The boulders' slothful migration inched them down the hillside. They moved so slow you'd never know they were in leaden landslide.
POEM: Geologic Time
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Category Archives: Poetry
POEM: Enough is Enough
The question asked: "Am I enough?" Which begs the questions: -enough for whom? -enough for what? What would it mean to not be enough? The Economist in me says no one ever acknowledges when enough is enough. [That's what we are taught as baby Economists: that the fundamental condition of human existence is that people's wants are endless, but resources are limited.] In yoga, we have Santosha & Tapas [contentment & discipline,] which seemed at odds to me for a long time -- until I considered that being happy with who one is is only in conflict with efforts to be a better version of oneself if one makes some pretty f***ed up assumptions. I've been told, on occasion, that I'm "too much." I don't know whether this is better, worse, or morally equivalent to being not enough.
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Rain Hoax Haiku
POEM: Evergreens
Evergreens line the trail, transporting me to a place -- higher and harder -- where one might expect trees that refuse to yield for seasons.
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POEM: Downstream Movement
everything is one thing. the way we are rivers. and all things are nothing; as takers are givers. i'm flow-er and flow-ee -- twisting as I'm drifting, not fancy or showy nor highly uplifting. just a leaf on a stream, bumping into others, gliding through a fond dream with sisters and brothers.
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Milky Glow Tanka
boulder churned water sloshes to mist, sunlit white -- its milky glow rounds the gentle riverbend
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POEM: Burning too Hot
The festive fires were burning hot, too hot for their own good. They melted through the rocky ground just feet from where I stood. I stepped back, wondering whether the fire would burn right through the planet to the molten core making a jet-like flue to push the planet from its path out toward somewhere strange, and by the time the fire 'd frozen we'd be beyond home range. Then I realized that it was I who burned far too fiercely, and all this from my febrile mind was just thinking weirdly.
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POEM: Choices, Choices, or Not
arches echo ahead, stretching to the end of time left into the labyrinth, right to the blinding sun it's a land of stark contrasts on one side, great adventure but great peril on the other, painful monotony of well-lit spaces then there's straight ahead: a ceaseless repetition of today throughout all your tomorrows
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POEM: Pale Skies
bleached in bright sunshine -- thin, wispy white clouds are barely seen amid the washed out skies some summer day -- sending one running for sunglasses to avoid a blinding headache it seems the world might fade into a tabula rasa, or blanch anemically
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POEM: The First & The Lost
So long ago I remember events that weakened knees. My mind a haze, my heartbeat hard my soul eager to please. When I was moved by subtle touch, a gesture, or a tease. But now that I'm an older soul I've lost that state of mind, but wish the world would grant me yet one golden chance to find the return to that state of life, where love and luck are blind.
