The Way of the Tea

We enter through the teahouse door,

Where silence greets us, soft and pure.

Host and guest in reverent grace,

Meet soul to soul in a sacred place.

The tatami yields beneath our feet,

The air is calm, the world discreet.

Hidden rhythms now centuries old,

By whispered hands and ages told.

A sweet, three bites, to begin the dance,

As time dissolves in a ritual trance.

The whisk’s soft hum, a meadow’s tune,

The matcha blooms like early June.

I turn the bowl with humble care,

And lift it slow through fragrant air.

Three sips, a slurp, a quiet plea,

For peace, for grace, for harmony.

This fleeting moment, serene, complete,

Where past and present come to meet.

A meditative breath, then all is still,

My soul made tranquil by its will.

Chains

I gaze upon these rusted chains

And wonder

Of all the tasks they once performed.

Linear bits of steel forged like a molecular strain.

Banded together to hold something fast,

To pull an object a certain way,

To suspend a heavy load from a tower,

What strength, what power

Devised by man.

To ease the burden of a difficult task,

To secure a thing of value to its place,

To hold me tight to a core belief.

Ah, but these chains have a duality,

It would seem to me.

Hard and gray, functional but not beautiful.

Heavy with the weight of oppression,

They confine and restrict,

Subduing the perceived offender,

Chafing both skin and mind,

Sinister in its purpose,

I find.

And is that not the nature

Of all things made by the hand of man?

To build and preserve as a noble task

The ugly chains we forever cast.

Prayer by the Lake

To whom do you pray when the day is dark?

And if those prayers are left unanswered,

Where do you turn?

For what do you pray when your soul is troubled,

A miracle in time or a simple smile?

What have you learned?

Does it matter if I pray in the day or the night,

Before I sleep or when I wake,

To make it right?

And where should I pray to feel His presence,

A house of stone or by a shimmering lake?

Show me the light.

Tell me why I should pray at all in the end,

Without certainty, no receipt do I take,

Just thoughts to send.

Does it matter then if it’s to no avail?

If it’s the deed itself that matters most,

To help me mend.

The Last of Us

From this chaos to that

and back again.

A sign of the times

in which we live.

No fear no foul,

No taste no waste.

Look for the one who stands

above us all,

On a throne without a crown,

sneering and lying.

Look for the fool who follows

beneath the robes,

seeking life saving affirmation,

indecent and cruel.

See the ghosts of the nation’s past

buried within the pages,

obscured from the literal truth,

crying and lamenting.

See the last of us

gathered along the shore,

horror on the stoney faces,

ridiculed and rejected.

On to the next paradigm

and back again,

reeling in a dystopic future

with nothing left to hold.

No law no crime,

No reason no rhyme.

Just Old Men Now

We are, all of us, just old men now.

Who carry the burden of time and change.

The aging rock stars, idols of my youth,

The tough guy actors who beat the odds,

The underdog athlete’s spectacular range.

I can see them still when time will allow

Those old memories to surface somehow.

But fame offers a poor bargain revealed,

To age in the public eye in a final reel.

For you are forever competing with

The glory days of your younger self.

So I am thankful to age in anonymity

With friends and family in my company

Growing old at the same pace as me.

She Sweeps the Steps

Solace, in a word, is what she seeks

The columns rise above the fallen leaves

From the shadows of the hall portraits speak

And still she sweeps the steps.

The chairs arranged in long obedient rows

Awaiting an audience she will never know

They come from the palaces, they come from the courts

But only silence does she hear.

It is quiet now in the cool morning hour

Clutching the broom like a treasured heirloom

The movement a relief to assuage the grief

And the leaves tumble down.

How could we know the loss she conceals

She is hardly seen by those who walk near

They hurry on in their blind measured fear

Past the woman who sweeps the steps.

So many hidden stories never to be told

A simple task to find relief from the cold

A loneliness found in a loved one’s loss

And still she sweeps the steps.

The task is done but the pain lingers on

When will she reach the end of her will

Head bowed in silence, she begins to weep

Solace, in a word, is why she sweeps.

Saguaro

I stand among these ancient pillars,

Monuments to the test of time.

As silent witnesses they rise

High above the desert floor. Old

As the stars, they point to the heavens.

A testament to their longevity

In a world limited by time.

Enduring, Growing, Reaching

For the darkening sky.

Cast in absurd shapes,

Human in their form,

Alien in their presence.

A sight as strange as men can see.

They appear to move in the fading Twilight,

A marching force without Formation.

Where the shadows bend to black.

Where endless sunrises and sunsets,

In this desert space,

Come and go in a timeless place.

Transcending all earthly bounds,

Mystical apparitions from a forgotten age,

Mocking the limitations of my mortal life.

Descendants of the Tohono O’odham,

The Pascua Yaqui, the Apache.

They remind us, in the blue hour,

That the spirit lives in perpetuity.

