SEN-ESSENCE – senior moments

 old man on street corner
This will be my last posting of the SEN-ESSENCE poems for a little while, as I have been consumed with another literary project, and have not had the time to focus on the blog. My apologies for not responding in kind to those who have commented and liked these poems, I will do my best to return the visits.  My internet connection is somewhat slow here in my little Mexican village, so it does take some time to reach all the blogs I love to visit.  The picture could be me waiting for an internet connection.

 

 

Senior moments

gray cells synapsing

and disappearing into the ozone,

looking forever

for what’s right in

front of you.

 

in the ungluing of the universe

as you contemplate

the oneness of the world

 

the mindful exercise of being

in the moment,

 

goes beyond an ephemeral thought,

a shortness of breath,

 

and becomes reality

as we perceive it

 

a cocktail of awe and wonder

with an olive of doubt.

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

SEN-ESSENCE – some days

 SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.

13

 

Some days

a wasp is crawling up your pant leg.

first snow intrudes, an omen of more to come.

 

Some days come and go,

when you can’t remember

what shirt you wore yesterday,

what you had for lunch,

what you were supposed to

pick up on the way home.

 

thankful you have a home,

a mindful nutherday

still growing, and shedding, not wasting

away – after all these years.

 

some days are troublesome

some trouble free.

some full of fend and forgive

with a promise of a better day.

 

joyful of remembering in kindness

all that has passed away,

still knowing and believing

everything,       now,

in wonder to perceive

forever,                        here to stay

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

SEN-ESSENCE – when you think upon it

 SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.

12

 

When you think upon it

no need

not to let the rooster crow.

 

just be glad you are in hearing distance.

 

no need to stop the rain,

seed the snow,

restrain from letting go.

 

no need to fear

for the divine evolution

is the letting go.

 

when you think upon it

what takes place,

what you weather

and are thankful for,

 

is but an awakening grace

needing not

but to let the rooster crow

 

just be glad

in the greeting

of another day

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

SEN-ESSENCE – so it is

 SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.

11

 

So it is

that old is

as old does

nurtured on the past

 

imagine everything you perceive

as nothing other than a decaying dream,

aging in an only lifetime

 

the willow would last forever

rebirthing in the soil

of your content

 

birds would sleep with the elephants

 

aging, a thing of the past,

a shadow creeping slowly up behind you

 

fragile is

as fragile does

tempered in the mold

 

cast before there ever was

 

bent and shaped by the wind

 

we remain

just the same as always

 

some age like the oak

others like the weed

 

all have work to do

all feed the soul of the gardener

 

who plants the seed

and waits for someone

who knows

there is nothing to forgive

 

so it is

through thick and thin

we learn to walk

we learn to swim

 

to crawl

from beneath the waves

time and time again

 

hello

 

goodbye

 

and in-between

 

a subtle sigh

 

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

SEN-ESSENCE – what do they do with your email

 SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.

10

 

What do they do with your email, when

your laptop becomes part of a tag sale?

 

you are out there now

reluctantly exposed on cyberspace.

a digital footprint

arthritic, calloused, fatigued,

and wary of the web.

 

generationally a pre-TV

analog relic, in love

with the ease of exploring

for the moment, the now.

 

someday someone stumbles on

your netlingo, a litany

of acronyms and leetspeak.

 

for what it’s worth,

garage sales are more obtrusive.

your life grandfathered on tables

and lawns, perused and fondled by bargain hunters.

 

eventually, everything is disposed of.

time as we know it,

the only barter

separating us from the inevitable.

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

SEN-ESSENCE – aging vacillates between acceptance and intolerance

SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.

9

 

Aging vacillates between acceptance and intolerance

or is it that we reach a stage of gestation

where we just don’t care

to hold anything inside, anymore.

 

A stage of -agenarian development

where it’s not worth maintaining

a decorum of politeness

when it comes to natural functions;

breathing,

expressing an opinion,

and of course flatulating.

 

Bodily functions have a humor all their own;

kids guffaw at farts,

women smile at fluffs,

and old farts just don’t give a damn.

 

Nobody talks about it.

Everyone turns their head and ignores it.

Life goes on.

 

On a given day, everything consumed,

is digested and then exhumed.

 

It’s how books are written and read.

It’s how thoughts are shaped and spread,

how life absorbs creation

and is put to bed.

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

SEN-ESSENCE – men as they age

 SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.

