searching the vast darkness for one star to grasp
grasp make it fall to me
so I might hold one  once

Instead of endlessly counting mapping,mapping
calling them names seeing things
in their patterns

Aquarians, Big dippers, lions ,Leos, Scorpios,
Scorpions their tail ready to strike,
lighting the black with
figurines.

Figuring, that there is a pattern in all this meaningless,
meaning contrasts, revealing patterns, I
I only, see. That,
I I need to catch one.

Put it in my jar of hope, like I did with fireflies,
all those years ago and many dark skies,
skies, I scattered to and fro,
naming,

them. as they tried
tried to escape my
insanity.

.
In the long nothings of blackest night
Owl whispers.  Hair of mouse stands,
As only an under sieged without spear
Can and grave vole, simply wide open
On his mat of dead leaves, drying time
And even the hare, without hope, hops
Maddeningly caught in dark labyrinths
Without sight, dear is the silent scream
Of all that was mere, so slim after light,
Night scurry, dash, curled fingers, prey.

this is my destiny to
fall into a dream
writhe in harmony
and rhythm feel
all of the worlds
best scenery and
bleakest visions, see
waves children playing in
them on calm shores with baskets filled with applesplums cherries
no one suffering ,
on the other eye lid wishing to close are slaughtering of
innocents, children wishing for one drop of hope,
as they wash themselves in putrid rivers ,
mothers of them, I feel see too. How might I feel if
I were rich. Would I probably turn my head. To see
what I get, or what I gave to eternity?

to be in a hurry,  won't do,
deadlines,
are always there?
Time, is reflective, always
was will be scarce, why rush it?

Slow those hands, push them down to
half past when,
halfway to then.

Seconds,  take reflecting
meditating,  remembering,
hear concentrate on the sounds
of birds,
walk outside now, this very  instant,
briefly feel   awareness-
actually hear-
those birds chirp,  a background
chorus to a most important symphony.

Let the time tick-tock as the rhythm
is the backbeat,
feel that last brief wisp that color
that smile that feeling, let it sink in
mean something more than what needs done.

Don't hurry it. It comes.

What if I were to say that beauty in itself does not exist,

how can such diversity be fixed as one representation ?

The flower raises a different image to each eye that beholds it,

The moon a different face to whom it beams down on,

a pretty girls smile has greater value perhaps to its recipient,

a lowly ant at its work, one person's fascination,  another's recoil,

We shun the view of our face in the mirror, whilst others smile at its radiance,

The newly born child, more beautiful to its mother than all the wonders of the world, whilst others may only view a wrinkled, writhing, screaming devil,

So the paradigm is such that we cast not judgement on anyone or anything without first considering the perspective of such questioning.

Take pride.
Pride in the way your eyes
Shine with the
Light of your natural
Selflessness.

I saw what you
Did. How you left your
Own needs for
Later; feeding, lifting,
Holding others.

Take pride.
Within you dwell the
Twinkles; sparks; starlike
Glimmers that render
Unimaginable the

Act of taking
Two legs from
A beast and
Name it
Human.

I slept in a red cot
On the SS Columbia.
In the middle of the cabin,
Brothers and sisters
Bunked vertically
On either side.
Seven in all.
We disembarked at Montreal,
Where my sister
Unclenched my white-knuckled hold
On the mahogany rails.
That moment was synapsed
And impermeable.

My third love
Taught me everything about love.
Miss DeGurse, Grade One.
She was taken by the dimples
And the brogue, but smart me,
I passed, we parted;
She to her farmer fiance,
Me to Grade Two
And Sister Hildegarde.
I learned valuable lessons,
But love was already learned
For a life-time outside family.

The soutane didn't fit anymore,
And the incense left me distracted.
The flickering shadows over the folds
Of Joseph's and Mary's statues
Have fewer outlines
Under the light of less candles.
Books replaced Church,
Then illuminated religion
In gold-leafed pages.
Women went well with books
And still enrich my every day.

Loss is all around.
No eulogies or memorials, please.
But remember me
When you splash in July,
Observe nature prepare for winter,
Blink flakes off your lashes,
Or bloom up and down your street;
Then gather,
Read something I wrote,
And Remember
I used to notice such things.

I admit, in writing,
I like my work read
Aloud.
So why do I cower
In dread,
When I hear it read
Before family and friends
At celebrations
For the living and dead.