Writing is like jumping into a deep mountain lake
to find some tiny piece of my soul
submerged and floating there
an immersive brooding wistful prayer
or a flight into the blue thin air.

It is a cinematic journey
recording the fruits of noticing
what is right in front of the eyes
and finding what is deeper
unseen underneath.

Writing is looking into an old man’s eyes
and discovering the person there
just as much a spiritual venture
digging toward his center
as a physical sensation.

It is a magical mystery tour
taking the visible threads
in hand and feeling my way
to the roots
or pausing and squeezing the fruit
for its juice.

It is fun
it is a morning run
or an evening rest
pain, joy, and dreams expressed.

Writing is moving, grooving, including
taking a moment in time
exploding it in rhythm and rhyme
finding in the ordinary the sublime.

I roam the roads of this land
hop the hills, read the script,
listen to the sounds of logic and consequence
feel the wind on my skin
smell the flowers and grass
in this familiar landscape.

But I yearn for another place
an unexplored, exotic, even eerie space
I approach and tiptoe into a foggy
twilight border devoid of signs
nobody, no memory, no lines
I try to surrender to the fog.

But soon I’m back in the charted
remembered current waters
picking up the day’s packets bracelets and bobbles
but my legs soon start to wobble
in this state of awake
and again I search for a crossing

through the foggy realm
into the sweet lost land
of sleep.

What would you miss the most
if you had to leave this life
the book asked.

I’d miss you
your big brown eyes
your comforting smile
your big heart
your laugh
the tone of your voice
and the way you say, “You know?”
when you’re on an enthusiastic roll
your lively spirit
your yummy omelets with bits of stewed tomatoes
your relationship with the divine
the deepness
of connection we have
our conversations
telling you about my ****** afternoon
and watching you really listen to me
the way you cackle when we watch our favorite comedy
watching you quilt
your touch
your luscious lips
talking to you when we’ve just awakened
and the way your voice is soft and innocent
speaking our gratitude about our lives together
sharing our pain
being able to weep with you
when I am discouraged
or get inspired by something
how your eyes sparkle when I do so
the way you love our cats
caring for you
you caring for me..

Just to list a few

She stands at the wall reflecting
on those who were lost at sea
names and poems and words connecting
her to those poor souls and to me.
Beyond those memorial walls
the mighty Columbia into the Pacific spills
whose depth and wealth have called
so many to sail from Oregon's green hills.
From the safety of their home
they left for the great unknown
where writers and poets travel
every time they pen their spirit in word
to explore what God and life has unraveled
what pain, sorrow and joy have stirred.

Her kindness and her reflection move me to write
my poems of wandering from a safe and tidy home
to regions of imagination’s heights
shadows, sorrows, or oceans’ foam.
She reads and lives life’s poetry
knows its canyons and desert sands
she yearns only to be free
of the noise and anger of badlands
to smell the freshness of a cool and gentle breeze
feel the air brushing her arms
to look up and see the greenness of trees
to be free from crushing and brutal harm.

I see her standing and watch her reflection there
with seafarers, poets and lovers at peace
where God’s creative breath stirs air
and torments, terrors, and quarrels cease.

Author’s Note:  My sister Genie who lives in a large urban area visited Astoria, Oregon where the Columbia river ends in the Pacific Ocean and local citizens have erected a memorial park with several walls of polished black granite that display the names of mariners lost at sea.  There are also sentiments and poems about those lost souls one of which Genie photographed and sent to me.  As I examined the photo I could see her reflection on the wall as kind of a background for the poem.  That photo and my sister who loves nature and trees inspired this writing.  I wish I could post the pic here for you to see why and how it inspired me.  

Below is the untitled poem on the memorial wall photographed by my sister.

Weep not for me that I go to sea.
I shan’t be lonely, though vastness surround me.
The brotherhood of the sea shall be my family.
The kinship of the deep my company.

Weep not for me, nor worry over harm.
My heart stays with you, still and warm.
In sunrise and starlight my hearth and home
I carry you with me wherever I roam.

Weep not for me, whether bad luck or good.
Tossed about in a shell of steel and wood.
An ancient salt sea sails within my blood –
I but follow its tide through ebb and flood.

Weep not for me that I go to sea:
in the limitless ocean I am free.

When I was a young idealistic thinker
I took the bait hook line and sinker
now I’m an old more skeptical believer
but I hope I’m still an open receiver.

dings and whistles from the slot alert him escape -
sit before my image enter its wild wolf canyon escape

winding road in lofty forest landscape
beckon her - leave him for my green escape

triple x signs promise writhing bodies
heavy breathing and dark dank escape

the flute lay still of the silent table sparkling
sweet melodic memories of fingered escape

the frothy surging surf traces the seam of the sea -
bathe in my *****, wrap your self in my fluid escape

locked door soft light from below no sounds
inside creative energy sparks a poetic escape

on the placid lake he casts his hopes
awaits the tug - he and his prey escape

she stands eyes closed, smiling face turned upward
feels the breeze in her hair thanks God for this sweet escape

he runs in the field of goldenrod tears stream
and he screams a desperate entreaty for escape

the sylvan spirits flown from the mountain trees
into the green glen whisper as angels - escape!

The ceiling fan sends its emissary
to breathe upon the candle’s flame
the humble blaze enclosed but free
in the small clear glass vessel.
Silently it wiggles and swirls
asserts its freedom
responds to the breezy envoy
with light.

May I and you, constrained and nourished
within life’s bounds,
embrace freedom’s grace
and respond with light
as we dance with the wind.