8

 

Men as they age

turn into cooks and cleaners

as if the less they have to do,

the more they are able to do,

in the art of living

 

for some, the mechanics of it

gives way to the subtle blending

of ginger, curry, and fresh cut vegetables,

sautéing in a pot thirsty for broth.

 

for others, living in a space

compatible with the essence generated

by a loving relationship, playing upon

the subtlety of the moment,

the aliveness of the moment,

just being in a dance together

simmering in a sensuous sauce.

 

then again not all men intend

upon the now and again,

and sadly miss the point of being

able to give and let live,

in the art of living.

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

SEN-ESSENCE – re-tire, re-tread, re-make

 SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.

7

 

Re-tire, Re-tread, Re- make,

time comes

when you need to stop expanding

in the universal scheme of things

whoadown, slow down,

leave behind the rebound,

spend time staying healthy doing the daily

comealong, and not much more.

 

Re-mind, re-start, re-take,

go with the flow of a transcending theme

quantity dis-abled, quality en-abled,

joy embedded in the doing and so much more.

 

It’s all about making room

for the new shoots,

nature nudging you to go out and play,

 

reinventing yourself versus

becoming  a product

of a disposable world.

 

If you don’t use it,

you know,

it wears down

from lack of friction with life,

and rusts.

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

 

SEN-ESSENCE – I want to paint a picture with words

 SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.

6

 

I want to paint a picture with words

for you to look upon in wonder

at the texture,

the composition,

the blending of content

with color and awe.

 

I want to write a poem

that you would want to frame

and hang on a wall.

 

Possibly crocheted or,

etched into a shellacked heart.

 

A poem that could be

engraved on a floor mat

welcoming you to my home or kitchen.

 

The ultimate of course

would be my poem,

blended on black velvet

with a picture of Elvis.

 

Then again maybe a line or two

to be read at a morning meeting,

embossed on the top of a covey calendar

 

I want to build something

with words, that makes you stop the car,

step-out, stand in wonder,

admiring the grace, the majesty

the complexity of form and motion

where nothing stands still

everything is moving in a dance

of vibrational energy.

 

If able, with the right word, the perfect

medium, a stroke of the pen in a dance upon a page

that generates an emotional response,

unexpected, controversial, intriguing.

 

A poem in color that states

 

what I intend

 

and you feel

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

SEN-ESSENCE – you have everywhere to go

 SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.

5

 

You have everywhere to go

and nowhere to get to,

other than where you are,

for reasons not your own.

 

This senescence, is not what was expected.

Time a diminishing number of cells

doubling, in the immediate,

only potentially treatable.

 

Life it seems is what you wake up with.

All of a sudden it is today.

 

Sure, you have a few aches and pains.

Daily your body expands and flattens,

your feet grow wider as you shrink.

 

Not going gently into night

bits and pieces fall apart

are manufactured

and left overnight on the nightstand.

 

It seems every morning the fractals

of your flesh have become more pronounced.

Bumps and blemishes appear and disappear,

mold, bacteria, and wrinkles

replacing the nip and tuck

of a body, once not in need of repair.

 

However, for reasons not your own,

a renewed presence continues

and everymorn is wonder

waiting to be recognized.

 

You are here, having journeyed a lifetime

to get to where you have a need

to step out of the picture,

and elevate the consciousness of illusion

in an endeavor to know yourself.

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

 

SEN-ESSENCE – there’s a seasonal thing about this life we live

 SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.

4

 

There’s a seasonal thing about this life we live

benchmarks that have a history,

quarterly objectives unmet and mastered,

a mile marker that you remember

in passing along the way.

good feelings ingrain themselves

at a very early age and never let go,

only, if only you enter laughing,

and somehow never let go

of the possibility, no matter

how slight the meaning of joy

for misery needs a definition

and wanting comes with loss.

There are blocks of life where life has left

holes in the garment I was born to wear.

years where the waves came crashing in,

and years where the sands tumbled into empty spaces

leaving gold nuggets and empty shells,

sucked into the undertow of subliminal anxiety

and fear of knowing,

into the comfort

of silence and forgetfulness.

nothing to hide,

nothing to remember,

the broom and dustpan of our memory

sweeping anything and everything

into the holes we create in our conscience

where all,  all thoughts and actions,

from the sublime to the inhumane,

can be forgiven.

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

SEN-ESSENCE – this old apple tree

SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.
3

 

This old apple tree

is a holiday inn for birds.

