curtains and blankets

the clouds blanket the desert,
and draws curtains of showers...

to make a place sacred

be still,
quiet,
in awe,
grateful
to be there...

Sky Above, Earth Beneath...

It is easy to feel small,
So much sky above me,
So much earth beneath me;
As I stand on these feet,
and breath in this air.

Morning

I wake...
The rising sun,
Light shining into my home,
And into my soul.
My dark dreams
Recede into the shadows
Of an enlighten room.
Thus begins this glorious day,
Another day of life.

Broken, Maybe

Alright,
my heart is broken,
     open to the world,
          to all life,
     as I walk from one room to another,
     looking at the light through the windows,
          and feeling the breeze
               flowing through the house.

Okay,
my mind may be gone as well,
     staring in awe at the smallest things,
     the world and the unknown,
     as I step up to the door,
          and turn the knob,
               and listen for the latch to open
               to everything.

Well now,
this is interesting,
my soul seems to be lost,
     traveling into the unknown,
          new scenes everyday,
          new adventures,
          that I can ignore
               to be normal.

Hmmm...
maybe I am wrong,
     mistakes have been made,
          all the time.
But then,
maybe I am OK.

Horizons

I suppose,
We will always have horizons
Beyond which
We cannot see, yet.

But, I suppose,
We will keep trying.

Hope is Blue

Hope is blue
Revealed as grey clouds
Break apart.

Hope is green
Grass poking up
Through the melting snow.

Hope is yellow
a goldfinch hunting
for seeds in my garden.

Hope is red
glowing in the east
before dawn.

Hope’s smiling
In your eyes
Looking at me now.

Koi

I wonder,
As I watch you swimming in the pool,
What dream is this?
Is it yours.
As you float in the water
That is your home,
Your world?
Or is it mine,
As I stand here held down
Upon the earth by gravity,
Watching and wondering
What you are,
And how it all seems to you.

Thoughts on a Cold Day in May

I put aside my books
And look out my window
To watch an oriole in my garden
I note the grey clouds
And the light rain falling again
So cold for this time of year.

I smile at my judgement
As if I had ordered this weather
And got the wrong one
And would send it back.

I know it doesn’t work like that.
Everything is what it it is,
And everything is a gift
Or a curse. I see both ways.
I put on a sweater
And plan for the summer
I still believe is coming.

Anchors

What anchors me?  What holds me still in a tumultuous world?  Where is the foundation that I can build my faith and my life? 

I believe that my anchors are Jean, my wife, my children and my family.  Then there is here and now, my home, my garden, my daily experiences.

I have never claimed to be right, only to be myself with my own views.  I am sorry that I am not more vocal, and hide my thoughts from too many others that I love.  I just don't want to have to defend my feelings and thoughts from the arguments of others.  I don't want to disappoint or hurt anyone if I tell them that I am an anarchist, or an agnostic.  So. I keep everything pretty close, quiet, and to myself.

If I change my mind, I don't think I have failed, but have re-examined the evidence and reasoning of new ideas.  Maybe I don't need anchors as much as I need a sea worthy vessel and well maintained sails.   And, maybe I need to launch myself into space, escaping Earth's gravity altogether!

This is My Song Now

I used to listen to a man
who played a 12-string guitar.
I loved how he sang
of his love for the Earth,
and of his highs and lows.
But, then he fell from the sky
and died log ago.

Now I play my one-string
diddley bow,
and sing of my love for the Earth,
and of my highs and lows.
I sit hereon the ground,
looking up at the sky.
This is the song I sing now,
This is my song now.

concrete

How can I keep a straight face
when nature cannot draw a straight line?
How do I take an immutable stand
when cracks appear on our concrete,
and even mountains are wearing down?
How will I ever speak the truth
while the weather changes every day?
How do I have faith
when gravity doesn't ask what I believe?

Crocuses

Ah!
They waited,
for long months,
under the snow,
in the cold,
in the dark,
in the dirt,
for just a day
like today,
to bloom,
in the warm
sunlight.

I think
I feel some
of the same...

It's not all green leaves and yellow blossoms

Green

1.
Here the first signs of life are green,
green beneath the sun,
green in the direct sunlight,
green humble yet persistent,
green before any other color.
Green is the first sign of life here.

2.
Something inside me feels green,
perhaps in my eyes,
or my mind and heart,
maybe it is in my hands
ready to dig into the garden soil,
or reach up and touch the sky.

