Why do we care?

Why do we care?
But we do
we care for ourselves
and others
we give
we receive
while all around us
trees and rocks
care not
we weave
through their maze
of mountains
oceans
deserts
our playgrounds
that fill us with awe
so much so
that we share
with others
that care
sights and sounds
for we alone
imagine
nature
cares.

Hidden Inside

Each day was a flurry of activity
so much so that at night
with head upon pillow
it was hard to focus
on blur that darkened
and sleep halted
the world
until the sun broke
the silence
and he began
snapping photographs
throughout the days
so that at night
he had proof
that trees and birds
and cats and dogs
and even children
were all that time
hidden inside
his life
of blur.

Another Chance

Called a bitter old man
he couldn’t figure it out
why it was
when it could have been
with the forever
what if
when he passed
on the invitation
to act like them
as they all were
at that time
but he turned away
until one day
seemed exactly
like the next day
and sandy beaches
on cold winter mornings
mingled with
blazing hot days
on unnamed mountain trails
in so many lands
that for many nights
he tried to remember
the places and the times
but sleep and dreams
erased those moments
until the pleasant nurse
was overheard
calling him
a bitter old man
and those words he remembered
as he walked the sandy shores
again
this time with purpose
in his steps
and a desire
to act
like them.

Countless

The end
was not an instant
but a time
of countless instances
that tried
but could not
become whole.

The Blackboard

He began writing the novel
on a blackboard
each page was printed
with a stick of chalk
a page completed
then erased
to make room
for the next
as the story unfolded
one page at a time
as the past
disappeared
without edits
leaving but
imperfect
memories.

Flowers and Weeds

As a kid
he picked flowers
and sometimes weeds
with no mother
or father
he started a library
collecting used books
and carrying them with him
as he moved from this house
to that
until an uncle
found space
for him and his books
while he finished high school
and later he worked odd jobs
here and there
until his knack for drawing
flowers and plants
landed him a job
illustrating for a company
that printed botany books
and much later
after marriage
and two children
they moved to
the countryside
where he collected
flowers and weeds
and drew them
like nobody else
and once a month
he took the train
to downtown Tokyo
and sold just enough
drawing and watercolors
to feed and clothe his family
for one more month
until his children were
old men that lived
and worked in Tokyo
and his wife fell ill
and so quickly
she was gone
and all by himself
he drew and painted
his flowers and weeds
and much later
when the two sons
were cleaning out the old
country house
and while packing
all the books
in cardboard boxes
they discovered
more flowers and weeds
between all the pages
of so many
unread books.

Slowly at First

At first they were small letting goes
the empty space in the garage grew
slowly at first
then closets inside the house
emptied of old fashions
now great finds
in a thrift store
by someone still young
and still collecting
stuff
to fill
empty spaces.

Invisible Strings

The invisible strings
stretched
from the beginning of time
to each right now
of the living
and all the countless
last breaths
strings vanished
yet the death
of mother and father
did not break
the string
of sons and daughters
that are still connected
to the beginning
of time.

Purity of Purpose

He was a builder 
of all sorts of things 
but purity of purpose 
was always on his mind 
as he hammered verbs 
and nouns 
while sawing conjunctions 
in half 
building thoughts on paper 
with hands and fingers 
he screwed adjectives 
in place 
so that they would never dream 
of wandering 
afar.

Porch Memories

Sometimes life
changes direction
and you find yourself
trudging against the wind
with but memories
of those sunny days
when the warm breeze
from behind
urged you forward
as if you needed
a notion
of all the things
to come.

The Salt of the Earth

We are left
speechless
when our wellspring
of words
run dry
yet our imagination
and our eyes
spill over
with tears
that remember
the salt
of the earth.

Fixing It

The messiness of life
and our urge to not
leave it be
but to ponder
to attempt to fix
the broken
to make whole
again.

Memorial Day

He sat and watched
with others as some
tried to make do
with what they had
in the large room
the sun shining through
the open windows
on Memorial Day
at the nursing home
a few were brave enough
to speak up and tell their stories
but he remained silent
and wondered if any would know
that a B-25 was a Mitchell
and that he had once flown over
Burma
and not much later
over so many tiny islands
that he couldn't remember names
that he'd never known
but the island hopping
as they called the campaign
was always with him
as he remembers
for another day
that it was those down below
fighting on those jungle islands
the ones that survived
those were the ones
that earned the right
not
to remain silent.

Gathering on the Porch

With nothing to do
some sat in their chairs
others paced the length
of the porch
while the light breeze
cooled the noontime sun
words were few
but thoughts were many
some down to earth
others among the stars
a few were so abstract
that a stick of chalk
was used to describe
the invisible structure
of the universe
on the weathered planks
of the porch
as others came to see
underfoot
how the sun warps
space-time
so that the Earth
moves around it
in circles.

The Spring of Autumn

They were young
in love
it was spring
the park bench was warm
as they sat together
in silence
because words were just enough
to bring the moment
to an end
but the moment did end
as they sat together
on the same bench
on another spring day
this day
far beyond the days imagined
so long ago
yet silence was no more
as both listened
intently
to the birds
as they fluttered about
chirping
constructing nests
in preparation for another day
when spring
would be
no more.

Either Or

Why must it be
either or
when I feel
both are more
than neither nor
with its sum
of none
which for me
is no fun
yet I know
when the time comes
when gravity takes hold
and no longer can I be bold
that I still wish to stroll
and look
without the thought
of being
looked at
with
pity.

Going Home

He blinked twice
with a memory
of warm white sand
and naked toes
that inspected sea shells
as his brogues
stepped gingerly over snow
he made his way
to the front porch
and he paused
and blinked
again.

The Songbirds

Did he have a choice
to think of things to come
when birds sang
as he pounded nails
into two by fours
that the blueprint
promised to be
a house
that strangers
would someday
call their home
yet would they ever
think of him
who built dreams
from sweat and toil
and the love
of songbirds
as he paused
to listen.

Letters in the Sand

He began etching
flowing thoughts
on damp sand
far enough
with stick in hand
from foamy surf
the words withstand
sandpipers
dancing
atop
the strand
when finally
stylus thrust
into the froth
overhead
gulls cry aloud
as the sea
begins to shroud
now
thoughtless
wounds
no longer
proud.

The Hermit Crab

They pick me up
and poke fingers
into my cottage
all in fun
as they watch
me scamper away
yet know not
I carry my home
balanced upon
my tired back
and soon I outgrow
this shrinking estate
and the hunt begins
again
until I find 
a more spacious abode
yet others too 
stake claim
and battle we do
until I scamper away
with a wobbly fit 
learning once again 
how to balance
a mansion
in shifting tides 
while escaping 
another 
human hand.

Still Lives On

She reached for his hand
together as one
they wove through the crowd
now she led
a quick glance back
eyes meet
for an instant
that still
lives on.

Inside His Head

Sitting beneath the tree
he adjusted the earbuds
the sounds of nature
recorded long ago
were music to his ears
and the book he opened
written a century before
soon imagined people
came alive
inside his head
along with now
dead birds
still chirping
after all
these years.

Deep Into the Night Too

Sometimes deep into the night
deep into the desert
with but the canopy of stars above
a meandering breeze
that seems to come and go
as it pleases
a kind of darkness below
the circular horizon that stuns the eyes
tiny sounds about
some familiar
some strangers
seated atop gritty sand
still warm from the long departed sun
new smells tickle the nose
the body slowly finds an ease
and seems held upright
by that breeze
the mind
oh the mind
wants to take it all in
as the senses grow bolder
and bolder
what was once ordinary
becomes extraordinary
then the mind lets go
the voice in the brain is dumbstruck
what was thought to be stillness
suddenly becomes forever change
and in the blink of a blind eye
the entire universe
slips
into
the silenced mind.

Silence

Silence may be a tribute
to holiness
but it is the tiny bit
of complex coordination
between mind and matter
that manipulates sound waves
into codes
that all the bigness
is ignorant of
yet other tiny brains
grasp and decode
and too
think and wonder.

Serious Business

No matter the bigness
of the universe
it is composed
of tiny building blocks
be it a galaxy
or my tiny brain
more building blocks
not larger building blocks
that is
serious business.

Next Move

He was a war veteran
a young man
with his pocket knife
whittling a walking stick
from a slender branch
beneath the cottonwood
next to the stream
and was considering
his next move
when across the water
he spotted a deer
drinking and unaware
of the danger
of being
unprepared.

Recycling

And in the end
his atoms
were resurrected
building blocks
awaiting
new construction
for
another day.

The Mosquito

I slapped my ear
in the dark
aiming for the buzzing
that in my dream
interrupted a conversation
with who
I cannot remember
but it was important
I was sure.