A bastion of bugs that are room service

for anything that flies, crawls and festers.

.

I imagine me as a tree

with hot apple pie & ice cream

on the menu.

 

My blossoms, particularly beautiful,

a canopy for an apple crumb and coffee

on the deck, followed too soon

by the smell of rotting apples underfoot,

 

then naked, baring but an apple or two

hanging on like loose skin

flapping in winters’ long, cold, breath.

 

I imagine being reincarnate

offering a feast of fruit

in every lifetime.

 

I’m to look at it all,

the crusting apple tree

budding outside my window,

without imparting my perception

 

for then it becomes

all that I am.

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

SEN-ESSENCE – a coming of age

  SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.
2

 

A Coming of Age

moves you from the center of the universe

to an ever expanding understanding

of just where you might fit in,

assuming of course you listen.

 

Some, like the snowdrops, enter in act one,

acknowledge an audience, and disappear.

Others, like the Hawthorne tree,

wait until everything around them blends

to the moment, guarding against trespass,

are last to leaf and first to leave.

 

Aging allows you to render the bark

around you as part of yourself.

Even in the shedding of mindfulness,

grey cells synapsing into the ozone,

everything meaning something closes in,

becomes important, if only to you,

and to what you are, to what you love,

and who loves you.

 

Some enter screaming onto a tapestry

of color that never dulls from the wear

and washing of lifetimes.

Others slip silently

into a white antiseptic wrap

their story never heard.

 

If you have managed to leave alone

everything that has touched you,

aging is the glue that sticks the pictures

to the pages of memories that mean the most.

 

Memories you cannot delete,

re-minding you of why you are here,

not just still here, in reflection

a meaning for being,

reflected in the hearts of everyone

that has orbited around your star.

 

Some age slowly, while others,

blossom and are gone.

 

Some stick like mud and harden

in the sunlight, others

a wisp of dust in a breeze.

 

When you reach a point

in the long deep obsidian season

of the mind, waiting to feel the reflection

of your story,  there appears out of nowhere

 

a covey of snowdrops huddled together

in a garden of dirt brown leaves and winter wreckage,

nature bare-armed; nothing standing

between the source of light and the receiver.

 

a point in time where,

rather than from the internal combustion

of a dark and dis-tempered soul,

in the comfort of an all encompassing light

 

there appears a promissory note

in the greeting of dawn

 

not just another day aging along, stumbling

upon potential fulfillment

 

just possibly coming to term

with the aging process

 

a process we never leave behind

or plan for

 

Comes an age where we are thankful

for the oneness of the day.

 

Comes an age asking only to be helpful

to be of service.

 

Comes an age where divine spirit

flows through you in love.

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

 

SEN-ESSENCE – The music you love no longer plays

 SEN-ESSENCE, “on the art of aging’ published in 2010, is available on amazon.  After being officially labelled “old” at 65 by the Canadian Gov’t, in SEN-ESSENCE, over the last many years, I have explored the aging process (senescence), and the attributes (essence) that make us who we fundamentally are – forever young at heart.
old women

 

The music you love no longer plays

at the top of the charts

 

the melody that rattles in your

morning mind is vinyl

 

stages of your life begin and end

like mile markers on the interstate

 

remembrance becomes a veteran’s parade of wars

with the newest and the oldest stepping in time

 

supposing there’s a logical reason you are known

by what you did, and where it all began,

somehow it chaffs of greatness bending to the whims

of what matters for what was left behind

 

what remains after the flood, the drought,

the insanity of scorched earth and genocide,

is the cream that always rises to the top,

and always will – a common lesson

in gratitude for the moment and a promise

of better things to come, just because

it makes sense.

 

songs grow old and lose their shape,

memories lingering long in the recesses of the mind

ever present, we wait for the future

to sit down beside us, and listen to the music.

 

 

Most of the photography accompanying the poems are from a photo essay of the elderly (los Ancianos) who reside around Lake Chapala, Mexico.  Los Ancianos, published in 2013, can be found on Antonio Ramblés travels! Blog:  www.antoniorambles.com

Old Habits – audio

Drawing by John Tenniel

Drawing by John Tenniel

 

humptydumptytumbled

ignominiously off the curb

and as habit would have it

when his yoke broke

all that remained

a broken shell of himself

the story told over and over again

as he was wont to do

an habitual circumstance

of letting and not letting go

old habits by their very nature

should always be a thing of the past

neither good nor bad

they either consciously succumb

to the present

or subconsciously aid in one’s demise

 

 

 

A Not So Terrible Wind Approaches

This maybe a little premature, however given the weather report for América del norte possibly not.

