Come Now,

There are wretched

fights we could have

over differences of opinions,

we could shout

and call each other names,

prove our points again and again

amid the thump thump cadence

of our too-much-human hearts

But the hour grows late,

the climate contrary,

and all the fight in me

would rather grow vegetables

and plant trees

for generations of creatures and people

who may be no relation at all

except by heart

The future

will come unbidden

whether we shake hands

and rise to meet it together

or quarrel with ourselves

to the end, so let us

walk in sweet togetherness

rather than bitter separation

Come now, the sea is rising,

the earth claps her hands

and rocks the ground,

trying with every kind of weather

to reach her fractious babes,

but we cannot seem to listen

over the sound of our own

terrible thoughts and deeds

Haven’t we already proven

that hate makes skeletons

of us all

much sooner than necessary?

And over here, have you noticed

trees are budding along their tips

and the squirrels are basking

in the almost spring sun

What a world of beauty we ignore

in order to prove

we are in the running

for a fast race

to the finish line of humanity,

where no one wins, while

the birds sing the sun awake

and new leaves unfurl

Come now, there is no reason

more important

than the light sparkling from your eyes

into mine, than your smile

sharing this human story,

there is no reason

more important

than this

Thoughts on Poetry

Often when the hour grows later,

poetry’s urgency becomes greater

to visit minds through the ages 

and be inscribed onto pages,

(often working without wages)

Poems, once the right words are found

expect us to find them quite profound,

to appreciate each syllable and sound

as we go and write them down

If we find them true and deep,

we memorize the ones we want to keep,

and poems accept that honor too,

recognizing it as their due

No matter the wit of their lyric bent,

how many metaphors came or went

poems don’t lord it over prose

though they like to keep it on its toes

Life relates in mostly prose,

told as a story as one grows,

but when events bring deep pain

we reach for poetry again

Red Rock

Sit under the red

rock arches

of the past,

where friends and family

have gone to dust

Sift your fingers

through the sand,

tiny fragments

of weathered stone and bone,

and imagine

Some day

you too, will be beyond memory,

forgotten by every human mind

until only the earth

remembers

And yet, every thought

every breath, every laugh

the world collects

into a whole

that is shared with all

You are made of

history, and full of particles

of those you have not met,

every stranger,

self

You may try and try

to make your mark upon the world

and yet, without striving

you have already become

part of this earth collective

An integral part

of past and future

that someday

someone may sift their hands

through

The Fog

The fog has slept all night

upon the ground,

barely waking to sit up

and climb the sky

with chill fingers

It clings to trees

and ghosts the houses,

thickening the air

with all the words

we cannot say

The words that would make

this world real,

real as the fires

that turn acres

into kindling

Real as the bodies

curled in sleep

in doorways of despair

town after town,

city after city

The fog finally reaches

right into daylight

and takes the long sentences

filled with all the words we cannot say

and says them, says them all

Your Metal

Test your metal,

let it sing to you

under the tap tap hammer

of everyday life

The instrument of air

will play tunes

upon that windchime

of yours

Enough fire will form

any tool you’ll ever need

to dig or till,

sew or bejewel

Your metal will serve you well

as weapons sing

through the air

in fierce metallic cries

Your metal-

perfectly balanced

between life and death,

love and loss

Someday,

every bit of your metal

will fall down

into earth’s veins again

Death, that metallurgist,

will render you

forge ready

once more

And

who knows what

you will then

become?

Five Minutes

In five minutes

you can change your mind

or your life,

write a poem,

end a relationship,

answer the phone,

drink a cup of coffee,

win a prize,

count three hundred seconds,

forgive yourself or another,

laugh uproariously,

listen carefully,

quit a job.

In five minutes

you can change your mind

or your life,

stand up to injustice

start a relationship,

give a speech,

read a book,

donate to a cause,

start a new job,

appreciate yourself or another,

weep many tears,

help a stranger.

In five minutes

you can change your life

or not.

Feast of Stars

Through the rocky crags

we can see a whole feast of stars

laid out against the sky

in an infinite banquet

of sound

That kind of music

only comes in the night

when the last crescendo of day

fades into dark

with a savoring pause

The moon rises,

singing her light arias,

while the stars dance

sweetly with the sky

and the earth smiles in wonder

It is then that our minds remember

ourselves, each other,

and the bountiful concert

that no human instrument

ever played so well

Neck

This long column holds

up a head full of brains,

ideas, imagination,

the power of remembrance,

a scull clothed in flesh, nerves, and skin,

and openings orbiting

random thoughts

This tube of sound and swallow

constricts around sorrow,

gulps past the bit of apple

Adam once ate

but blamed on Eve,

and sings life

one note at a time

This gusty windpipe

develops from conception

right from the heart

to nod, bend, and swivel,

to express self,

sense, nonsense,

and sometimes silence

This long slender holder

of every flowering mind

often grows tired

of lifting up

the whole human

world, one small brain

at a time