My time machine whirled and stuttered
as I left today behind -
setting my course for yesterday
questing clues to the ultimate mystery.

I swooped down at the hour of my birth
to gaze through the glass at Wyandotte General
where mother’s exhausted smile
eased my empathetic dread.

      The long journey was underway.

Steering my vessel back in time
I soared across the Atlantic -
high above the tall ships bearing
my ancestors to unimagined destinies.

      A giant leap to be sure,
      but the minutest turn of the wheel.  

I wondered how my people
had evaded the claws
of Europe’s wretched plagues
and homicidal pretenders
brandishing swords and chalices.

I wondered and watched with sorrow as
empires flourished and vanished.

The hypnotic rhythm
of first and final breaths
wearied my soul
as life's relentless cycle
spiraled back to antiquity.

The breath of prophets
drifted over hills and rivers,
past fields, flocks and shepherds.

      But there was still
      no glimpse of a beginning.

My forebears' footfalls
led me back from Europe
to the tangles of tropical Africa
to record our first words
in a course and extinct tongue.

In wonder, I witnessed
our first cautious bipedal steps
10,000 generations ago
by the light of new found fires
dotting the evening campgrounds.

      I slipped my vessel back in gear
      and fed it some fuel;
      for I still had eons to go.

And I saw bands of ancient cousins
foraging woods and glades -
fur - covered on all fours:
eyes scouring the earthscape
in search of higher paths.

I waited patiently on the beach
as waves lapped the shore.
for mega-great grandmother
to crawl from the sea
and drink oxygen fresh from the sky.

      Though she was first on land
      my destination was not yet in sight.

My craft passed beneath clouds
over vast and restless waters
where countless ocean denizens
fed and multiplied.

The numbers of species diminished
with each millennium traveled -
bringing me closer to the source
and the sea was a lonelier
and more desolate expanse.

DNA strands shortened.
our precursors losing
organs and motility.
Minute sea creatures,
buffeted by the shifting currents,
had but a few cells

and then -

one.

      Three and a half billion years from home,      
      I waited silently at the threshold.

Hovering over the turbulence  
of an oceanic storm
buffeted by cyclonic gusts,
I peered into the darkness.
a sudden flash broke the surface
and a cluster of amino acids
began to assemble, vibrate and divide.

The tingling beneath my skin
told me I had arrived at last
at my primordial self,
rocking gently
in the dark fertile folds
of the vast and inscrutable sea.

*August,  2007

for sister, Marcia and brother, Jim

What Kind of Fool
Am I, Blue Christmas?
A Fool for Love - That's All.

You Are Love -

The Song is You Belong to
Me and my Shadow.

So What(s)                  
The Use of Wonderin’ (If)                
What I Did For Love
Is Sweeping the Country?  

Be My (Endless) Love
Is a Many Splendored Thing!

Be My Love
Till the End of Time.

June, 2007

dedicated with hope to all of us

Imagine a Human Family Picnic
where everyone shows -
from every sect and hue and nation -
gathered at a common table.

The Almighty swoops down
to speak the  blessing:
known to all from Torah, Q'uran and Gospels
and countless other books of wisdom -
author of our souls' aspirations.

After supper the Holy One
would call us to the sacrificial pyre.

      *“Brothers, sisters and cousins,
        images of your creator,
        every unholy war
        desecrates the face of God
        and there is no other kind.
        Cast your pride into the flames
        and live together in peace!”

Obediently, we'd toss our
pride into the fire,
recoiling from its smoldering stench.
The Lion would lie down to preen the Lamb's fleece
and Universal Love, released from her chains,
would walk  free in every land.

*August, 2006

"A circle is a closed curve,
                All points equidistant
        from its center."*

Before our circles close and seal
                                       their arcs,

What
leaks out into the frigid void?

              What is ****** in like a
                               careless insect

Caught!
in a fly trap's eager mouth?

                What clusters near the
                                             center

warmed
by its radiant nucleus?

          Who or what bangs on the
                                        perimeter

Shouting
for entry or exodus?

                Who is the guardian of
                                         the gate?

What laws
have fealty over the geometry of
                                     the psyche?

December,  2006

When proud ones boast
Of all that is loftiest
In his faith,
In her flag,
In the hue of their skin
The Devil licks his chops
In lustful salivation.

When caring souls
Reach out to offer
A bowl of rice,
A healing dose,
An understanding ear,
An open heart
Satan clutches his dry throat
Gasping for air.

*August,  2006

If I had a flying carpet,
I'd fly you to the falls
to watch the rainbows shimmer
in the rock-spewn mists
of Niagra's reckless plunge.

Or share the blazing sunset
at Big Bend's mystic window:
gazing at pastel layers
merged with the western sky.

Or we'd lower a canoe
in a Missouri stream
on a star-jeweled moonlit night
and hear the dulcet songs
of gentle shore-bound waves
and the hum of an insect choir.

But I have no magic carpet
to whisk you off to peaceful vistas:
only these feeble runes
scratched on a field of white.

Still, I wish that we could get away -
that is -
if you can spare the time.

*September, 2007

The Gods are money sound these days.
and priests have marketing degrees -
The faithful, called to worship
by giant plasma screens,
in mega-shopping sanctuaries
selling salvation through merchandising.

At the Church of Holy Consumption
all denominations are welcome –
hundreds, twenties, tens.
All the hymns are sung by Muzak -
the readings daily specials.

A sister spritzes us with holy essence
(The bottle's 40 bucks an ounce).          
Leave your offerings at the till -
major credit cards accepted.

When worship time is up,
sign the dollar across your chest
and bend a knee to the talking head
cooing soothing benedictions,

“Go in Peace, my child. You’re worth it.”

*January,  2007