If we take the time to look

For those who take the time to see.

In Repose

She rises from her slumber

Upon a misty bed of green.

Her petals softly spread

A burst of color in her dream.

But her quiet eyes admit

That the memory lingers still.

Her slim leafy heart opens

A soul weeps its silent will.

She shakes those bright pink petals

To dislodge those final dreams.

Soon she slips from nature’s bed

A flower rising, or so it seems.

Her limbs reaching forward

Her stem a slender arch.

Then her entire flower quivers

A sudden shiver on the march.

When, moment of moments sigh

She turns a dew dropped face to me.

I see her sad fading smile

For a love not meant to be.

The Shipwreck

Suddenly a ghostly form in the shape of a ship

Miles below the storm an underwater crypt.

Lying broken at the bottom a fate all mariners fear

A prize for Neptune’s gotham in darkness now made clear.

A link to the distant past carrying some priceless treasure

Hidden under the mast sealed in liquid pressure.

Sadness for the souls who once walked her decks

Or swung from tangled hammocks floating free as tiny specks.

Silent fish swim in schools looking for a humble haven

Glowing like living jewels swift in their evasion.

As we hover in our place the seabed rises up

To conceal the secret space over the tomb we now corrupt.

Her graceful beams are rotten a once proud vessel lies

Now all but forgotten her legacy yet to rise.

What is it about the sea that draws us to the task

To solve another mystery of the fate of men once cast?

And those of us who stand along this crooked shore

Cry courage for the damned whose souls are evermore.

Innocence Lost

I watch as his body bathes

In the shallow mountain stream,

By the glowing twilight of this day.

His head bowed in quiet study.

The late afternoon sun reflecting

Softly from his youthful frame.

An innocence personified

By untroubled thoughts and dreams,

As pure as the cool dark pool

Where he plays with the little fish.

A child unaffected by the past

Or the burdens of the present.

A boy’s wishful indifference lost

In a world of his own making.

I wish to hold you forever

In this moment of childhood bliss.

There is so much you do not know

Of the sorrow in this world;

The fear that will grow like a weed,

The pride and the pain, you will learn,

Fall like rain. And you will come

To know them all, and recall

That moment in the sun when

You were carefree,

Your time your own,

Your play your dream.

Sheltered, protected, unaware

Of the world beyond your play.

The future is yours, but it can wait!

I am saddened to know your destiny.

I fear for you and what will be.

An innocence lost!

The water is cool and clear,

The sun is warm and bright.

But someday you will realize

There is a price to be paid

To live in this world we have made.

And for that I am truly sorry.

On the Beach

Let me not ask favor this day,

For our time soon must end.

The Hummingbird hovers then flees,

A flower to attend.

Like birds we flit from chore to chore,

Consumed by endless day.

But we all know that night must fall,

And send us on our way.

The weather will bring what it may,

A storm upon the sea.

Thick clouds upon the horizon,

A rainy day for me.

Farewell blus skies in days of old,

My thoughts like heavy weights.

Will you come and sit next to me,

Share my uncommon fate?

Let’s take a chance on the morrow,

Go jogging in the surf!

Let’s roll the dice and spit the spice,

Lie naked on the turf!

Unscripted, that’s life, some would say.

So little left to hold

Once the final account comes due.

If simple truth be told.

Simple Pleasures

The smell of her hair on a pillow laid bare / Although her bedside lies empty /I know she was just there / I roll back to my space / For a few minutes more / Not quite awake, I wonder / What the day has in store.

A warm cup of coffee / On a cool spring morn / cradled in my hands like a precious orb / The warmth extending to my soul / And then I sip that first silent sip / A soothing liquid for my lips / And in mind and body, I am whole.

The tick-tock of the second hand / As it sweeps around the clock / In this quiet room I hear / Other simple sounds both near, and far / The warm air moving through the vent / The low rumble of a passing car / My living breath / All seem heaven sent.

In the garden by the foothills / May flowers begin to bloom / As a soft breeze shakes the petals gently / The colors dancing in the wind / Tasting new life floating, everywhere / The smell of spring is in the air.

A formation of geese in a perfect V / In the early evening light / Silhouetted against the dusky sky / Strangely quiet in their flight / A gift from nature to my hungry eye / I watch them fly / Away.

I reach out and touch her face / She smiles a contented smile / A picture of simple grace / A gesture of love, such a little thing / I return her smile / Content with all that love can bring.

A Clear Choice

My mind is moving fast with recollections of the past.

Visions of the future somehow inform the angry present now.

A choice is being laid before us with outcomes vividly clear.

It’s the path we take with so much at stake and chaos oh so near.

A loss of faith in honor and truth, virtues from a dying day.

Tribal hatreds, once buried deep, point the way to slow decay.

If we could only just stop for a few moments and listen

To our better angels, our bitter hearts, and to each other.

A misguided faith redirected, brother to brother.

