September Haiku

September suns rays
slice across verdant gardens.
Cold nights chill my toes.

—

Summer emptied.
I use days up as they come.
Silk breeze on my thigh.

—

Kitchen counter full.
Fall bounty clogs big pots.
Earth oars down the clock.

—

Rake dreams with windows open.
Kaleidescope trees.
Leaves need many big bags filled.

—

Pace this day’s flight with tastes
of Summer’s ripe bounty.
Pesto’s delight greens my mouth.

—

Morning mist weighs down dawn
Between Summer and Fall.
Coffee tastes better in cold weather.

Technorati Tags: September, short poems, haiku

Building

I like to build things.
houses of irony,
wings out of emptiness,
wealth with freedom,
freedom from desire,
passionate power
through humble fire.

I like to take things apart-
ego trips which hide a hurt child,
logic, with its webs of words
love, acid test for the heart
which burns to a fresh core,
TV, legal heroin-
(poetry now for why and WOW!)
Trix Cereal, to eat the just the marshmallows,
orchid flowers next to moth wings
because they both can fly in dreams,
light and dark shadows
which creep across the wall,
a new heartbeat, ba- dum, for each scene-
(purple crayons, into reds and blues, and violets, too),
purses, full of stories and things you need,
the layers of flavor in a slice of aged cheese,
the fruit hidden in a sip of wine
made from five different grapes,
from five lands far and wide-

as I listen to this ancient music,
this Bach, chugging across
the tracks of time,
rolling over my gaucherie
with wheedling words
loose and natural,
down these rocks,
purposeful, watchful,
timed entropy.

I build sand castles to watch
as the wind blows them away.

The quilt in the photo is from the Civil War era. The pattern is called Lemoyne Star, miniaturized to crib quilt scale. It comes from Kalamazoo, MI.

Let (Give)

I will be taking an indefinite hiatus from blogging. Most of my writing is relevant anytime, so please browse around, or do a search for a specific topic if you wish. There’s lots to dig into. I’ll be back. I just can’t say when. Let’s say I’m in a non-verbal phase of development in my life; acting on intention rather than processing.

Ineffable Present
careening, seething,
(gelatinous collision of
past and future)
Universe breathing.

Mute Mother
(whispering) (yes),
perilous fusion
resonating us.
There is no choice
but to give in
to terrifying

Bliss (consciousness).

Honor the seed, the flower,
the book, the hour
(and the subtle, singing space between)
Forgive as you go.
Let rest
all this.

A Simple Gift

Let it Out!
Let a smile overcome you-
a simple gift
which heals deeply
and welcomes another in return.

Tell a story of
your Life with the meaning you give it.
Let it out!
Open the gushing faucet
and savor the Joyful Child within you.

technorati tags- happy poems, joy, christmas poems, joy poems

Drama of Life

The seeds emerge naked from gray, rough soil.

Though most will perish as grist of earth’s scheme

their compost holds kernels of mealy toil,

micro teams, tiny mules carrying molecule dreams

to clothe tender roots, as nosy trichomes graze

close to death’s yield to suckle hungrily at her teat,

laboring forth to perhaps claim a parcel of grace

or settle for more modest, weedy informality.

This war marches on. The drama rolls fresh

with each rising and falling of seasonal flesh.