My Work

I watch
a raven land on our garden wall, survey our yard
And fly away.

I sweep
the dusting of fallen snow from our door
As new snow falls.

I pile
Rocks up around our garden to hold the soil
That weeds will invade.

I plant
Trees, shrubs, flowers, herbs, and vegetables
And then water them faithfully.

I weed
Those invading wildflowers society condemns
That God gave so successful traits.

I build
Tables and benches, dulcimers and strummers
From small scraps of wood.

I write
Cobbled words together to make poems
And then hide them from the world.

I love
My family, but cannot solve their problems
I can only stand with a helping hand.
I search
For truth, for God’s hand, mind, and will
In the chaos of my world.

I live…

Thoughts from This Season Between

1.
These rains have melted away the last snow,
and green leaves, clover and grasses reveal
that life continued through the cold dark months
waiting for the warmth that would come.

I also follow this season as it changes
wearing lighter jackets out into the fields
the morphing wonders of this new time,
still wet and cool allows me to imagine the sun.

2.
This is the season between,
rain begins to replace the snow,
(though it may still freeze)
and green rises above the white.

3.
rain
ponds rising
green leaves
a yellow blossom
worms on the sidewalk
all signs

4.
Things are rarely simple in nature,
not at all like our light switches,
but gradual, multifaceted, nonlinear,
meandering through time and space...
We may watch for one thing
but see a hundred confusing signs
for what we think we are waiting for.

5.
God is not simple,
He is not "yes or no."
rather He is, "Come and see."

Look deeply,
carefully
to see beyond
our human
models of reality...

Thin Ice

we are in the season of very thin ice
and mud sticking to our shoes
of anxious birds chattering in the brush
and longer, warmer days
not spring just yet
and not winter anymore
a season of very thin ice and mud

The First Blossom

The rain melted the snow off our garden,
and in the uncovered ground
I found this single blossom,
the first sign of spring yet to come,
it brightened my heart and soul,
it was a reward for enduring the long cold.
I picked it and rushed inside to my wife,
with a hug and a kiss...


(And then, a day later, it snowed again.)

a spider in the sink

God sent me a spider
in our bathroom sink
to tell me of His Will
and His Grace...

I didn't understand
and washed the poor creature
down the drain,
losing that benediction.

A Simple Prayer

O God,
I'm OK.
Thank you
for everything...
Amen.

Here

There is beauty here
right beneath my feet,
all around me,
and above me.
All I must do
is open my eyes.
and embrace
this moment,
and this place.

A Blues Song

All the way down,
All the way down
Got nothing but dreams
All the way down.

All the way down,
All the way down
Got nothing but worries
All the way down.

All the way down,
All the way down
Got no comforting hand
All the way down.

All the way down,
All the way down
Got no refuge from the storm
All the way down.

All the way down,
All the way down
Got no light shining on me
All the way down.

All the way down,
All the way down
Got nothing but dreams
All the way down.

Waiting Out February

It's cold...
we rush from house to car
and from car to house,
and then wrap our selves
blankets and sweaters,
and stare out our windows
looking for the sun.

The clouds drift over us,
dropping their tiny white gifts,
created in the sky.

I see the buds on the trees
are getting bigger,
ready for the warmth of spring,
just waiting for the sun.

But it's cold...

The Ads

“What do you want?”
They continually ask me this question,
Both God and Satan ask me this question,
And everyone in between ask me this question.

What do I want?
                         (I say...) 
I don’t know.
                         (But really I don’t want to say
                          because I don’t believe I can have what I want,
                          and even if I get what I want,
                          I am afraid I will be disappointed,
                          because what if what I wanted
                          wasn’t really what I wanted,
                          so, I say... )
I am fine.
I already have enough.
(Though, really there can never be enough!)
So they tell me what I really want.
Insurance, hamburgers, a new car, soft but strong toilet paper.
More!
They tell me I want more,
A new phone, a bigger house,
And to be young forever,
To dance on the beaches of Maui,
A better job, a bigger retirement check to spend
A big beautiful wall!
“You want more!”
(And I suppose I do!  I really do…)
I know what I want.
I want one more day.

Anarchy is My Response (A Micro Manifesto... almost.)

