anyway and moving you down the

path to the next place you can read the signs

 

like Einstein said, the only question you

need to know the answer: Is the Universe

a Friendly Place????? If you can answer

YES, your safety will not be in question

I Am Yours

my father decorated veteran

of the most foreign of wars

veteran missionary gone to

Brazil to save savage hearts

a man of sermons and spontaneous

dances with our straw broom

baker of wedding cakes and sticky buns

i am not yours in the fold of basic christianity

i am instead yours in the dirt where i love

to make things grow like you and grampa

i am yours in the way I can

fix a broken box or mend the shattered

hearts that spill their tears onto my open arms

i am yours in how i despise war, you call it hell now

yours in the way i trip over nothing and know how

to fall, in the way i trust the God of the Universe

with my life and death . as you turn 93 and i approach

70 i am yours in the gratitude i feel for family

in the tears of repentance i sometimes shed

for being so imperfect and for the flaws that

make my loved ones suffer beyond you in the

need to write poetry in the desire to chronicle

the world i cannot help but weep for waiting

to find eternal life in the hollow center of this day on which you were born.

Surfing

i woke this morning

fearing everything in this

human coated world is a scam

too much Craigslist or

hope born of Bernie too soon

Trumped… in the wee dark hours

a short poem already written

on my Moses tablet preserved inside

on some invisible eternal DNA

told me about this insatiable

longing calling out from behind

the snow covered San Juan peaks

saying, “Yes, it is real. this splendid reality

you live is love chords streaming

light from the other lovers here and gone

i’d say hold on, but i have seen the folly

of grasping, and know the wisdom of

letting go just as the tidal wave hits   hope

is no good here, only the knowing of experienced faith

can ride this wave barefoot surfing wet and free