Being Schooled

Lately these mornings as he runs
by, a flower cries.

They won’t let him
stop, he’s buckled into blacktop

rules. On the way to school
he mourns what is uncrushed

the perfect blossom lonely
in the morning rush.

Tomorrow he can come and
linger here, gather dew copious

like tears on his finger
near these blooms he knows

so well. I’ll give him room
a spell, re-membering, hearing

petals fall in ecstasy
being squeezed by one

so small. The exquisite pain
of love so grand

staining skin
absorbed in this tiny hand.

Inspired by: School, Copious, Crush and the phrase “A flower cried.”

Like The Sunset Instructs

In the long summer evenings,
I scout the perfect view of his

passage, ready to switch tracks
when cloud banks mystify.

I watch the slow slip into
a horizon that keeps expanding

ever westward. Here in July,
the sun never sinks, simply slides

lower to blush the sky with tickles.
Clouds and the waters painting

in glorious improbable colors
that will lead to silvery

nights reflecting the play
to no end. And though I check

my lunisolar app, try to arrive
a good half hour before the

calculated setting, the changes
open what is always outside of time

like clues to a new dimension.
This is how it goes, gently,

inexorably, a shocking delight.
Senses stroked and plucked

by newness, the fullness
of experience. The bold inventive

light, sometimes a lunatic
visionary musician playing

in scales too high, too deep
for our attentive ears.

Our cells respond.
We hum and thrum below

our apparent sensibility.
Abandon all useless clocks

here at the threshold.
The key–musical mystery–opens

this portal where the fabric
slips, the loose threads unravel.

Don’t waste recrimination
on the illusions which held

our focus, grinding down our
spirits, chasing the dollars

so essential to survival.
This is a different way of life.

Perhaps the manna of our
heartsight is what truly

nourishes us. Bathed in this
nightly ritual, I fast longer each day.

My needs dwindle as I turn
to count these four, the

resources of my birth. Earth and fire and
water and air. (Now collected

so pay to drink, to set foot on holy
ground. Gasp, bleary-eyed through

the chem-trailed air while the forests
burn. The plutocrats exchange foul

grins and dirty money
laundered in the once clear streams.)

What impels this greed,
plotting to wring

the last drops of the planet?
Will they flee to terraformed

colonies on the moon, Mars,
and beyond? Dissonant fools.

United at last in sacred
consciousness, all beings

enter the vibrant
fibers of our nervous systems

—so much grander than we
have perceived, linking us all.

We stroke each other
like the sunset instructs,

gentle, playful vibrations lingering
tenderly, calling illumination

through the darkest clouds
in this newly painted vision

of who we truly are.


Inspired by: Scout, Mystify, Switch and Passage.  And yet another lovely sunset that slipped out of time.