I stand here and watch the theater,
The comedy with of clowns with military hardware and nuclear missiles,
Of charades of fools coughing in the polluted air pretending it is not us.
I watch holy men whisper to their puppets to vote in secret against
what people voted for in public.
I see the sacred places trashed for a wall to hide us from the world.
I see our friends insulted and our enemies praised.
And more fools in red hats chanting to their hero.
While our saviors speak pleasant, snake-oil words to us from lofty seats
in the bright lights of this stage holding money behind their backs.

I am dizzy, not knowing where I stand anymore.
This cannot be the country I grew up in and loved.
But I look closer and see it is and was always this theater of humans
Pressing for the power they had no right to wield,
Blood and fire, smoke of guns, cannons, and machines,
Carving out the myth of our nation from the rock and flesh of this land,
and this people.

I am angry, and I shout out to them but I am not heard.
I refuse to be sucked into the sewer with them
I will not believe their lies and their fantasies, myths and stories.
I will not buy their products or their services.
I will be free!

I will not let any man rule over me!
(Only one woman… and maybe a few small children…)
I will live my life as a free man!
(With a government pension, earned from years as a civil servant)
Anarchy!
(As I turn up the thermostat against the winter cold…)

Oh...
I AM a part of this theater of clowns and fools… damn it!
(I still want to be free.)

I Am Looking for the Words

I am looking for the words
To tell my story,
To tell you I love you,
To say I am sorry,
To defend myself,
To express myself,
To sing out loud,
To wonder and awe,
To ask the question,
To try to explain,
To comfort you,
To just begin to say,
To say what is needed,
To display hope in the future,
To tell you I am proud of you,
To ask you for help,
To promise,
To convince you,
To show you I understand,
To end this argument,
To start a conversation,
To open a dialogue,
To make you laugh,
To pray for you.
I am still looking
For the right words.

A Message in the Stone

This canyon

Whispers to me

To be…

I Remind Myself

I consider
The earth’s crust,
Rock broken,
Weathered
To soil, to life,
To become my body;
And oceans,
Rivers, lakes, and aquifers,
Water drawn out
To become my blood;
And the atmosphere,
Blanket of winds and storms,
I breathe in the air
To fill my lungs;
The light of sun and moon
Shining in my eyes
That I might see.
I consider
That I am of stone,
And water,
And the air,
And the sun,
I live and breathe
And have vision
At the end of a long chain
Of being,
Of life.

I think I will go outside today.

The Sacred

I open this door
To enter into this sacred place.
Reverence breathes with every word
And light shines upon every sight.

I open this window
Lean out and look up
To see the moon
And its celestial companions.
But, curtains drawn from the distant ocean
Veil the mystery for one more night.

I smuggle in my burden in silence,
Hidden from everyone,
Hoping to leave it on the altar
In the invisible hands of God.

The wind blows over our reverence,
Displaying its power
And everything is compelled
To sing its atmospheric hymn,
While the Earth stands
As the foundation of everything we build
Beneath our feet,
Below all we do,
Bedrock creating fossils and gems.

What sanctifies any place?
It is the words we speak,
Invocations, dedications, benedictions,
Hymns and prayers from our hearts.

I have opened this door again,
To find anew this sacred space,
To breathe life into my simple words,
And to see once again a vision
In everything I see.

The Comradery of Snow Shovelers

We greet each other
with shovels in hand
and joke about the snowfall
talk about the needed water
(we are in a desert)
test the snow pack
light or heavy
dry power or slush
and then we strike
pushing back nature
as a company of men will
rescuing the elderly
(denying that we are old)
and single women
and then each other
trapped by the snow
than when done
after telling a few stories
we wave our shovels
and return to our homes
triumphant snow warriors
to give our backs a rest
and hope we have
a few clear days.

My Thoughts of the Passing of Time

The Watch of James Earl Thomas (1895-1978), My Grandfather

Oh!
Just missed it!

Gathering Dust

Where do all my words go?
In a box,
On a shelf,
In a closet,
Gathering dust?

Oh, well,
I still had to write them.

An Act of Faith

It is cold this morning,
I think I am tired of winter.
I look for subtle clues
of the coming spring
in the desolate snow
that fills my yard
and weighs down my garden.
It may be a fool's errand,
but I search the trees' buds
for signs anyway,
while juncos, who will obey
the seasons' changes,
feed on the seeds
I put out this winter morning.

