a creature said to fly close to God this bald black bird of prey or pray i've seen twice in that many days just soared over my head as clear as the sky but much closer something in me jumps up i notice everything for some seconds the cardinal red in the tree his mate's orange beak how my eyes work in ways i don't comprehend even my blood clotted head fresh from a cuncussive fall on the ice of Maine parking lots is working beyond what we call brain the wind is like a whisper today not cold but last night i heard her speaking softly into my sleeplessness in the dark i am always searching for my source aware but not concisous enough i go deeper my mother's ancient snore my sister's need of a kiss Marty who twice has done my taxes for free giving of her stout amazing gifts zipping through what would have taken so much time for me calling back money to the account that so drastically needs it I'm thinking: now that is God stepping into the library at Norway, Maine typing, sending, being divine today She is teaching me this: there are so many ways to love this world
i chant the names of my children and my children's children not so much a beget of ancestry a litany of love even more an opening to a Universe made of music where there is only one choir all of us angels today i am mostly silent listening the symphony beyond my song i chime in an occasional note of harmony transforming from this disquise of mortality into divine reality a cosmic longing rests always in the recesses of my existence telling me of so much more so much better than this grim television show where everybody dies and i am left to mourn believing the insanity of humanity except now listening i know i see with the one eye the one mind the one love
i went to Boston yesterday my wife loves the city the beauty of buildings crafted back when there was craft boats bounce on the water next to high rise hotels no one I know can afford cold wind as harsh as hell we spend $70.00 of the little we have left to survive here no jobs in sight the low wages laugh at our need to live i wake before dawn fear riding the wings of what brought me here wondering again at my teneacious insistence that i am here for a reason part of me is done, ready for whatever dimension is next undone by the harsh nightmarescape of what this culture has become i make the coffee grateful for it's heat rural Maine has such harsh beauty i cannot close my zipper to what surrounds me i chase another possiblity read the offerings on Indeed.com hoping to give what i have gathered in a lifetime one application after another with no response no one here in this land wants an old woman to work for them youth is the idol of our idle time, but depression is not a place to live, nor a way to die i look around for some sign to keep me going i hear...stand still and see the salvation of the Lord wonder where that comes from and find Moses and Israel with the Eqyptian army behind them waiting for the parting of the red sea i hold out my tired arms without even a stick to say i am somebody, a moses of my own soul, waiting with the army of bill collectors on my tail, laughing that there is a sea of unknown wilderness in front of me and the glass ceilings of a life spent used up trying to stand for something i have like Moses killed the wrong task masters and run from the world i don't know why i had to come back here pushed by a voice i heard in a burning bush my shoes off my heart breaking quaking with fear i am ready for the plagues, the future my rucksack packed everything else has been given away one last stand knowing i am not meant to enter the promised land, only to know that my children's children will live there i make a path for them with my tired arms held high waiting for the impossible knowing it will happen sure that i am here for a reason tired but not done yet ready for a new kind of battle a drowned army a people free
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.
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.
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