I’ve been having a very long dry spell with no inspiration at all. I have not felt like writing anything and so I am going to go back quite a few years and share some poems I wrote then.
A memory is what we call it,
but it’s more—-because
when spirits touch
they leave a trace behind,
an indelible imprint of influence.
If I allow you into my life
I will never be the same.
If we but speak, you become
a part of my consciousness.
You may go away, or I move on,
but what we leave behind is
the mystery of human connection,
the inescapable enigma of
why I am
and who you are.
It was there in my yard this morning
obviously not belonging
among the well-placed organized
Monster tumbleweed, snagged by
thorns that stopped its flight.
I rescued it and set it free
to travel with the wind.
So effortless, to free a stray, dry weed;
not like the pains and problems
that blow in uninvited to my life
and are caught there, until I set them free.
WHERE DO THE WAVES GO
Where do the waves go when they reach the shore,
wafting in rhythm across the lake
in their perpetual motion of shine and shimmer,
distracting us from what lies beneath
like humanity, hiding under surface glitz,
endlessly ending at the shore of days,
mysteriously suggesting rebirth
I turn out the light.
I open the window shades,
and bathe in a shower of moonlight.
As I stretch onto the welcoming bed
I hear a lullaby rustling and
whispering in my palm trees
and feel the breeze saying goodnight
in the music of a wind chime next door.