Fill the unforgiving minute,
with sixty seconds of worth while run.
Fill your heart, your soul, and your spirit with joyfulness.
And most importantly, fill yourself with all that is to come.

Have you ever made
fun of the way people
walk, what they say,
or how they talk?

Have you ever laughed
at another one's hair,
or because someone
else was square?

Have you ever stared
at another one's feet,
at what some wear,
or what people eat?

Have you ever laughed,
at another fellow
because of the way
he eats jello?

If you have, your not
nice you see, you should
care, it could be you
that gets that stare.

Everyone is special
including you
in what we say
or what we do.

Last night,
I couldn't fall asleep.
I tossed and turned,
Took off my shirt,
Took of my shorts,
And the socks off my feet.
But still,
I couldn't fall asleep.

I got up,
Not to read a book or watch tv,
But to grab a pen,
To grab a pencil,
And finally,
A piece of paper.
I drew,
Because I couldn''t fall asleep.

I stopped.
My eyes grew tired
And the night grew weary.
But I looked at her
She looked at me.
She wanted color,
She needed color,
Before I fell asleep.

I wondered,
Because I couldn't help to wonder,
If this was born out of me,
From my mind,
From within me,
And IT,
Only being a piece of paper
Was so beautiful to me,
How much more Love
Does my Creator
Have for me?

I looked into her eyes,
They were much like my own.
And her need
Was much like my own.
I wanted to keep drawing
But I thought that maybe,
Just maybe,
My drawing, too, needed sleep.

I’d jump at the chance to ride shotgun
on Henry’s medicine wagon
rolling from city to village
hawking 'Stickin’ Salve' and 'Oil of Gladness'.

We’d ride into Elmira’s County Fair
and set up over by the lake.
I’d fix old Diamond a pail of oats
and draw her a bucket of water.
while great, great grandpa
squeezed on his Union coat
and arranged his potions on the shelves.

Henry’s voice would boom
across the water like a megaphone
and people would gather close -
lured in by the old codger's
hypnotic banter of miracle cures -
and perilous Civil War battles.
  
He’d swear on his mother’s lumbago
that 'Stickin’ Salve' works just as fine
as the lead and powder
he’d fired at Cedar Mountain.

The folks would shake with mirth
whenever he bellowed,
“I’m Henry Howard from Bunker Hill -
Never worked and never will."
Women would tug their husband's sleeves
and they’d bring me pennies and dimes.

After dusk we’d tally the coins
and latch down the wagon for the night
then sleep side by side on the grass
beneath the New England stars.

At sunrise I'd wipe his brow -
to ease him gently back
from the thunder of enemy shells
still firing in his restless sleep.

We'd cook up some bacon and biscuits,
hitch Diamond up to the wagon
then head south through the rolling hills
along the Tioga valley.
We’d breathe in the fresh country air
and tip our caps to the farmers.

If Henry would come to tap my shoulder
some promising morning in spring
and whisper "the wagon's hitched outside,"
I’d go in a Tioga minute.

*December,  2006

Do you have a reason?
I don't.
I do it because I have no reason.
Because my heart is as empty as your whiskey glass.
Don't touch me now,
You won't feel it, I won't feel it.
We pour into each other
But we must have missed the leak,
Wherever it is.
But we do it because
There's no reason not to.

Mine Is Gopal
Mine is Gopal, the Mountain-Holder; there is no one else.
On his head he wears the peacock-crown: He alone is my husband.
Father, mother, brother, relative: I have none to call my own.
I've forsaken both God, and the family's honor: what should I do?
I've sat near the holy ones, and I've lost shame before the people.
I've torn my scarf into shreds; I'm all wrapped up in a blanket.
I took off my finery of pearls and coral, and strung a garland of wildwood flowers.
With my tears, I watered the creeper of love that I planted;
Now the creeper has grown spread all over, and borne the fruit of bliss.
The churner of the milk churned with great love.
When I took out the butter, no need to drink any buttermilk.
I came for the sake of love-devotion; seeing the world, I wept.
Mira is the maidservant of the Mountain-Holder:
Now with love He takes me across to the further shore.