Tell no one else, only the wise
For the crowd will sneer at one
I wish to praise what is fully alive,
What longs to flame toward death.

When the calm enfolds the love-nights
That created you, where you have created
A feeling from the Unknown steals over you
While the tranquil candle burns.

You remain no longer caught
In the peneumbral gloom
You are stirred and new, you desire
To soar to higher creativity.

No distance makes you ambivalent.
You come on wings, enchanted
In such hunger for light, you
Become the butterfly burnt to nothing.

So long as you have not lived this:
To die is to become new,
You remain a gloomy guest
On the dark earth.

All this petty worry
while the great cloak
of the sky grows dark
and intense
round every living thing.

All this trying
to know
who we are
and all this
wanting to know
exactly
what we must do.

But what is precious
inside us does not
care to be known
by the mind
in ways that diminish
its presence.

What we strive for
in perfection
is not what turns us
into the lit angel
we desire.

What disturbs
and then nourishes
has everything we need.

What we hate
in ourselves
is what we cannot know
in ourselves
but what is true to the pattern
does not need
to be explained.

Inside everyone
is a great shout of joy
waiting to be born…

The day is coming when
a single carrot
freshly observed
will set off a revolution.

-- Paul Cezanne (1839-1906)

In morning sun
yellow-green leaves
black branches
such contrasts flow..
yellow sun warmth
seems to pull..
pulls the sensations
fullness and growth
and makes nature
luxuriant once more..
hidden chirpers note
the dawning of
summer...

New damage
new separation
and stitching
awaits sealing
and new union..
Knife and fork
breaking bread
for inner rising
in new strength..
Surgery on high
removed a rib
Eve's attraction
urges re-joining..
A line reading
linear distortion
yearns for
whole in-sight..
Surgery creates
and stimulates a
New Day...

Real learning we
learn from
a red bicycle..
Movement is
conversation of
oppositions..
Without conversation
differences reign..
We soon find
multiplicity growing
and peace disturbed..
Red reminds us
each difference relates
to other differences..
Relating is unifying
bringing the peace
Red turns Blue...

an oval antique photograph
from the century just passed
six youthful brothers
must be sunday dressed
exuding life and promise
facing forward all in line
symmetry pervading
sister mary in their center

on the photos right
a startling recognition
an image seen before
colins great grandfather
raymond often ray
in features and a gaze
seemed as colin
would have stood

photo has a crease
fading but still clear
now with photos recent
privileged to compare
colin next to ray
both fully present
yet a gaze away

rays gaze anticipating
army time in paris
fortune seeking in the west
fortunes to be found
four generations branching
to colin and beyond

colins gaze capturing
a journey now beginning
does he see montana paris
or the stars
repeating patterns forward
reflect photographic truth

music completes the pattern
with colorings of sound
rays trumpet and harmonica
introducing a guitar
which colin has absorbed

thus in his confirmation
new dimensions
now foreseen
confirming four generations
reflecting many more
expanding light and love
carrying our gratitude
for the glimpse
an old photograph
favored us
to find

(poem written for my grandson's
confirmation....)

back then and
now
wishes for fire
to burn and break
the reality at hand..
a reality turned away
self-absorbed
frightful black caverns..
but then a caution
for greater patience
infinite patience..
advice rendered that
greatest revelation
appears now in our
cataclysmic dark...

In symmetry
and colors
a notable image..
meditative model
Hubble finding
in night sky
light years
from here
and Now..

Science musings:

How created..?
A creator or
creation..?

A centered aging
binary system..?
Polarity energy
says it all..?

The unusual shape?
Sacred geometry
expresses itself..?

A definite torus..
All Reality
and Consciousness
expressed as Torus..?

Boundaries of cones
form an X..?
Creation of symmetry
interconnectedness
recognized..?

Why unusual colors
Red and Blue..?
Left and Right
Male and Female
oppositions prevail..?

As hydrocarbon molecules
colors building blocks
for organic life..?
Center Light transforming
to component colors..?

