A bird’s beak
cannot quite
as we do, speak.

A bird’s two wings
take it to flight,
as is its right,
and’s maybe why
so happily
and beautifully
it sings.

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But be intelligent about it. . .
When faced with the likes
of a proud and wounded elephant,
best not to fight it, shout it,
or blithely to ignore it’s there.

Respect it, greet it, give it space,
and if you can, some needed care.

Then have your plans a better chance of taking off
and staying most robustly high aloft
in a splendid sky here blue, there gray,
marbled with a smattering of plump fair clouds
found twixt the latest and the coming rains
that left clean and fresh
our breathing air.

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You’re on the road
and searching for that vein
known as the Mother Lode. . .

And, if its hid vicinity you find,
and the gold has not yet all been mined,

a freezing river
you must enter
with a sloping pan
and try your luck as best you can.

That done,
go on,
as you will,
if you must, descend or climb a hill.

And, if toward that effort,
yourself too much you have to goad,
then chance an easy stride across the open plain
and seek whatever ventures
THAT shall hold.

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Savor that
taste. . .
that breath. . .
that cheering beam of light. . .

there is no knowing
beyond that. . .

Some more may come,
for you to see–

but looms too
the possibility
that before or with
the set of this day’s sun
will start
eternal night.

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Three two one,
Ready! Set! Go!

What if not ready,
not set?–

But knowing
there’s much stuff to do,
many places to go,
and people to see,
and desperately NOT wanting
the whole thing to blow?

What if the ground
shall break ‘neath my feet?

What if my life is now nearly complete?–
Would that be defeat?

Or just a part of the the world
in its natural flow?

The nice stroll
I just had
would not be so bad
as a last thing to do
with its sunsetting glow. . .

But, yet
there’s a thing
it might still be good to know.

Will my heart
and my feet
at last
find their path
and their beat?–
or at least find enough more fun
to render it worth
that stretch yet to go,
as they stride yet further out
into the unknown,
of which
there’s much yet to breach?

I dread but still crave to know,
if I stay,
what comes next?–
Whether for
good sweet pleasure or arduous test.

The not knowing
can feel unsettling,
straining, hard going,
not knowing the way
or the end point
I’ll land. . .

but without that not-knowing,
the fun, too, gets much less–

so I guess
that obstinate ignorance,
though I’d not deem it bliss,
may turn out to be best.

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NOW EAT I THROUGH MY BLESSING (an end-of-meal prayer)

Now eat I through
this given blessing of my food
with present Thought and Love,
till my last cherished bites
are taken and well chewed. . .

If I but stay
enough to feel my luck,
perchance I could
receive and send a few words up,
to pray,
or else, softly to myself to say,
“My meal’s complete–
It was and is enough.
And it was Good!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Note: The above is a revision of a poem originally posted on 3/19/15, which I’ve now switched to the new iteration. I am re-posting it here, so that my current readers will have a better chance of finding it again, or for the first time.

Thank you for reading my work. I hope you enjoy it!

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Some old leaves still cling,
come December rhymes and songs to sing,
despite months of beat
by bright hot sun,
then stormy rain and whipping wind.

But trees must somehow
loose them, lose them,
in the end,
to let them
let them let go
along with what till now they’ve been,

and make space new
to rest
and to grow through there,
and further, too,
into all they truly are,

by light of day,
and ‘neath sky dark
poked through by moon
and dimpled with
a dazzling multitude of stars.

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