"The Author-Preneur with Something To Say That You'll Love To Read."

Imagine Where You Stand

I imagine
the space in which
we stand to give
away compassion

from the center
of our souls

is planted with
lavender and
thyme.  There
are larges patches
of Greek oregano
everywhere, all around
filling the air
with a warm
tangy aroma as

we move ourselves
this way and
that crushing both
leaves and stems
underfoot.  The
weight of glory
and tenderness
somehow palpable.

I long to lay
here, in this gentle
space of giving

and fall asleep
in the warmth
of the noonday

sun.





I Have Learned

A thousand things
I have learned from
the simple standing
over and sitting with
an idea - honing its
sedimentary impression
with the gifts

of stillness and time;

burning away the
skeptical dross of anxious
hurriedness and ennui.

In That Space

In the space
between the breaths

the bardo spreads
out

it's spaciousness and
it's hollow ring;

waiting for THE
nothing

that
will come.

No Solid Thing

I have found
an emptiness
in the collection
of atoms I
call relation.

There is no
solid thing
by which I
can hold myself
against the wind
of life unless
I tell myelf
it is this
solid thing.

And
even though

if
there is a
shift and turn
it will hide
its meaning
and void in me

to hold,
to wonder and to guess.





The Ninety-Three Year Old Poet

The vacant underside
of his memory
could no longer be
relied upon to retain
the images his heart
had learned to paint
with words and fragments
of the vernacular.

Instead all that left
his lips - straight away
from his mind -
were mumbles;

inarticulate globs
and ineffectual shards
of the language he had
and still admired.

It cut him
deep, as he could
still feel the feel
that caused him to want
to weave metaphors
with the warp and weft
of meaning and repose.

He was left unsure
in his aging skin and
thinning bones;
unable to craft what
lived for the adornments
of others' days and
people afar off.

Unable to make the
sounds inside that
gave him elevation
and song -

flight to the heights.

He had learned to
only know his him
by the words of what
he had been among,

the places and the feel
of his friendships and
ambles along life's beauty
ridden road and endless
expanse of wonder.

Now, no longer able
to tell, he was singularly

only able to be.

And that,
that halved him.




Fragrant Disappearance

Sometimes
a word can
hold you up;

sustain you
through the darkness
and the pain.

Carry you
to other places
places you would
rather find
yourself among.

Perhaps,

don't read them
so quickly;

linger among the
ambiguity and
ingenuity of the
path they lead
you down.

Draw out
the fragrant

disappearance

of your soul.


Grateful

Holding out for
the endless hope

the sound of a crisp
morning breeze cutting
through the streambed
along the landscape of
my life.  A wind that
will refreshen and cleanse
at once; causing me to
look up and see the sunrise
as it crests its pinkening
orange and magenta hues
along the length of
the horizon.  Can there not
be more of these in a day;
say five or six to bring me
back to the center of what it
really means to be alive?

This one,
it shall be enough,

for this moment,
for this heart,

for now.