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rick-clewett
Today while sitting Try to nourish a little smile While still attending to your breathing Smiling breathing I’m the meditation teacher And I smile
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Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
The Meditation Teacher Said
So many lines Breaking the surface of the pond Branches sticking up Shadow branches going down Beneath the surface So many zones of greens Pale blues slight ripples Scattering reflections of their own Mid-scene a branch forks up Two turtles sunning looking up As if to watch the heron poised Gathering its thoughts to speak A mesmerizing scene Chance and my camera Captured Each day is filled with magic scenes Our minds aren’t trained to see
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Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 8:57 PM UTC
Being There
i the wooden walkway tinted warm with early light is straight and narrow it structures space then ends at boat dock a stopping point somewhere the eye can rest ii and looking south the wondrous shades of blue the dawn-lit woods mirrored in the magic lake for someone who grew up near water this is the quiet part of coming home iii and then at dusk the sister lake the city park where people who aren’t wealthy recreate one of the city’s lungs a vital chamber of its heart a place for people from around the world where cares mellow toward resilience and everyone shares almost common ground
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Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 8:27 PM UTC
Like Coming Home (An Ode to Ellerslie Lake and Jacobson Park, Lexington, Kentucky.)
this footbridge leads to nowhere so it seems across the gulley just winter grass and cactus low mountain ridges and low clouds all in almost black and white between subdued and somber open shadows leading in straight lines some joys are not bright baubles a frozen moment a quiet image just breathe and sit and take it in
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Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 8:20 PM UTC
Here
A horse without a fancy barn Without stable hands to groom it A horse perhaps on a modest farm Or a poor family’s farm in winter If lucky there’s a blanket some Straw a tub of water If lucky a few more horses Warm bodies like your own At least you have a place A field to age in That is unless you’re carted off Slaughtered and then canned for food What happens when a man grows old Without a place to call his own Perhaps without a blanket Living underneath a bridge Perhaps with others Or alone With luck a charity coat or jacket Warms his back or hers With luck there is no violence And even those horses on fancy farms Those retirement home wealthy Find bones getting brittle Brains too often damaged There too they end up lucky if they feel They really have a home
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Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 8:15 PM UTC
What Happens when a Horse Grows Old
No longer frozen but still overcast the lake talks to itself Converses with the trees lining its banks The clouds and shadows Reflecting all As if to show it understands Giving back each nuance Changed by the features Of its liquid face Flown over now and then by Neighbor ducks or geese Perhaps an eagle A very quiet winter afternoon I calm into it Become the sympathetic ears and eyes And being A part of what the water sees
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Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 8:08 PM UTC
Present Moment
The White Egret has just landed Poised it strikes a handsome pose Enchanting calming Of course it has no concepts And does not feel enchanted It sees us when it does Through its own different eyes And partially different needs This is just a picture Not the living thing It is a kind of half-way place A rest-stop on the road Between this being classified As bird and labeled as White Egret And us A minor homage to the world Of living beings A salve or balm to sooth Our souls or hearts or minds Whatever’s deepest in us That feels delight and fear Promise And says to another living being Namaste peace to us all Salaam Shalom
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Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 8:03 PM UTC
Peace, Salaam, Shalom
People at a homeless shelter do not Look alike, talk alike Or act alike. In the day room where they also eat One man is sprawled out on a couch Beside two other men in chairs, one black One white, both reading Intent, alert They’d blend in many places I do not know their stories But then I don’t know many Wonder if I really know my own It’s 98 degrees outside The first day of October These aren’t statistics hanging out They’re people Others sit against a shaded fence outside Despite the heat Despite the looks of passers by They’re people too With different preferences, delights, solaces, Wounds and scars Men, women, sometimes a young family Trying to keep it all together or get it back With the help of other people Volunteers and staff who have their own Blessings, hopes, and scars
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Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 7:59 PM UTC
Fill in the Face
these skies rich deep blue slant late afternoon fall light the turning leaves and ideal warmth these are here today here where there are no forests burning or hurricanes with threatening waves and rain not here not at least today nor the riots no major hate crimes here of late just discrimination profiling the routine wrongs that unaffected groups don’t notice invisible as the greenhouse gases piling up heating up the air threatening the planet good weather is now precious trending toward extinction like much we take for granted our sources of clean water food and life
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Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 7:51 PM UTC
The Frailty of Good Weather
the Cardinal in full plumage is a handsome bird both male and female but the adolescent Cardinal not so much it looks a splotchy ragged mess its act not yet together adult plumage will come of course but acts don’t stay together adulthood isn’t a plateau of competence and handsome looks that last until the breakdowns of old age every year the grownups molt have to change their feathers rebuilt their looks and means of flight people are like that too without the features and more staggered periods of change less assurance that the new attitudes friends and habits will work that they’ll feel comfortable within their skin with or without features we are all subject to the weather poisoning of water the local pecking order and then death we all seem to flit around more than is needed we all sing our joys and needs and warnings we all proclaim our right to be here no matter what our plumage no matter how we sing
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Dec 11, 2019
Dec 11, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
Reflections on a Changing Bird