 

Early Winter somewhere

Early Winter somewhere

dead leaves flounder

on dull mirrored pavement

scurrying around occasional headlights

branches of cultured trees

shake off the vestiges of fall

as winter commandeers

and kingly enters the scene

Darkness is never so dark

as viewed in backdrop

of a seasons yawned awakening

a season of sleep

and fitful dreams awakening

So it is and so it has been

in this nowhere land of origin

that nature dies upon the land

that before we, even learned

that death precludes creation

she lay down, shuddering,

slept, dreamed

and began again.

The only more serene

then festive lights aglow

on empty streets

is the green of memory

of what has been

never again to be seen

until a single bud

seemingly lost to expectation

enters on a future of possibility

humbly and almost forgotten

The skinny of it

leafless and moaning of lost words

scribbling a description of the beauty of birth

in the glory of dying

Nothing waits silently

at the entrance of winter

and wishes all a good night

empty streets

silent nights

headlights passing out of sight

dressing shadows

in festive light

a not so terrible wind approaches

for in the dawn of darkness

huddles the harbinger of light

Reflection on the Great Barrington

 As the season changes, a reminder of what we left behind in the Berkshires where all  roads led to Great Barrington.

 

some nights are like this

you look out into the darkness

and it makes itself at home.

a glass of burgundy, leftover candles

permeating the air with lavender,

a subtle overwhelming nostalgia

for having passed this way

 

the window on this world is made of lace

from which you do not hide behind

but view this space, and well beyond,

with gratitude and grace

 

what you see so clearly now

reflects back on you that which

you have made your own,

the in-between of sunrises and sunsets

the experience of waking dreams

 

this place, this space of transitory occupancy

already a memory, complete with worn out habits,

is like the comfort of an old threadbare coat

you don’t want to let go of,

holding on tight to what you know

  

yet the unknown,

beyond the view of the window

beckons, the darkness whispers goodnight,

dawn awaits in a warm wrap of light

new beginnings, new possibility

 

you rest in the moment and reminisce,

for in a present knowing,

every living cell within you

carries the physical recollection

of your being here in a special place,

 

the space between the thought

of how it came to be

and how beautiful it was

 

all roads lead to this

where memories of the mind

have come to rest

you see a path never before taken

that does not lead away

nor does it harbinger a yearning to stay.

here is a place you have lived, loved

and left behind a number of times.

 

 it’s not often you are given the opportunity

to step back and revisit a path chosen,

rewrite a scene that has no end to a beginning

a move forgiven, an opening encounter maybe,

with a second chance

leaving it up to God to ask for the next dance

 

your window on this world

is as it seems,

for all you have envisioned

has come true

for what you see in you

 

light entered here

and here butterflies were born

a child found his way home

words flowed freely, easily,

although, as wit would have it

with a price to pay

for here became a stop along the way

 

and yet another window waits

upon another day

Table Talk #4

 

 

every brick in every building,

stone upon the path, an idea

born of no-mind giving cause to all that appears.

 

so much is spent in preparation,

follow-up can be all consuming. 

Between creativity and affirmation,

that of doing and being,

a moment of thanks for the fare upon table,

the food for thought.

 

I vacillate between the knowing and the unknown,

for the be-cause of it all, is both captivating and freeing

in the awareness, that I control the idea of all I see.

Table Talk #3

 

 

The window to your world dulled

with unconscious residue.

The present conditioned by the past.

 

Sometimes, the machinations of life clutter, clog and stall. 

You can’t tell the main course from dessert. 

Time for an aperitif; a timeless moment

before clearing the table and beginning again.

 

I like what I see, my future in me.

