it’s Saturday,
and the fog
is starting to burn off,
exposing the part of the world
where I live
to the greater Universe.

Who is watching?

Do they
have something to say,
long, medium or terse,

about the big thing
that I do today?

Or is it of consequence
somewhere near,
in an ordered array,
the item
where tiny ants
of origin Argentinian
have left tiny trails
where out of their holes
they’ve been working
and marching.

In any case,
to be obsessed
with whatever, whomever,
wherever they may be,
may or may not be
putting me to the test,
is a state no more worth finishing
than it was to be starting.

I’d better
bend my ear
to the wild drum
that calls me,
the hunger
by which I am fed,
the water that
sails me
and quenches me,
according to my ability
and need,
wherever my own
and others’ throats
have been parching.

Sometimes there’s just living
that will have its sway,
that will rise me above
the fierce melee fray
that beckons toward death
from the suite of excess
of too-busy thinking,
the fingers frenetic
caught up with
sinisterly complex
over-crafting and arting.

Trying too hard
will not make the best–
not in beauty
nor reason
nor any of the rest. . .

A precept
I cannot so quickly
have the faith to accept–

So, I’ll try this to test:
I’ll switch intermittently
between action
and rest,

and see whether that route
doesn’t give me more traction
and more satisfaction,
that’s more apt to go far,
and feel good,
and long last.

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


hid twixt the stones
of difficulty,
you’ll find
those little cracks
called grace.

No matter
how hard or smooth those stones
(or of what beauty),
even without squinting
to perceive minuti (ae),

when you breathe
and muster up
a calm, soft gaze,
you’ll see that,
at any given moment,
those small cracks,
in fact,
lace through the whole shebang
and do much more than just abound–

viewed in fullest light of day,
looking each place, from every way,
it’s clear that they,
are found
in absolutely every place.

Posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment


To take a break,
to mix things up
when at one spate,
+++++of no matter what it is,
+++++it’s come to where
+++++you’ve had enough,
take a breath
and close your eyes,
allow the feeling of your weight
to sink,
feel the place of skin on seat,
of feet on socks and shoes and ground,
the rest on clothes and hair and air
your body all its ways around,
in circle arc,
inside, outside–

Feel in your mind,
the nooks and crannies
where rivulets
are carved in paths
in which you’re used to think,
these lines
your naked eyes
would never find,
conniving mischief
you’re most apt to miss,
if you should blink!

Feel the feelings
and the thoughts
that much destruction
of yourself
and maybe others, too,
have wrought,
all those sundry sentiment
way down inside,
even on the very best of days,
can rear its head
and feel unkind. . .

Cry now, God knows,
without the torrent
flow of tears
the pile stagnates, putrefies
and grows,
no matter that, before
they’ve so
and so
and so much cried,

so much so that you,
in honesty,
might well have died.

But step ahead,
despite that fear
you have inside. . .

And feel them now.

It is a risk,
but if
you let them be
and let them do
and let them go,
they’re not so apt
to take you on
so much more
of same old ride. . .

And when
comes cool
and crickets’ song
with eventide,

you’ll know
new peace,
a quiet night,
and deeper sleep,

and rested well,
again you’ll rise,
so pleased to face
a brand-new morn,
and drink
the sunshine

Posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


It may get boring
or get tough,
but if you want
to keep life up,
resist the urge
to merge with sleep,
whether hot, disturbed or deep,
at peace or snoring.

Draw from,
give back
to life’s great font,
though you go
through so much stuff,
at times,
you really want to quit,
feeling that you’ve had enough. . .

Time’s come
that you
must muster up
the perk
in core
of red corpuscles,
the flow
and active pinkness
in your muscles,
the strength of stone
deep in your bone,
the stringy litheness
of your sinew,
to recall all that
you value, honor, love,
as well as those
you truly need to do,

pick these up
where you left off,
and be so bold
as to renew
what might seem
ungodly old
when you choose
just to continue.

Posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


smile and say,
“Pretty please. . .”
but especially,
“Thank you.”

then, at the next time
that you sneeze,
you’re much more apt
to receive
another hanky, you.

Posted in Humor, Poetry, Quick reads, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


allow it less
from the
beckoning bait
that gets us in a mess,

and more
from what heals, makes whole
and constitutes,
for any holes punched through our heart,
the cure.

For we still have
+++++our songs to sing,
+++++and flights to fly
++++++++++on our as-yet-untested wings,
+++++and roots to sink
++++++++++fathoms more deep
+++++and kin and friends
++++++++++with whom we’ve
++++++++++plenty more good time to spend,
++++++++++including those
++++++++++we’ve yet to meet.

So don’t get over curious,
and veer too far
toward the teetering and precarious,
if you would like
long and strong
life to endure,

And instead,
locate the place
to build a life
on solid ground
that’s far more apt
to prove itself,
more level,
smooth and sure.

Posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


It’s hard to name it
except a bummer.

you wish
you will be worth
your self and name. . .

you let the fact
of how it hurts
become your friend
to teach you better means
to your best ends,

a wonderful discovery path
that brings you life and love
and all the best things
that from our world can be gleaned,

very much,
though not exactly as
the way the year
(each year)
does, slow and sure,
its requisite unwind,
in its perfect-for-itself

all from
the darkest, coldest, and the barest
dead of winter,
into the brilliant, beautiful and plentiful
array of flowers and fruit
that we know and love
and revel in
in the brightest, warmest, highest
fire of summer.

Posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment