Summer Winds

Summer winds blow
to caress
young maidens
walking on seashores
as waves
ebb and flow
and sandpipers dance
to the sweep
of white foam
and seagulls cry
in shifting winds
while young men
everywhere
dream of young maidens
with naked toes
on wet sand
dreaming of days
that will
never
end.

The Poet

He was one of those
who squeezed sentences
until all the unneeded words
fell to the ground
and what were left
were carefully arranged
until silent words
spoke up
and sometimes
even
shouted!

Comb the Earth

We
the secret revealers
comb the earth
gathering clues
to long forgotten
brothers and sisters
that placed stones
one atop another
carved trees
into looms
and cared
for sheep
and sheared their wool
and sometimes
bits of woven cloth
found beneath
a charred stone
and once a white
clay pipe
and a button
crafted from
an abalone shell
an arrowhead
of black flint
looked at closely
and imagined hands
chipping away
and minds
with thoughts
never to be found
lost to the winds
the stories
too many to count
and we breathe them
in our imaginations
right now.

Summer Night

Here,
summer in the air
the night
oh so slow
yet moves
with me in tow
together we await
the coming day
outside the window
dried blossoms
silently
preparing seeds
as if
they cared.

One of Us

One of us
the good one
the kind one
the wise one
the one that loved
the one that helped
you and me and those
I don't even know
and he was the one
that we used
to construct
our God
the invisible one
that dwells 
but in our ancient minds
we bring to life
make visible 
the invisible
with the chosen one
our example
of how 
we all should dwell
in a world
without guidance
from
the unknown.

Matters of Matter

Nothing matters
until babies dream
of imagined worlds
that become real
constructed
inside minds
and we live
in two worlds
where everything matters
until the very end
when dreams vanish
into mindless matter
where
nothing matters.

Hungry Eyes

My eyes are hungry
and unlike my tongue
that easily
is overwhelmed
with too much
of a good thing
my eyes delight
in full portions
of beauty
and even then
tire not
but demand
more.

The Dream

In my dream
the stream ran swift
and swirled about rocks
that seemed to stair step 
down the narrow canyon
in near darkness 
the pine and cedar 
towered with blue daubs 
of sky
trout hidden in a deep pool
near a giant boulder
and atop that granite
I was writing a poem
on a scrap of paper 
and the next minute
I adjusted the scope
on my sniper's rifle
while I waited 
for the dark meeting
that was a mission
for good
I was told
yet it remained
frozen in time
as I awoke
on a train
taking me home
in the light
of day.

Soul Man

He searched high and low
looking for his soul
until it dawned on him
that his very thoughts
those ghosts inside his head
invisible and immaterial
alive for but a flash
always right now
never before
never after
yet some saved
in memory
most vanishing
into darkness
were his soul
and without memory
even he too
would never
know.

The Cycles of Life

It was another of those cycles
at the bottom
the fever doing a number
on the inner monologue
with himself he fretted
wild thoughts
but since childhood
it was always the same
just wait
time will bring the cycle
around and like
a slow motion movie
things would improve
and the hope of normalcy
would in fact be within reach
and more time
as feverish thoughts
faded into the unknown
simply things
like a glass of cold orange juice
or the warm breeze through
the open window
just confirmed
that hope was
still alive.

Time and Place

For years I was lost
in thought about everything
until I found a wooden ruler
in the back of my desk drawer
that I used to measure space
to such a degree that
on graph paper
I could map my entire life
with the help
of time
yet couldn't find
exactly where I was at
until I broke the wooden ruler
and used words
written on the back
of that graph paper
to describe how I felt
during numerous moments
in time
and I found each moment
had a place
that I soon discovered
was much more interesting
than those places
on the other side
of that piece
of graph paper.

He Tried to Imagine

He tried to imagine
how far away were those stars
that forever twinkled overhead
since he remembered
a late night camping trip
a child before a camp fire
mesmerized by dancing flames
and glowing cinders swirling
to the late night sky
and stars overhead
more than he could ever imagine
but now imagining not
they were real
and forever more
in their rightful places
always right there
following him
through the ages
until at the other end
the old man
no longer imagined
what he knew
was really
real.

Rigged From the Beginning

The universe was rigged
from the beginning
with all its just so
and filled with just enough
so that one by one
everything fits
or doesn't fit
but when together
things happen
big things
cooking inside stars
with the beginnings
of you and I
with right-now
thoughts
the result
of everything
fit together
since the beginning
just so
you and I
are filled
with wonder
before
our very eyes.

The Naturalist

He had a name
for everything
as he kept his eyes
on the details
while his mind pieced together
the grand picture
often he looked closer
trying to discover
the hidden bits
that made up the details
and they too
had names
and every night
before drifting off to sleep
he would file away all the names
in the dark
to make room
for the morrow.

Subject/Verb/Object

Once I heard
a subject
did a verb
to an object
and that is life
when my mind
gathers the pieces
and constructs
a story
so that life
has meaning
when I give
or I take
or I find myself
in between.

They Made Things

They made things
with their hands
and eyes
and hearts
that were filled
with grace
and minds
that could just be
while fingers
nimbly threaded
needles
with thread
the color
of the sky
or sometimes
of a red rose
or a pink carnation
to embroider
flowers and leaves
and trees
and words
that were read
again and again
silently
by eyes
staring
and fingers
that had never
threaded a needle
inside quiet
museums
in cities
that framed
what was left
of a distant
holy grace.

Constructing a New Thought

I wonder how
a new thought
is constructed
inside my head
I mean
how does the thought
come to life
when just a second before
no thought was
contemplated
but nevertheless
a new thought
sparked to life
and was it without
language
just an electrochemical
process that knows
where to plug
into the dictionary
of meanings
and connect
to memories
and how do words
and memories
look in their
atomic smallness
without pencils or paper
or bits or bites
on glowing screens
and who is
the overseer
that orchestrates
this most dark
and damp
undertaking?

We Name

We name
the unnameable
we describe
the indescribable
we apply attributes
to that which attributes
cannot be applied
so that our minds
can create words
like heart
soul
love
to imagine
who
we
are.

One Day

One day a human
thought
a new idea
that this
was better
than that
and values were born
and how many more days
before
someone uttered
this is good
and
that is bad?

What He Had in Mind

What did he say?
Or words to that effect
that my young mind
pieced together like
pieces to a puzzle
so that when I finally knew
the mystery revealed
my answer was new
it was mine alone
yet he failed to understand
what he said and did
were not exactly
what he had
in mind.