The Audacity

To say yes
to cheek to cheek
And feel the heat
As if we meet
Beneath the sheets
Of untold dreams
We still must see
We still must tell
In fact to yell
With faces Stern
And make the turn
Into the light
Without the fright
Of old and White
Who hold their dreams
of greed And green
in bone-bleached hands
As still unseen
We March ahead
And scream the scene
Into the dream we all have held
As meld and mission
born a brown and Carmel issue
Sweetly symbol
Of undying wings unfolding
Flying higher
Flying outer
Flying ever to the  nectar of the flower
Of the power held within us
Now is sprouting
From the soil that has
Been hardened after being
trodden, seasoned
Under feet of heartless reason
Now that fresh and ever nation
Who have gathered
light unfurling
Now unfolding
In the wind we are beholding
Land is your land
This is our land
As the hard rain falls and washes
In the songs and in the crosses
Of the stars and in the crescent
Moon that rises and surprises
With the fury that supposes
Casket roses will awaken
Us to newness of the promise
We still hold in heart and harness
Guiding over hill and mountain
Drinking from the endless fountain
Eating at this bounty banquet
As love  brings us home.

Sincerity

You:  *******, *******!
Me:  I always loved your sense of humor.
They:  Why are you divorced?

We don’t talk the way that we do
We don’t walk the way that we do
We don’t have the things that we do
And we’re scared of you
And we’re scared of what we’d do
We’re afraid
You’re afraid
I’m afraid.

Forgive reality for being what it is
it forgets what it does with its stories
of memories and artifacts of time.,
gifted us by evening fires and bedsides, barstools and TV’s.  
They echo in each with tears and laughter, anger and dismay
regifted to those close to us.
Lest we forget.

Humor me.
No, let me have my fantasy.
Yes, the dog licks my face
your warmth is next to me
Still, this dream allows me flight to see afar the home I live in.

What is that pattern of something from nothing?
I guess it is luck at the craps table
And the tearful blessing of a crying newborn
As well as the strong wind that blew down the big elm on Second Avenue.

I  eat my lunch
In silence
Surrounded by murmuring conversation
The rattling of dishes in the kitchen
The cry of the baby two tables down.
It tastes good.

Curiosity travels faster than light
We imagine
So it slows down being converted into the molecular energy of thought and theory.
It slows
Voluntarily in gratitude for the utter freedom it has been given by
The Void.
And so it gives in its tiny way.

I have been going forward.
They say that is where it is.
Now a perpendicular path has appeared, although I know it was there all along the journey.
To the right is the white mountaintop with the promise of unlimited vistas.
To my left is the green valley, with promises of peace and tranquility.
The cool mountain breeze touches my cheek.
The gravel crunches beneath my feet.

The black clouds and lightening have passed to the other side
Calm, Still
Some are chasers of the
Whirlwind
Location, strength and direction are important
Warnings are needed.

The language of my backyard poplar tree cannot be translated into English.  

At least not by me.

I understand a French poet tried it long ago.  Tho' I don't know if he was translating Poplar.  It could have been Oak or Elm.

"Lovely" was the word he left us with.  Maybe that is the best we can do.  Something always gets lost in translation.

I say ,”I need an answer.”

And so I set out on promising paths, till some become rocky and some become steep, while others lead to banks of deep rivers with swift and dark currents.  I turn back each time.

I prefer this straight and level path stretching to the horizon...
where either sunrise or sunset await.  I can’t know which it is...
because I don’t know when I left or how long I have traveled...
It seems to remain only a shining promise.  And so I begin breathing again...