Love relentlessly.
Even endlessly.
No conditionality.
For that, my dear
is the imperative
of now and here,
and is the timeless,
ultimate reality.

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Reach up,
eyes on the heavens set,
arms upright,
skyward pointing finger tips
to feel the sun
or wind or rain,
even if that means
they do get wet. . .

let arms float down,
and spread a bit,
and see if you can feel
and get in touch
with what’s around–

air, weather, ground,
and other human hands
with which you can connect,

and, all together here,
there is hardly
one thing we can’t dream or do–
me and you and you and you and you–
and all the other planetary dwellers, too,

with our hearts joined
to form a greater, stronger good
and with bright minds
to that very same end set.

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Think of wonders. . .

graceful light,

that elicit
tears, warm feelings, and delight. . .

sun slung in a much lower cant,
than when nearer summer solstice
our days ran. . .

ambient power supporting purging
all those things
that in our lives,
have had their day,
but no longer stay
in ease and grace along the ride,

breathing still-emitting warmth
from the pavement,
ground and trees
in our last stretch
before comes in
the chill and storm,

things morphed drier,
into different forms,
where were sprouts, seeds,
and lush spring blossoms,

upon each branch
we now see bake and and slowly desiccate
chameleon colored
bright fall leaves
that crisp to brown,

plus many other wonders,
not just these–

if you want ’em,
get out there,
look every which way,
and you will feel and smell and see
and enfold them in your arms–
for it’s a basic certainty
that autumn’s got ’em.

Posted in Autumn, Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Seasons, Spring, Summer, Winter | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


I ever wanted
to say about me
in a minute–

Work, play
in, out

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Waiting for that last fall leaf–
like waiting for the other shoe
to drop. . .

In some ways, it provides relief
but grows the stresses,
as your life’s long ride progresses
to the new,
an untrod realm
where you feel odd–
not much like you–

as you adjust to gains and losses
and wobble, less sure at the helm,
where on your toes you must remain,
ready at any further tiny change
to jump–
at least, to hop. . .

Meanwhile, though, your wound-up brain
ponders long what will befall
if comes the rain–
the beads of sweat
get more profuse–
the leaf may loose–
the shoe’s at risk to sop. . .

You gaze upon the weather vane
with its twirling rooster mane
and wonder whether
you should take preventive measures–
find a bucket
and grow nerves of steel
to stand your old roof’s patter ruckus,
and fetch,
in case of leaks from all that rain,
a fat, absorbent, mop. . .

If your winter plan is not yet made,
it’s no time to make lemonade,
lest you be caught in lack of aught
that for wind, cold and storm
you’re apt to need,
to the degree that you’d beg urgent aid
from the nearest ambulance or cop.

Such a feeling of suspension,
and a layering of tension,
which thickens with each slowly ticking second
gone by
in seat-edge-perched anticipation,
while wisps of time get stretched so long
and tiny cells of muscles squinch so strong
that they wholly do defy
each try of human comprehension–

And you simply can’t decide
whether you want still the thrill
and magic of this ride,
of having only one shoe down
or all the fall leaves heaped
but one,
which, to its branch keeps hanging on–

or whether you’d prefer
the ones still up
would just descend,
and this chapter
now would end,
and your tension at this juncture
finally (at least for now)
would ease,
and, for a little breather,
then, would stop.

Posted in Autumn, Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Seasons, Winter | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


There is a wordless feeling
when you bet your heart’s
about to break,
and fear ’twill fill with love
and grow so big,

its ventricles reach down to dig,
and with wit and love deep to sound out
fall’s fresh, thick, rain-fed mud,

and atria stretch up to scout
right through the smooth curved sky
in lines like soaring, vaulted ceilings,
which leave wide rainbows in their wakes.

This heart expansion
bids blood in,
accepting life and keen new eyes.

You can’t help
but be hit by surprise,
and this savage, sudden change
stirs deep-held tears
that beg to rise
and form a salve
+++++to heal your heart,
+++++so it lives stronger
+++++with each beat
with the sightless, seamless
skillful, loving cure it makes.

Posted in Autumn, Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Seasons | Leave a comment


If a tree falls in the wood,
and no one’s there to hear,
does it really make a sound?–
The question’s more or less profound.

But fall it does–
though not one human
body knows.

And, either way, it’s just as good,
to the nearest person with an ear.

But, if we’d go and ask the tree,
I think the tree would say
“It would make all the difference,
to me.”

Or, if not so,
‘Twould tell us it at least could say
this very dreary happenstance
had wrecked that poor tree’s day.

And, I’ll guess you can agree,
at least that much is clear.

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