Now the Spring has returned to my life
I feel the earth begin to grow.
Soft and green the trees are leaning down
And the winter winds don’t blow.

Yet I know that Spring is fleeting.
In a heartbeat it is gone
Even now the flowers are fading,
The blossoms slowly drifting down.

Bringing Spring inside my life
So ephemeral, yet so profound
Holding it warms my heart,
So dried and worn from winter storms

I celebrate the birdsong symphony
The bright colors all around
In the morning light Spring lies with me
Dreaming down so soft and warm

And the waking earth
Stirs me to grow as well
Telling me to try and try again.
Like the new sprouts on the trees

Now the Spring has returned to my life.
I feel the earth begin to grow.
Soft and green the trees are leaning down,
And the winter winds don’t blow.

SANTIAGO
The road seen, then not seen, the hillside hiding
then revealing the way you should take,
the road dropping away from you
as if leaving you to walk
on thin air, then catching you,
holding you up,
when you thought you would fall,

David Whyte.

The Covid Pilgrimage

Walking in the red dust
Made of the remains of the many dead.
There is still a path between
The broken walls and dying trees.
Black swans flying over me.
The sky is uncomfortable,
Twisting grey and dark clouds, tumbling.

The pestilence covers the low hills like fog.
Tendrils and squalls blowing towards me,
Leaving me afraid, masked, and cloaked.

There are others, masked and covered.
Mostly they avoid me like I am dangerous,
Because I am

For a seemingly never-ending time
The Orange King cavorted ahead.
Lying, shaking his scepter
Then he stumbled and fell away
Leading the unwary far into the wilderness.
I can still hear their cries,
That now sound much more like screaming.

After an impossible time
I have reached the crest of a low hill.
And there—could it be—so far away,
there is a light, a beacon on the trail.
I feel a roaring in my ears,
My eyes blurred with tears.
It changes colors but it is still there,
A light shining at the end of this Camino.

I am still walking in the red dust,
Still mostly alone, cloaked and masked,
But now I feel lighter, stronger.
I hear a child laughing, a bird singing,
And the relief of Joy comes to me.

The pestilence still crouches on the ridges
Coils of menacing clouds approach.
But I find myself hoping and reaching out a hand
To those I love.
I am learning a lesson from the pilgrimage.
Today my heart is open.

Gary Gibbens, Jan 2021

Sitting here in Limbo, Waiting for the dice to roll
Sitting here in Limbo……
2020 seemed like another insane, poorly written reality show
The Orange King was jumping around the stage
Eructating lies in all directions
The year-round celebration of wealth, Super Bowl, me two criminals, Oscars
Glittering media stars parading in flashing garments
And jeweled eyelashes intercut with global warming
Stock market soaring and then:
The Pale Horseman came to town
At first most everyone smiled and lied
The Orange King assured us it was a big nothing burger


But Covid soon flowed into all our lives
Our screens flashing with red and black numbers
Then the Lines of the dead, the diseased
the jobs lost, the hearts of the cities filled with silence
The ICUs filled with flashing machines and the vicitms
No longer could the lies cover the honesty of fear
Soon quiet solemn doctors recited the grim truths
Except for the Orange King who could not stop yelling obscenities
Every night the horseman swung its great scythe
And the coffins were shrouded in mass graves
The parties have ended, the arenas are empty
The true competition of trying to stay alive begins
Silence, except the ambulances screaming by
The tv anchors have poor lighting, bad makeup,
Mumbling behind their masks
Some caught the illness, some cried, some tried to comfort us


Now with springtime all around us,
Covered with an abundance of green life
Are our soft bodies safe from the dread horseman’s hand?
But no, even in time of quarantine and fear
The police ****** black men
Tear gas and fire fill the darkened streets
The Second Horseman is now riding
Cities are on fire
Can those of us who still love struggle towards
That far green place, where we all live in justice and in peace?
Do we have the courage to carry on?
Listening to all of those who have been murdered and exploited?
The Gray men with their wealth and weapons think we will forget
Smirking and planning their next robberies
Both the Horsemen are ready to strike
And now is the time for our choice, 1861, 1914, 1939, 1968…NOW.
Gibbens 4/3—6/16/20

A Vision Waiting—1972-2018 key of C
I dreamed I was a Navajo
Riding on the plains
Through a herd of Buffalo
Running in the rain
And the mountains
They seem higher now
The purple and the gray
Filling up the western sky
For the ending of the day

The evening’s full of darkness
But the stars are clear and bright
And the howling of the wolves
Tells the story of the night
Still I’m searching for a hidden spring
With three green trees beside
Where a vision waits for me
To give me peace tonight.
GJC

You want it darker
We **** the flame (L. Cohen)
For Leonard

Now the Orange king is walking
The worshipers crawling along behind
Back slapping with both broken arms
Polishing the gilded chrome

We will spend some time with our faces
Pressed against the wires
Dodging the guards and pepper spray
Hoping for that midnight beauty that still remains
Like music in the freezing rain

Oh Leonard, I need you, I need you, I need you
I need you now




Still the broken bell is hanging in that old tower
The view is clear down to the straits
Where dark water rolls below empty skies

I hear his husky voice behind the silence;
The game is fixed, the dealer lied
Still Alexandra moves ahead of us in such beauty
Sparkling motes floating in the sun

The King in Orange is shouting now
Leading all of them to the land of plenty
Where the pillar of flame guides him
And manna falls from on high
He does not know the tomb is empty
That the ancient heart is broken

In the land of truth
That secret place
The bell is ringing in the old tower
Black birds clustered around the rim

The light is going out of the land
Out on the seas a small light is moving
Struggling towards the fog bank
In the growing dusk, we see his light
We see his light, once more we see the light
Somewhere we hear a red violin
Flooding the darkness with beauty
A king chained to a broken throne whispers "Hallelujah"
And a black woman sings “Peace”
In many languages
The bell rings

Then he is gone
We fall to the ground
Wrapped in our shawls
Soaking the earth with our tears

And the angel said,
“He is not here, the tomb is empty”

Then he is gone
And the secret life is darker
He is gone

G. Gibbens 11/16

By the rivers dark,
Where it all goes on
By the rivers dark
In Babylon    L. Cohen

Once a story of shrines
Paths winding over open hills
Holding beauty under blue satin skies
Cold silver moon floating on luminous rays
Dark waters with tongues of white
Murmuring
This was our journey
Ever before us the promise of dawn
Gold light spreading the story of love and light

Now, lost in the ravenwoods
We struggle to hold on
Staggering in these diseased swamps
The roads to the undying lands long since drowned
And everywhere around us the armies of the night
Trying to ensure death for all, including themselves
Surrounded by their victims, starving, wounded,
Sinking in the black waters
We struggle on, trying to save them and ourselves
And I ask you, my guide, my follower, my friend
Where are we bound?
We can only follow the sound of our beating hearts
And hope.
Selah
G. Gibbens, 2015