Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing my two poems in the May issue.
THINGS I LOVE
Long walks, Yoga, Tai Chi, swimming, Geography, History, Mythology, impressive photography, the ocean and its creatures, my family and close friends, movies, driving on an open highway, vampires, dancing, poetry (reading/writing), cooking, laughter, positive people, waterfalls, Summer, Astronomy and stargazing, live music, Art (looking at/creating), Italian - Mexican - Mediterranean food, traveling, Architecture, scarves, incense, languages, museums, heroes, singing (I didn’t say I could), waxing philosophical, trees, beautiful flower gardens, oranges, animals, biking, Skechers, candles, Christmas, soft rain, the smell of freshly mown grass, building/playing classical guitars, crossword puzzles, champagne, fire-pits and campfires.
The Horror of Dust
Dustbowl days have found us
with stiff masks, choking, and parched,
for love’s morality. This darkness
threatens us. We seek relief, sustenance
from the deeply rooted grasses torn, displaced,
malefaction is all that is blooming.
On the still screen the dead lie shriveled-stilled,
a common enough image every day.
There's no tears from the sky, to ease the
furious winds of war. No tears. Eyes seer. On cracked ground
where feed sack skin hangs from skeletal frames
much deprived of the sensible beating
of hearts with hope. Safety and serenity lie as fossils on
barren, infertile land.
Yet, we must still offer prayers for truce; send them to seed the sky,
with old memory of peaceful footprints,
even though no longer evident from these vapid eyes,
before eternal desolation
and the darkness of the dust
envelops us all and the wind takes us.
Once upon a time,
the knowers knew,
then devotion to the written word
Once used for remembrance,
there was birthed a forbidden bloom of ink,
and truth, as king, was tumbled from the throne.
The tendency for reflection became lost
as we gave over to the inconsequential,
never more imagining our potential.
It’s easier to hold on to today
than to reach for tomorrow.
And with our history lost
in the dark abyss of forgetfulness,
our destiny will be set by others.
And we’ll go where we are taken.
And all the songs you,
as an individual, now sing
silently inside the now,
will come to fade.
we stand as useless cogs
within malicious clocks
as time marches forward.
Thank you to Glory Sasikala of GloMag for publishing my poem in the May issue.
I stand tall within this orchard.
Pecans fall off my branches like raindrops.
I hear below me the cracking and snapping
of the husks caused by many creatures.
I hear animals gathering those dropped brown pearls of wisdom.
They open them like fortune cookies,
and from within them, they hear
nature’s wisdom being broadcast:
Examine everything closely.
Learn from your senses.
Play is a great way to learn.
Turn inward when its your time to die.
The nighttime hides the most secret of facts.
All heed those insights:
The zigzagging deer or coyote,
hopping and skittering mice and red squirrels,
and the ever wandering possum.
I speak to the animals by virtue of my fruits,
and in return, I receive much joy
from watching them frolic at my feet.
It is the most delightful of exchanges.