As you take a look
with a poet’s eyes, what do
you see for the year ahead?
~
Red skies in morning
and more red skies at night to
warn and delight us all year.
As you take a look
with a poet’s eyes, what do
you see for the year ahead?
~
Red skies in morning
and more red skies at night to
warn and delight us all year.
For one year we’ve chopped
poetic wood and carried
rhythmic water – why stop now?
~
Enlightenment may
come and enlightenment may
go, but our words will still flow.
We wrote the year ’round
And found, during our journey,
Many thoughts to bend our pen.
~
Shall we now extend
this unlikely writing trek?
Another round of mondo zen?
What shall it profit
poets if they never turn
one and keep writing?
~
Beyond the profit
of a published masterpiece,
honorable exercise.
When the time arrives,
how will we know whether,
in its fullness, it has come?
~
The fullness of time?
Perhaps it can only be
known in retrospect.
After almost one
year of mondo zen, when might
enlightenment come ?
~
Like turning seasons
and rising and setting suns,
enlightenment arises.
How does one resolve
The God of boundless mercy
With the plague of the firstborn?
~
As one firstborn to
another, let me just say,
“Mystery abounds.”
If you were looking
for an antidote to hate
where would you begin?
~
Prevention beats cure.
Vaccinate your heart against
politics and religion.
As the leaves begin
to change, might we imitate
nature and change too?
~
Is this our time to
wither upon the stem and
fall into winter’s embrace?
And when we have found
that which we have been seeking,
would we, then, be satisfied?
~
On this temporal
plane, temporarily is
the name of the game.
What must we do to
open ourselves to beauty,
truth and compassion?
~
Look upon the world
with clear eyes, open minds,
and hearts unhardened by fear.
Is it possible
that there is more than one way
to reach our destination?
~
Not if you are a
card-carrying member of
the infamous Tea Party.
How many roads must
a man walk down before he
lets a woman point the way?
~
It’s not the letting!
It’s about the choice to heed
ubiquitous directions!
When creative juice
evaporates in the sun,
who can rehydrate the pen?
~
Creative juices
evaporate when not used,
so pick up that pen and write.
Preemptive stitches –
wouldn’t they be far better
than preemptive strikes?
~
I have often thought
prepaid consequences would
encourage better choices.
When our hearts shatter
Into shards of grief and loss,
how can we mend the tatters?
~
To mend our shattered
hearts we must be given love
enough and unhurried time.
When we’ve prepared for
hurricanes that don’t hit, why
is there some disappointment?
~
Do we, secretly,
long to shout defiant rage
into some almighty’s face?
When sorrow’s sodden
wrap envelopes soggy souls,
What rekindled their fire?
~
Knowing that they’ll be
given warmth and love and not
be hung out to dry.
When we know taking
our time matters, why do we
race against the clock?
~
The true trick lies in
taking time for what matters
and using that time wisely.
When furious winds
fly havoc ’round our spirits,
Who picks up the scattered wrack?
~
Picking up always
seems to fall to those lucky
enough to survive and care.
Now that October
has burst upon the scene,
who’s changing the props?
~
“All the world’s a stage,
the people merely players”…
Props and poems? Thalia!
I mean, lemons
are fine and all, but really!
When will enough be enough?
~
Endless supply of lemons,
prospect of perpetual
lemonade – life’s full bounty
What makes it so hard
to look beneath the hard ground
of anger and see the fear?
~
For many, anger
is a well worn shoe, but fear
too terrifying to behold.
What else can we do
with life’s bushel of lemons
besides making lemonade?
~
What we shouldn’t do
is swallow them whole or hurl
them at passersby.
If one finally found
oneself, what would you suggest
one do with what’s found?
~
A quiet tea time
reflection is a great way
to deepen a new friendship.
As the weather cools
and Autumn showers fall, how
shall we greet this season’s call?
~
Gathered together,
we’ll greet the season with
joy and thanksgiving.
My son, if the moon
could talk to the sun, what do
you think she would say?
~
“You light up my life,
give me hope to carry on,
and you fill my nights with song.”
If the proof is in
the pudding, is it fifty,
or sixty, or older still?
~
At whatever age
we are, the test of any
pudding comes with the eating.
What draws a poet
to look both at and beyond
the ordinary?
~
Longing deep enough
to strip away the surface;
endless search for hidden truth.
Is the problem with
running, knowing when to start
or, more likely, when to quit?
~
To run or not to
run lies at the very heart
of this elective matter.