Universe how is it that I am the privileged participant? Your beauty sings with each subtle movement Shall we not be friends? Let us walk Each passing creature you know so well your sentient beings with each their kingdom introduce them to me And I shall be so well received thanks to the auspices of my acquaintance
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Under Auspices
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Universe of the stars and the silhouettes of trees The delicate rain of new life on leaves The chorus of whir from frogs in the stream Nightingale, who beckoned me, twice I echo your somber call Only when I quit you does the pretty fluting of another appropriately answer your question
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It’s very nice here and nothing changes other than an occasional here or there I forget now who had whispered in my ear “out of place out of time” Well, now, where are we? Back to doing whatever I do in this timeless atmosphere only a word or two and we are now on the same page Late afternoon, early spring
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Why so far from your path my little man? Rest your head in my bosom Lay your tears upon Mother Earth Take sustenance from my teat Be my lover for a time Time for your medical training Time to build roads and buildings and fascinating devices of engineering My, so busy Not too busy To dance and play guitar and sing with a gathering every evening In knowing celebration of harvested humanity Tasty food from the hearth Long discussions of politics and mirth One day your hairy legs will itch Your hooves tap and your tail twitch One evening you’ll silently fade back to me To coax budding women into the forest and sow boldness in them so generation after generation humans in wilderness and wilderness in humans
Tears on Easter
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I close my door on the descending darkness A smile gently clings to the afterglow of youth’s sun–soaked pageantry Lonely eyes take in their new surroundings tired limbs prepare to embrace the night The incessant call of a solitary nightingale sings so close to despair as innocent as a heartbeat
Spring at Dusk
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One never expects love She always descends in such inappropriate places Soft, dulcet–smooth some kind, caramel–honey Pouring into my ears So low–down every murderous word tender I bike against the flow of traffic futilely thumbing for her to raise her voice cursing the onslaught of society
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The first time I allowed myself to see beauty in every being was the first time the universe smiled upon me in the knowing smile of a woman I stopped planting my feet to steady my bike as she crossed the street the air applauding with a chorus of strings from a idle car’s stereo I gazed she pondered, puzzled then she saw and smiled knowing
About Time for Rain
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Bogart is being interviewed by Brando in a bathroom.
He tells Brando, “Careful not to get pooh on my suit”
Brando lays Bogart’s suit across the toilet seat. In a quiet gesture of menace, he gently presses it down. One tiny spot of pooh touches the breast pocket.
Enraged, Bogart manhandles Brando: he stuffs him in the toilet and flushes him down. You can here the explosion of pipes downstairs in the busy kitchen.
Bogart and his compadre are outside, about to take off. They debate whether to kill “stupid”, referring to me, for getting Brando to do that to the suit.
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Avoid the travel agent’s hellish destination Thank God for the angel’s abundant journey
Travel Advice
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Flower strokes its petal Asks “Who am I?” The sky and the earth dance Roots feed petals petals feed rootsStroking, Dancing
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