As my thoughts turn to infinite possibilities

the days grow longer now with winter passing

Table Talk #2

 

 

Negative emotion, the pain

of matterchatter manifested by the brain,

trouble is as trouble does

 

To go shopping for a cure

is never a necessity, if what you bring daily

to the table, is fresh from the market,

perfectly suitable for celebrating the moment

 

I am as good as I can be

when health and happiness are invited to dance

in the light of mental and spiritual harmony

Table Talk #1

 

A flood of all consuming sensitivity,

that which lives between

the flower and the subtle smile

 

In my kitchen

how I choose to slice, dice and spice

the world, is the feast and famine

I set upon the table for friends to share

 

The expression of what I attract

is the discretionary thought

that is born and dies in my embrace

In Our Own Backyard – for D’versepoets

I think if I ever go looking for my hearts desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard, because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.”  – Dorothy, from the movie Wizard of Oz

 

everything around us is all we’ll ever need

if what we ask for, and the angels please,

is where, and what we gently seed

we map a world away

draw far fetched places, smooth fractals,

inch imaginary centers of expectation

close together and, tether the wind.

we let the breeze caress escapades

that morph into escape, vacation in rest stops.

we are migrating monarchs winging our way

to havens that no longer exist

all as if life were not enough.

imitating the universe, we forever retreat

from the perfect place

where breath and brain birthed into light,

every vulnerable moment of our dying

wasted in clothing darkness

bending light

to showcase and shine on the possibility

of what we think we might be.

I was always looking elsewhere

for what I thought was missing in the now.

believing life,

starting as a source of light

dissipated in time, in the smog

and clutter of humanity

shining only in the mirror of others

your own back yard seemed never a place

to find the art of who you really were

to hear the soul song of your own music

shed the skin and rattle

of a lifetime in the desert.

so we are forever leaving

our molted shadows behind us

moving towards the light we cast

in our sunsets and sunrises lived

sauntering around in circles

for the very thing that resides

in our own backyard

I have cast for answers

on the very limits of a life lived

thought if I put it out there

the world would

request an audience,

proffer an invitation

to search the unknown

only to discover

what has always been

here, now

within the boundaries I set

from the beginning

fenceless, fearless

in my own backyard.

Nothing changes, yet…

 

everything does

what it is supposed to do

exchange a moment for a moment

a time in line with itself

curving ever back upon itself

repeating that which is

until all is visible, all is light

 

The same songs are sung over and over again

the same person walks in and out of your life

the same painting hangs on the wall

until you can see it

 

Then it becomes

as it always has

an image that reappears

until awareness takes hold and you see

all of that which is visible

through an inner light

Change is relevant

to your being where it happens

here and now, as it always is,

yet always is never more

than a moment, a line drawn

in the invisible memory of your mind

 

If you are so inclined to repeat

that which you have already seen,

a reawakening of a previous dream,

it is telling you to look beyond the visible

and seek the changeless in-between

God’s gift to aging poets

 

God’s gift to aging poets is convenient lapses of memory

without which scraps of paper

scribbles and scratched out rhymes

would inundate the mind

with nothing behind

 

if all the poets within you lined up on parade

each would have book in hand written in sand

for the waves of time to wash away

 

another day, another line

written down center stage

then relegated to the author’s play

 

every poem ever written

by a poet thus smitten

takes it’s chance of being

well spoken or never given

a second glance

 

so for the poem that is lost to the eye

for the voice not yet heard

for those leafed in a book

a letter bundled, in a stationary repose

I suppose it is said laid to bed

and will arise when needing to be read

Once the seed is planted

Posted for D’Verse for June 4  “Seeding

 

there is much to do in the waiting,

and nothing more we can do

beyond the act of waiting.

 

Frenetic at best,

the pause before fruition,

more painful than the outcome;

full of inane habits and ticks.

 

Pacing, pacing up to, and back from,

until something happens

or not.

a letter.

an email returned.

a message left on the fridge.

a rapid knock at the door,

then nothing.

 

all waiting on someone

to act, and in the acting

fill the moment with promise,

 

for once the seed is planted,

after all is done

waiting on the undone

is all we have left

to look forward to.

d’Verse Poetics – It’s Quotable

 

There are only two ways to live your life: one is as though nothing is a miracle, and the other is as though everything is a miracle.”   – Einstein

 

Cultivating your thoughts

 

every morning

faced with a blank slate;

memories indelibly erased

scars scabbed and fallen

leaving barely a trace

as if winter were permanent

and days having lost elasticity

accept the beauty

of just being whatever is

 

growing inside of me

the thoughts

I have to attend to,

waiting in an untilled garden

to be cultivated,

churned inward

nurtured and watered

with appreciation

for the miracle

of everything I perceive

around me

It’s a mum’s day everyday somewhere

Teething Silver

 

There’s a job waiting in heaven
for a little lady that loved the world,
and from what I know, the world loved her.

