early evening of fall just barely chilly night holds all that will ever be held in place for me again as i am splattered across the milky way i want to sparkle like the star i traveled here from, want to light up the night sky with my splendid demise a small big bang a collision of stars their substance unknown, form ever changed at the Asian restaurant my fortune speaks of new opportunities endings and beginnings holding hands in their walk across the Universe these two seeming opposites entwined in my fragile body, or am i really a body of light chasing again the forever donkey's carrot where i still seek a better world a loving habitat stepping outside the convention where the speaches have been the same since they were invented traditon as boring as the old man who sits in front of his television, his only vision as blind as his cultural teaching that told him he was useless for no known reason before he opens his old scripture the page falls open to words so astonishing he reads on your old men will dream dreams he remembers something about Spirit, turns off the broken TV and goes to sleep awaking in his dream he is surrounded by dancing crowds dreaming his dream it's like a vision one he had fifty years ago when his kids were young In the morning he carries his coffee outside looks up for the first time in years his neck stiff and cranky and then just as the sun comes into full view he begins to dance.
Monthly Archives: October 2017
Crisis and Opportunity
bashed in computer criminal intent tears shed loss accepted the end of an era beginning of a new that will not be denied though there is a small group that hates my brother sending me one of his my son rigging the old and holding my hand on the new venture adventure there is a large group of lovers lurking in all the crevases popping up to give. a circle of need and abundance just as the gunshooters get to the pass a time of planting and reaping lest we forget we have been reminded that though the dragons seem to hold power there is only One True Source we are leaving but not cowering we are open armed and loving we are a small puzzle piece to this grand plan holding hands across the cosmos laying new tracks to point the way a trail that always leads home ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Moving Back to Maine
guess it's time to write anew poem about ending all the old life is priced with blue painting tape tags twenty-five cents dishes we ate on and the pans of the wrm way i used to cook, 2 dollars for the sheets we used to make love on, a dolla for the tender mercy of our mixing bowls nothing for the way our world got shreaded by evil intent but turned into new begginnings by the One who makes all things New