For My Mother

This is a poem that I wrote for my Mom and thought I would share.

Warm hands
Skin and bones
Made full with memories
We four will share

Tears, joy
Wind and rain
Fixed at home
Fluid in time

Breath of my life
Life to my soul
Whispers my name
Name of my ancestors

Laughs through the phone
Smiles heard in silence
Walks down our streets
Flights through the starlight

Burdened with worries
You never deserved
Strength of my family
Lover of virtue

If ever I'm proud
Of who I've become
Your spirit lives on
My reflection of you

Growth

Your smile slashes
Through the layers
Caked around
My heart
And
Soul.
And through it
Slips the sacred
Arrow - word
Unspoken -
Flowers
Full.

An Evening At The Beach

This is the beauty of a thousand stars
singing in harmony
through the ripples
of seawater
that
wrap
around
your
ankles
Coolly licking the fronts of your shins
reaching on it's
tiptoes to touch
your knees
softly
kissing
hands
and
hair
Blue green yellow dresses soaking up
the darker shades
blowing gently
breath, wind
joining
together
in
perfect
rhythm

Beauty

"Perhaps it is to prepare to hear some day the music of the spheres that I am always turning my ears to the music of streams. There is indeed a music in streams, but it is not for the hurried. It has to be loitered by and imagined. Or imagined toward, for it is hardly for men at all. Nature has a patient ear. To her the slowest funeral march sounds like a jig. She is satisfied to have the notes drawn out to the lengths of days or weeks or months. Small variations are acceptable to her, modulations as leisurely as the opening of a flower."

~Wendell Berry 

Smash

Stars burst
Imploding
Beams of light
Cut like glass
Upon your shirt

Pools of light
Reflecting up
Luminous strands
Liquid light
Between your toes

Very light of
Very light
Entangled between
We talk of
Dancing

The Newest Addition to My Room

The Thames at Westminster, Claude Monet

Fear And Trembling

Then David lifted his eyes and saw the angel of the LORD standing between earth and heaven, having in his hand a drawn sword stretched out over Jerusalem. 

I Chronicles 21:16

Inebriated, the old men stumble

Down the streets where broken bottles

Reflect the rays of moonlight on

The walls of brick and worn down stone.

The sawdust soaks the beer that falls

Out of their mumbling mouths.

Two pairs of graying eyes that turn

From shadow to shadow, looking for nothing.

Lazily they make their way

With bare feet sticking to sawdust and muck.

One says to the other with uneven breath,

“My friend, I’m bored to death.”

 
                            And then the sword struck.