Waking From a Dream of Eureka, Nevada

1.
I suppose
the sun shines there today
the sage, juniper and pinyon
stand there today
I suppose history haunts there
like shadows on the brick
as children play in the school yard
I suppose
the trees I planted still grow there
and the house I set there still stands
I suppose my fingerprints
may still be found there
I suppose
But I will not go back there to see
I will not go back

I am here now.

2.
I have argued
with ghosts and demons.
It is never a fair fight.
Even if I win,
I lose too much.

I am learning
to just walk away,
and to sing something,
usually the blues...

3.
My pension comes with strings attached
I am forced to remember my work
to earn my retirement.

The chains may be broken
but my souls is still captive
and I am still running away.

4.
Eureka?
I would rather
remember
Maui...

A Patch of Blue

1.
I see blue
Revealed again in the breaking clouds,
Blue then grey then blue,
Calm then wind then calm,
Warm then cold then warm,
I see blue again.

2.
This storm has locked us up,
House arrest,
Waiting for the clemency
Of the blue sky.
And the warming sun.

3.
I see it,
Blue in the breaking storm clouds
And I think:
Well, that’s nice,
The sun’s shining over there.
Of course the cloud are moving
Bringing me hope
For sunshine here.

Here and Now

Sometimes I despair
Not having an infinite life
The end haunts me
With its long dark shadows.
But I look closely
To see what I do have
Here and now…

I look and see
Here and now is wonderful.
Here and now is joyful.
Here and now is peaceful,
Here and now is enough,
More than enough,
If I let it be.

Now I thank God,
Consciousness, intelligence,
Life and light,
Shining into this moment,
For everything here and now,
More than I can ever hold,
Here and now.

These

I doubt

I will ever come this way again,

or write these words again.

these scribbles and scratches

are my meditation,

my reverence for this moment,

and when the sun sets

I will forget them.

But tomorrow,

a bit farther down this way,

I will write a few more.

Let Wild Things Be

Let wild things be wild,
sacred lives, holy lives
untangled from my intentions,
rising and falling as they will.

I could go out with patience,
into the wild to see wild things
upon the earth,
among the sage, juniper, and pinyon.

I could sit quietly here
and wait for the wild things
to come and visit
my garden and look for seeds here.

I open my hands
and let wild things be.

A Wordless Poem

...

This Stone

I look at this red sand stone
carefully, intently,
for meaning,
for my connection,
or a vision.
There is a story here,
in my hand.
I try to read it,
because I need it...

I Color the Sky

I color the sky
With my eyes.
I draw the earth
With my feet.
I sculpt the world
With my thoughts,
And paint portraits
With my words.

Hope Blooms in the Winter

Though
I can't see it,
I feel it,
a flower
blooms in the snow.
Though the frost
kills its petals,
the flower
still blooms,
as promised.

I Want To Tell You / Immortal Words

I Am

I am small
thinking I am big
and important.
How could I be
otherwise.

Utilities

I give room
to power lines
asphalt highways
pipelines
landfills
they are utilities
necessities

but I also
give room
to forests
grasslands
tundras
shorelines
oceans
atmosphere
also utilities
necessities

A Predator is Born Before My Eyes

So quickly,
two beautiful creatures
morphed,
the sparrow into prey,
the falcon into
a predator,
before my eyes.

Thoughts While Watching the Snow Fall

I could try to run from my problems
and maybe distract myself for a while
but when I stopped running I would find
I was carrying them with me all along

and then the great secret I hid from myself...

I could try to search the world for my joy
and find many wonders and treasures
but when I stopped searching I would find
I was carrying my joy with me all along

Sagebrush Faith

Sagebrush do not pray for rain,
but anchor themselves
to this hard dry place
and wait for whatever comes.
They truly live by grace.
This is their faith.

I Cannot Ask

I cannot ask the clover
to be anything more
than clover,
or the sun to shine brighter,
of the night to be shorter,
or the frost to forbear.
I cannot ask the wind
to change direction,
or the pinyon
to be taller than the poplars.
I cannot ask the sparrows
to stop twittering
in the bushes.
I cannot ask nature
for more or less
than what it already is.

Dreaming

snow's coming again to today
I sit at the window
looking at my garden
dreaming of what
will be growing come spring

I Watch

I watch
as the slightest hint
of a breeze
moves this blade of grass
while a sparrow
watches the garden
and I watch
the sparrow