 

She began her apprenticeship
as a guardian angel almost a century ago.
Since her birth, almost everything we know
in the world today is new,
except how people treat each other.
She has seen the worst

that we can do to one another,

and through it all,

her touch would simply say,
I believe in you.

 

She gave us all the gift of giving
and taught us all how to give it away.

 

She was forever trying to pass things on.
for she had a passion for the beautiful and gentle.

 

“the heart of my child
was forever packing away
small portions of herself
emptying her neat shelves
into the safe closet of my lifetime

 

the teething silver that caps
a crystal vase
a white dolphin
grandmother’s lace

 

these were things I never deserved
for my hands are too thin and callused
for the porcelain fingers
for the delicate embroidered plates
for the intricate silver lockets
and fine boneware of her life.

 

these were the things of memories

that grace the evening years,

they belonged to the last light in her eyes”

Her environment was a sharing of how

she viewed the world as it should be,
could be, would be if only.
Because of her,
I am proud to receive
and thankful to give.

This old apple tree

Posted for Abhra’s Poetics ~ Tree Poetry at dVerse Poets Pub.

 

This old apple tree

is a holiday inn for birds.

A bastion of bugs that are room service

for anything that flies, crawls and festers.

 

I imagine me as a tree

with hot apple pie & ice cream

on the menu.

 

My blossoms, particularly beautiful,

a canopy for an apple crumb and coffee

on the deck, followed too soon

by the smell of rotting apples underfoot,

then naked, baring but an apple or two

hanging on like loose skin

flapping in winters’ long, cold, breath.

 

I imagine being reincarnate

offering a feast of fruit

in every lifetime.

 

I’m to look at it all,

the crusting apple tree

budding outside my window,

without imparting my perception

 

for then it becomes

all that I am.

 

 

 

Earth Day – All That I Can Be

The Love Embrace of the Universe, the Earth (Mexico), Myself, Diego and Señor Xólotl - Frida Kahlo, 1949

The Love Embrace of the Universe, the Earth (Mexico), Myself, Diego and Señor Xólotl – Frida Kahlo, 1949

 

only ever one glass of wine

no matter how beautiful the pair might seem together,

each crafted individually exquisitely unique

engendered with a particular essence

a minion among snowflakes, crystals, stars

yet nothing about us uniquely other than

one person, an individual cell, a single being, being human

one body, one mind

one soul of an old and scarly cat,

smugly contemplating tolerance

everything we love expresses how we feel

about this organ of water and air

this mind of matter and darkness

this exposed soul of a universal want and need

to plant the seed

that I am the earth I stand upon

I live in light and love

I breathe my air

I admire the flower that I am

that grows upon the earth I nurture

with my tears of joy

for as I turn from day to day

the wind I create caresses my body

I am the earth

I am all that I see, all that I feel

all that I can be


 if we were one light

how brilliant would we shine

the heavens would cease running away

and look back upon us

as the star over Bethlehem

or the light of Mecca

if we were one surface

monumentally varied and etched

with the wisdom of ages

what a beautiful color our skin would be

blinded by the light and sensitive to the touch

if we were one breath

drawing in everything that has been

and will be, nurturing every pore of our being,

filling the valleys and rivers of our awareness

with an inner sigh of recognition.

that we are the earth

all that was and will be

then, and all that we can see

is what we imagine love to be

Feline Trio

 

Paul Klee  Cat and Bird  WikiPrints.org

Paul Klee Cat and Bird WikiPrints.org

 

What minds you?

 

with the fat cat belly down

ears fully extended

contemplating the chickadees

pouncing on and bouncing

off the bird feeder

I’m on edge

waiting to tackle her

in mid launch.

Isn’t it always the way it is,

your thoughts playing the story,

regardless of what it really is.

Well-fed

and fundamentally satisfied,

claws clipped short,

she may just be listening

to the chirps

and the wind chimes

thinking

why don’t I

mind my own business

Me.yow 6.0

It doesn’t let you live without it

double for the hassle

triple for the insult

all pervasive,

visibly supple,

sublimely discreet.

obsequious never

with no need to speak

for unable to communicate

beyond me.yow 6.0

she always lets you know

always gets her point across

 and always gets her way

gato intuition

cats intuitively

go where

subconsciously

you do not want them to go.

They undoubtedly have

in their shifty, sly heads,

an innate ability

to sense trepidation,

hesitation,

consternation,

in your mindset.

While tapping into

the universal consciousness

connecting us all

like puppets on a string