In a few million years
the Red Rectangle nebula
will probably bloom
into a planetary
nebula..
New birth
Now announced...?

On a sidewalk
a fateful fall..
Over this dead one
two persons meet:
One wishes a disposal
quiet and away
from trafficking feet..
The other with a kick
and quick disregard
of this morning moment's
sudden dark streak..
A brief encounter
two teachers
on her path..
Each holding a mirror
for the other...

Oh that strange
minuscule Atom..
Atom has posed
with planets spinning
with electrons jumping
with self-contradicting
waves and photons..
These secret poses
Over a century
Reveal and conceal
An amazing truth..

Atom smiles slyly
such confusion here..
Yet now and then
A scientist is startled
By a mirror reflection
A poet Behold..
Self-knowing arrives:
My name is Atom
and long enough
have I posed…!

The time honored
brainstorming
collective planning
a filling blackboard
is now denounced..
storming is thought
thought on thought
wrinkle on wrinkle..
what goes begging
is quantum's leap
a leap waiting
for solitude and
an empty slate...

in your toes and in your eye lashes
then shifting elsewhere as you choose..
We direct our focus to ever present
electricity producing that glow and
in simultaneity attend to the doing and
to the noise of this moment..

With a postscript: can we remember
as we forget...?

A faithful reminder
we have
each and every
morning..
A new chance to
recall the real order
of things..
From this source
breaking the horizon
we now see emerging
from darkness
the new shaping
of our day..
With our reminder
using the scales
universe to atom
we know then
of a sacred pattern
repeating..

an assembly or
better named
a clump
of multifarious flotsam
presenting its untidy self
on a recent passing
streetcorner..

a hesitating photo records
a drifting pinecone
centering a stained
and shredding newspaper
a broken sharp stick
red rocks of scales and shadings
flecking dried green leaves..

order imposed by
framing and shaping of
the sidewalk corner..
might other forms emerge
with a focused patience?

a partial headline reads
...sound without the wires..
news of expanding connections
outside a material realm?
headline seemed embedded
in thick advertising bulk
announcing a continuing
culture of material weight..
much else of red and green..

the centering pinecone
occasional pineal symbol of
higher dimension entry..
somehow rightly here
in the dark center
of this mess

this a brief experiment
not yet for most an answer
a question now of mining
finding patterned varieties
in large nature's trove..
patient visions residing in
gathered fragments
if gathered they be..
expectations of more
in what persists
of this and that in
time...  :)

ELIZABETH:  John, it come to naught that I
should forgive you, if you'll not forgive yourself.

We struggle as did John
to find an identity
that is not shrouded:
a most persistent persuasion
of our separation..

ELIZABETH:  There be no higher judge under
Heaven than Proctor is!  Forgive me, forgive me
John--I never knew such goodness in the world!

PROCTOR:  God in Heaven, what is John Proctor,
what is John Proctor?

Our self inquiry comes:
Who am I..?
What am I..?
I am..?

PROCTOR:  You will not use me!
I am John Proctor!
You have made your magic now,
for now I do think I see some shred
of goodness in John Proctor.

**His discovery appeared
on his horizon
as does our own:
Freedom!
Identity!
Peace!
I am...

generous and expanding
white's brilliant reflection..
many shaded towers
edges enclose with
high definition..
sometimes
a precursor to unwelcome
beauty..
hailstones
waterspouts
tornados..
we too
accumulate faces...

Mining we do
for survival and art..
repeating processes
both ancient and modern..
beginnings are quiet
seeded by necessity..
badgers dig holes
earthen tunnels and paths
powerful digging discoveries
sustaining of life..
coal miners diggings
dark labor below
planting cities above..
data mining
a technology
new in our time
computer's patterns emerging
never before seen..
startling creation
of many new
wholes...

hope
she said is
the thing with feathers
perched and singing
without words..

words must surely
be deeply hidden
within that song..
can we locate
another perch..?

and ask the feather
what are your words
and your song..?
the words we find
it's shape does bind..

here are the
sharp connectors and barbs..
barbules and hooklets
all of these
to hold a feather form..

and what of a song..?
a central shaft with ending quill
guides nutrition and light..
sacred texts penned
and that majestic flight..

hope extends...

