La Cara es Nada

 

Wait quietly at that dark place

And be persistent to that face

For dawn will break - with a trace

Of hope and time to find grace.

February Moon

 

The night's love

Bespeaks the passion

The moon light

Has for shadows

And other things secret

Beneath the covers of snow.

What promises made

Or why regrets

Will be taken - grave.

A Sad Agglomeration with Happy Ending

 

A litter of letters appeared at the door

Seven sole symbols severed from the Alpha Bet,

Lord and litigant of all language rudiments.

 

Three were paired however, only one married.

They each and all claimed membership to one word;

Yet not one of them could define a meaning!

Nay! None knew any coherent alignment

Much less offer one reasonable, sensible utterance.

Their lack of pronouncements was indeed

their very wholeness!

Such shameful attributions they enjoined to.

Who leads; who follows and what ends?

 

This terrible type and mis-type behavior

They do tell of a place of detritus

Where fragments lie in their destruction

On some odd or even day -

“Ragamuffins all! A mélange of misdeed

A motley mess this crew of collage and clutter”

Said the Master Gallimaufry Spellchecker,

Dictator of All Dictionaries - Official of the OED.

And at once, the symbols scrambled

To unscramble their meaning:  Agglomeration.

 

And thus, all brokenness was coherent in the universe.

A Window of Winter

 

Inside the outside and at the edge of a day... 

the love shadows have for the light

a balance of imbalances

between then -

now

and if....

Equation of Impermanence

The ocean moves away from my feet

Enticing the heart to move into her waters -

Slowly at first until the cold feels warm;

Like returning to an amnion place of peace.

Fluidity is mesmerizing – taking away all polarity.

As the edge of the mortal beach

and the immortal horizon

Become one

A singularity of existence with the sea;

The waves thunderous claps silenced;

Stilled into an equation of impermanence.

What Do You Say

What do you say - when old comes to stay?

Once you’ve offered a cup of ginger-chamomile tea

Do you ask, what bairn is there left to see?

Is there wonder and fantasy of a child’s play;

A spinning top; a box of precious rocks; a feather’s pray?

What do you say - when time claims its toll?

And the youngster has crossed into the woods

With a flying imagination and a knapsack full of goods

That will keep the old man warm from the cold;

For mirrors never lie but pains do - it is told.

What do you say - when the train has long left the station?

Leaving only the luggage of gain and regret

To ponder, over a tea, how life turned like a roulette

And how the dancing ball never found fortune’s salvation.

And now, nothing is left but the train ticket’s destination.

What do you say - when it’s time to pray?

For friends and lovers who wait at the nook

Where memory belies the eye’s distant look;

Longing for one more distraction to play

Yet, the warm tea will become cold - at end of day.

Pods in Prayer

pods hold everything that was

and that never will be again

as a worship to the moment

breathe; inhale the universe

for everything holds

what will never be

nor ever was

except for this infinite moment.

Roots and Everything

In the ancient forests

the things that are rooted there

are also the things that touch the sky

and together they hold life - 

together as one body

and yet, it all fragments

and falls away into universal dust.

The Moment is a Place

 

“What place holds you here?”

The siren seemed to say with her sigh.

And so, the lad, who had no pad in place;

Whispered,

“Whilst I sit wetted in cacoethes

And knowing not – any place to be home

Nor ever thinking of thee

in wistful romantic Brahms interludes;

nor nudes of Romanesque bask!

The place I am -

is not the place I hold”

“Why do you require such fires – 

when this place is dark empty space;

lace with nominal case

an uncommon place;

a faceless mask.”

The silvery siren sipped

At the lad’s collapsing desires

And then, slowly slipped away

Singing back, “Le moment est un lieu.”

“A fond farewell to my illusions of you!

Torment me no more you shrew!”

The lad mused regret of his reject in place.

Theater of Life

Guilt tends to seek punishment

and reject acceptance yet,

pains in both -

Oscar Wilde

"The soul is born old but grows young

That is the comedy of life

The body is born young but grows old.

That is life's tragedy."

Quadrants

 

Quadrants of symmetry

contrast; dissonance;

interfuse; earth;

ether - all in one infinite -  

union

Let Go

 

Breathe in to inhale presence

and breathe out to expel nonsense -

The fluttering mind

is upset and restless

gravitating to the sense of impressions

and pursues frequencies in zest

for denial is an imagination

stilled in death without flutter.