Reflect back from whence we have come with so much labor and love.

For life and liberty we strive, a solemn happiness implied.

To lose it now at such a cost, a righteous justice denied.

I call on you and all you hold dear, make the right choice

And we walk together, once again, on a path without fear.

Destiny

Upon such fate man’s destiny does rest.

Who comprehends the morrow’s silent wings?

To that distant day set in time’s array,

Where through a dream life’s purpose springs.

In midnight’s realm where dreams unfold,

Visions arise dark tales to be told.

Now brighter each day in the sun’s warm rays,

Memories collected both bitter and bold.

The painful rejected, a currated past,

As sunsets accumulate, new shadows cast.

The distant future will soon come for me.

Time for a reckoning of what can still be.

My journey unfolds, one last page to turn,

A revelation of sorts before we adjourn.

For those I hold dear, this truth to convey,

With love our destiny, can find its way.

The Sun Lady

I glimpse her from afar, a silhouette etched in familiarity.

Yet hers is a presence shrouded in enigma,

Her eyes veiled behind dark sunglasses,

Her hair, concealed beneath a floppy sun hat.

Swift and confident, she strides with purpose,

Legs move in long measured marches beneath a loose sun dress,

A silent mission unfolds with each deliberate step,

Clutching a blue backpack cloaked in mystery.

Beside her, a small white dog struggles to match her pace,

A loyal companion in her clandestine journey,

She never glances my way, a mirage of purpose,

A puzzle, a cipher, disappearing from my gaze.

Lonely thoughts linger, weaving a tapestry of speculation,

A face, a name, a life imagined into existence,

For her power lies not in revelation but in concealment,

A beauty imagined, more potent than any reality.

Memory

Memory is a careless thing;

I don’t recall, but I do, and

I regret it. It never seems

To be the right time or the right

Place. Is that what really happened?

I remember something different.

I tried to forget, to forget

You, to forget us. But there is

Always a trigger that comes in

The form of a photograph, a

Movie scene, a song that we once

Loved. I can be anywhere and then

In an instant, I am back there.

The video of my mind hits rewind,

and there we are, in the latest

version of a story that never

seems to end, although it did,

Many years ago.

The White Sail

A single white sail upon the sea,

a white arcing punctuation mark,

like a comma in the waves, as

I gaze with growing interest.

Slowly, the white sail drifts across

the distant horizon, taking

its time rising and falling

with the swelling tide.

There isn’t much to see, but I

watch anyway as it disappears

behind a copse of trees along the shore,

only to re-emerge again in its slow

but graceful journey…

I begin to dream.

I wish it were me upon the sea,

under that single white sail.

The captain of my memory

sailing away to a sunny day.

Slowly, gliding through the waves

with all the time in the world.

A light green sea just for me,

graceful and calm, free from

fear as I disappear beyond

the horizon only to re-emerge

once again…

by your side, my love.

To Contemplate the Sea

What does it mean to me to contemplate the restless sea,

As the waves fold upon the shore in hypnotic reverie?

The sea washes over me, my feet sink in the sand,

No firm ground beneath me to make a final stand.

I see the white birds come and scatter in the tide,

I hear their cry echo in the wind fading far and wide.

Oh, the billowing clouds that soak up the sun’s last rays,

They hang upon the horizon and drift their separate ways.

What is it about the sea that separates us from all care?

The sea seems indifferent to me despite a beauty far too rare.

How small we must seem to this blue green ocean sea,

So much bright sky and dark water running before me.

I cannot help but feel alone in such an open space,

I breathe deep the sea salt air that holds me to this place.

Standing on the edge of the earth, my back against the sand,

I contemplate the restless sea and ponder the fate of man.

Another World

I.

There are flames in the dark sky,

Night no longer turns to day.

A panoramic glaze hangs low,

Even the colors decay.

Trapped in a world of our own unmaking,

We are living it, dying slowly.

Everything we once took for granted,

Shrinking!

Listen as our planet bakes

Hot! Has a sound of its own,

A searing sound that hunts you down,

And mind and body slowly drown.

II.

Oh, for a crystal clear pool of cool

Water to wet my lying lips.

A cool breeze upon my cheek

Is all I seek for another day;

A day without rough shadows,

A day without dark sorrows.

III.

Are you listening?

Is anyone listening?

We know what is coming!

Coming?

It’s already here;

Like hot coals on a fire burning

Slowly,

A pall of smoky fear

Hangs hard on all we hold dear.

The Flower in the Wire

Notes on a fence post,

The flower in the wire.

Dreams of the West Coast,

Before the deadly fire.

Love in the hen house,

The children are at the door.

Feel like a trapped mouse,

Slinking cats upon the floor.

Flames in the dark sky,

Illuminate the tower.

Tears in the red eye,

Reveal their final hour.

Sound for a deaf man,

But no one cares to listen.

Laughs for a dead pan,

There must be something missing!