(with appreciation for
Emily Dickinson's
poem)

a pear it was
hanging alone ripened
awaiting a fall..
her experience then
many years remembered
a radiant shape
a pear and not
with an afterglow..
now the memory
one simple viewing
intercedes with a
Knowing hers alone
within which her
life finds flow
compassion lives...

Shrieking birds
front porch disturbance
lilac springtime
much does depend
on
reconciliation
this sunny
morning.

is framed by
Rain darkened branches
Together with
Reflecting morning sun..
These juxtaposed with
Readings mention of
Humility and awe..
Which now serve as
Field and frame
Blue Jay and all...

A window frames
a brushy scene
but she asks:
does the sea reside
on the other side..
On quiet evenings
waves of healing
she hears them
breaking
on her Shore..

Rehabilitation
this her lot..
Remembered pain
the surgeon's stitches
a promised gain..
New movement
she is told
gifts transport
to her sea
again..

Yet for her
for this while
another transport
to her Sea..
Midst her life
of quiet prayer
By her window
her Seashore
She is there…

for Sister Barbara

encloses all with
softened light:
exercise repetitions
as health advisory..
decisions on paths
taken and not..
regrets missed connections
weather limitations..
no shorthand LOLs
a throwback letter
to an earlier time
with instant delivery..
this best of both
old and new..
an ending with
affection..
an email of note...!

She expressed again
what others have known..
the ironing chore found
quietly calming
bringing sometimes
bliss to a day..
What is behind this
smoothing of wrinkles
which serves such
wellbeing and peace..?
Perhaps we find here
in striking resemblance
an old story..
night becomes day
martha becomes mary
as our wrinkles
are pressed..
With thanks to Bette
her example and sevice
and for this new
ironingboard parable...!

when
ecstasy blooms and
landscape turns to
soaring flight..
these are times
our light within
experiences our
soaring...

A rock enclosure
horseshoe formed..
walls display
eyes-faces-images
an animal kingdom:
serpent and tortoise
elephant and frog
a swift trout..
guarded by a
human appearing..
images stimulate
mind's search for
similarity without..
in finds out..
out is in and...

chopping the carrots
and the onions
with tears..
this fragmenting
in linear time..
now dialogue ensues
carrots and onions
join other friends
ingredients unite..!
a community in heat
transforms and shapeshifts..
an aroma announces
a new creation
a quantum delicacy
before her eyes...

Waiting for the white paper
which underlies this writing
to loose a flow of words
finding Peace
in the facing-off:
a pumpkin and a purple cushion..
Henry David Thoreau chose
to sit on a solitary pumpkin
not a crowded purple cushion..
Many we know might charge him
with most slothful neglect..
Our venerable teachers
have exhorted us to
lift up the purple
with their assumption:
what is real is purple..
Yet we..startled by experience
find that very often
purple is pain..
We long to sit on that pumpkin
long since overgrown
with dead purple vines..
At last in our longing
the pumpkin may speak
of what lies in hiding
.. 'til just now..
with Peace emerging
the Pumpkin is Purple...

After last manicure
preparation for guests
concern for
their notice of
most careful work..
Yet something was
hidden concealed from
close diligence..
With the sun
a yellow explosion
just that single one..
deep yellow glory
a message of
imperfection
in quick rising
Joy...

her poems
pierce us
to our core..
we must surrender
to her choice
of words..
a wrong word
she despairs
to malaria compares..

perhaps a way inside
enter her two doors..
watch these
switch and intertwine..
heaven/hell
soul/society
light/slant
morning/night..
find ourselves on the  /

still..
as we wrestle
are we grasping for an
Emily Ungraspable..?

Carved in mud
horseshoe tracks..
he asked me
then remembered
she was correct..
literal reality here
now verified..
One track though
symmetry double
only this one
with appearance
holder and candle..
consciousness is
energized by
coherence
of difference..
nature reflects an
image of flame...