The Poetry Marathon

white smoke of Canaveral

curling towards visionary space

blindfolded, she went 20 to zero,

‘fore seeking our hides.

anticipation of Old Faithful

Yellowstone’s sulfur-up-your-nose.

Guy Lombardo New Year’s eve –

champagne glasses tilted high.

on your mark, get set, and Olympic sprinters

loosed

like starlings over the Vatican.

Bottles of beer we took down

and passed around…

The Horses are at the Gate,

sweaty tickets in palms,

silken jockeys praying

bottoms-up.

the 2-minute warning,

time to grab your last snack

before the Oakland Raiders

give you another heart attack.

pours through veins

like Guinness bubbling

over crystal glass

lullaby and dance

playing the treetops

raining down laughter

heels leave the floor,

owl flight amidst woods and hollow.

bow never leaving the bridge

hypnotic notes

mimic the wind,

water dances to shore,

berry-stained fingers reach for more.

quickened heart calls and

counterpoints.

surrender and joy

frolic

a witch’s brew,

bestowing bounty.

rye bends in autumn light,

fungi mass below soggy wood,

pelicans and frigate birds buffet ‘cross

blustery winds.

bone and muscle bends

as willow upon the pond.

this is the way of the green,

of the lively.

lapis lazuli is the color of my spiritual doorway

tourmaline, the color of our marriage

stones.

our house, guacamole, sporting both

the yellow and green of an avocado.

honey, the highlight color — stained doors, deck

and yellow cedar shake.

berry is the color of hunger and happiness.

but of all the colors abounding, the silver/green

lichen at the base of our massive cedars is the

most intriguing.

this is the color of wisdom for me,

of patient abiding.

the forest is our Pacific Northwest teacher.

when the cedar is exploded by lightning

or thrashed to the ground by a winter wind

storm, its orange-red flesh disintegrates

into wild and weird castles.

after several months it breaks down further

into a soft duff that I love to walk through

barefoot.

when my feet are well stained

orange red, I am ready to join in their

moist and thoughtful sanctuary.

in the shower, a daddy long leg

is sure to appear,

I wait till he has found his corner cover

before starting the water.

in late fall the garden is replete

with webs, they shimmer

with raindrops, fatten as their

prey diminishes.

it’s a little exasperating when their

webs cover every avenue around the house,

so you must train your spiders well.

my favorite is springtime when the

baby spiders amass on the deck or

some batch of wood, buzzing back and

forth with anticipation of busting out,

like Oklahoma homesteaders in the ‘30s.

(dedicated to Richard Brautigan)

he, she, you and I have given our all

think of the litany of animals that have stood by and watched

it’s never over till It’s over

I hope I meet you before the by and by

we have collected and collected and collected, and been mesmerized by machines.

if you must speak please make it in person not of

nothing beats loving

may your moments be filled and emptied by grace.

inside

it’s very quiet

in fact it’s quite content.

outside

there are deadlines

and everyone wants their money

on time.

inside

it’s very cocoon-esque

outside

there’s a lot of dishes

and cleaning and paperwork

to sort through.

inside there is peace

outside there is war

after daily meditation

I do my best to carry the

inside out,

kind conversations at each doorstep.

sometimes we are very lucky

and experience the inside

outside, but it usually takes

cooperation,

Harmony, beauty and balance

wait in the wings every day

give them good lines, costumes

and fair roles and

you just might have the theater

of your fondest dreams.

tell me who you’ve forgiven

and who not

and why one got it

and the other didn’t.

or who hasn’t forgiven you

and whether or not

you can forgive they’re

not forgiving you.

how many times have you

molted, shed a skin

and transformed yourself

into someone new?

so much energy is put into

making homes pretty

or pleasing the boss,

the co-workers and of course,

the customers.

I love the wild creatures

that don’t have to play games

to get liked.

so we’re going to make mistakes

don’t you think a part of kindness

is telling the truth, risking the hurt

and making pearls out of the sand

grains that get up each others’ butts?

it was a Midwestern lake

circa 1983

we went for a day of fishing

I remember a photo I took of him

in the water,

only his smiling face with a cigarette.

I realize now I loved him

what for?

an ease, a gentleness.

I don’t think we caught a single trout

but the water was cool and refreshing.

the summer’s day basked alongside us,

content.

like so many he faded out of my life.

friendships like that are blessings,

smooth stones that kiss feet as

we ford the river of our time.

the categorical imperative of our time

kindness, compassion, simplicity

defiance of consumptive norms

local crafting

leaving the global economy adrift

defiance of consumptive norms

one cup, one bowl, one spoon

a cushion, a time, a space

to breath

leaving the global economy adrift

bartering or purchasing local goods and services

making do with what’s within 200 miles

taking staycations

spreading the wealth as far as

cottonwoods scatter seeds

kindness, compassion, simplicity

tis a gift to be present

to leave temptation to the advertisers

to eat neighborhood blackberry pie

the categorical imperative of our time.

at the edge of the sea

where the relentless surf

pounds the earth into

submissive sand

we sit

staring out at seabirds

banking in the gusts

lost

in the sudden whoosh

and hush thereafter

the tang of salt

that makes our eye muscles

read this.

wishing for buoyancy

wishing to lose my perspective

in the gargantuan sea

wishing to hear the thought train

of Neptune or Gaia

murmuring sweet somethings.