A Poet's Lament

Had I time
to learn a craft today
it would not be poetry
perhaps quilting using batiks
or other fabrics
that tell tales exotic
or maybe origami
with it's well defined shapes
for with poetry
not unlike ivory carving
good material is scarce,
there are only so many words
the comprehending will stand for

A Time to Ponder

From time to time

speculation as to when and why

and subsequent regrets

creates preoccupation with time,

a morbid fascination with watching

the second hand circle,

certainly not clock - wise

and relentless, as I observe it,

persistent and pesky

when I think on it,

there's no slowing down

no turning back,

morning's song now a memory,

the day too far along

to be denied.

Were I to smash my watch,

"That'll be enough of you!"

and it would now be 2:01

then 2:02

and suddenly 3:20

in the afternoon

and I see that I am

simply going along, in motion

and no longer speculating

as to what set me moving

but noticing

I am much less sentimental

in the afternoons,

and for what it's worth

the only place where time

is bent to my will

is in the movies

Writing on a Rainy Day

a monochromatic blend of sea and sky
sullenly ashen gray
chills more deeply as a biting wind
carries stinging salt sweat
from foaming horses
driven headlong to dash
in an explosive jujitsu
death on the rocks
and neatly dissolve visions
of yesterday's aquamarine tide pools
and the gentle surprises of life
amid stone and kelp
and this image too will transition
becoming tomorrow's Kodachrome dream

A Cat Poem

The marmalade cat
dozing among the nasturtiums
likely doesn't think herself as such
she simply is what she is
and does what she does
inventing herself moment to moment
as she goes along

After Always

After always
when love becomes a dream
infinite and unforeseen
it takes you by surprise
and there before your eyes
a place yet you know
a place you've always been
infinite and unforeseen

Freedom

I flirt with Freedom
in these days of practice
but it's more than a theory
Freedom.
I court Freedom
in the practice of surrender
where I become free
to be myself.
I woo Freedom
in the practice of letting go
of others to be themselves.
I encounter Freedom
when I subjugate myself
to Him
and to Love.

A Season

Eyes rubbed raw
in pain and grief
have darkened the face of spring
while new life takes leaf
"It's nothing but a thing"
say some by way of relief
but that "thing"
was a significant part
of my life
was my other
and still I sting

Oblivious

Ahhh - She was that beautiful
so that men's eyes would fasten upon her
as hands molding her form;
and I don't think
she ever caught on

Oenology

Bold and salacious
with overtones of lust
and soft, deep kisses;
loaded with subtleties
hopeful glances
gentle caress'
and laughter
with a finish of sorrow
and painful regret
if relationships were described
as a wine
how do i really feel
when I just can't drink?

"Good Enough"

Had I to go some place
to be in His presence,would I?
"There are limits,you know,"
and, "It's so far,"
or, "It's not fair."
And since being "good enough"
really isn't, and
how I spend my days
is how I spend my life
I now cease to ask
"How far must I go,"
before it's considered
a sin?