Hocus pocus. . .
There is none such
that you can name
or see or feel or touch–

Unless you count
the simple power
our upright bodies
and our rippled, wriggly, winding brains
have to truly focus.

If we’ve got a dream
we’d like from little seed
to swell,

we could choose
to put it in a pumpkin shell,
and with luck, there
we’d maybe keep it very well,

but with that wet and dark and still inside,
it might not live and thrive
its best
in that specific locus.

If we want a dream
to shape into a plan
and actuality,
we need to limit
what we let enter
in our mind’s reality,

but air it, feed it,
give it light,
so we can see it,
tweak it
to give it its best chance at flight,
seeming to our existing life
more a bonus than an onus.

Our focus
lives and gives
from our mentality,
which forms the things
we think and do,
that that tend stick to us like glue,

So that with the appropriate,
associated follow-through,
we can transform ourselves
perhaps as if we’d waved
a starry magic wand,
or else,
pricked wee doll limbs
with nasty pins
that act as sure
to cause us wicked pain
as expert, pinpoint voodoo.

But, if we want to cultivate
ourselves’ best bloom,
large, fair and bright
like flower of lotus,
we best to root
and grow ourselves,
through times of sun
and frost and rain,

in happy dreams,
and the soft and solid nurturing
we only get from
our native given
soaring vision,
and sustained, sustaining focus.

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Gentle gentle gentle
That. Good. Night.

Knock wood. Knock wood.

Turned inside out,
the body-mind
the heaven-earth
the flesh, the soul
is understood.

Physical, mental
challenged, doing things
it never knew
it never ever till now could,

exhale, inhale of beauty,
love, and joy
along with sunshine, air and water
as sustaining,
raining food.

And we can stand right there
with God,
and gaze on all that we’ve so far
blessingly received and made,

and see and say
how wonderful,
along with earth and moon and star,
and how very, very, very good.

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You feel pinned in.
It is not clear
which card to play
or pot to place your ante in. . .

You up it, though,
and hedge your bets.

You fight a war
against yourself.
And think you’re bound to win.

So what if you
should also lose?
Does not that make things

Or, at least,
somewhat even?

Well, clever though that theory goes,
games actually play
in their own way,
not quite the way that you’d suppose,

Yea, though you may
both win AND lose,
the trouble is,
the part to lose
maintains its grip
and influence
on winner’s head and heart,
gut, neck and toes,
twined up and bound
in just one skin.

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The waning light.
In my fright,
a little prayer. . .

A little blip
in field of sight. . .

There is benevolence out there. . .

And there are allies,
and good friends. . .

And there are means
to all best ends. . .

the light
a bit more fades,
time now
to gather, lift, and twist
a few loose strands
and hold my work
toward setting sun
whereby I craft a tool
for my good use,
precise and strong,
and with the beauty
and the smile
of a little girl’s first braids.

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If you want to know
what another person is about,
and watch.

Observe, observe, observe.
Respect, respect, respect.
And love. Love always first.

And in your quest to know,
of this or that
acquaintance, stranger, kith or kin,
or friend or foe,
rather than impose suggestion,
with open mind
and open words, of a kind kind,
fates do permit
that, now and then,
with unexpecting, wondering mood,
you ask a question.

Leave silence till
and while
they answer,
and then,
some still.

And let it sit
and hit or land
or touch or move you
as it will,
but move, not even in your best smooth groove–
not yet.

Think and feel
more what it means for them
and what they think and feel is real,
than what it means
for and of you,
before you
flinch or jerk your knee
or rant on Twitter,
for much of what you do that way,
is not for you nor anyone your best you’s deal.

If you want to know
who stands before you,
you also need to study well the knower.

The more you do,
perhaps the less we’ll ever need
to give what-for
to any human other.

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Love every inch
of your human
and God-given

In each way,
and in each day
it does change and grow.

From each silken, silvering hair,
even down to that one
oddly puffed and side-bent toe,

Though you may feel
its perfection in some aspects
may be spotty,

and just how good
it or its service may yet get
is something at this very time
you really just have got no way
to fully and completely know.

But, so far it’s kept you,
if not
on an even,
at least
on some sort or other
of a keel,
as it’s very apt to do,
for quite some time to go.

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Put on
your jaunty confidence. . .

Because it is,
donned in name of all that’s possible,
your indisputable best dress. . .

this holds true
both north and south,
and east and west,
in Orient and Occident. . .

You will be blessed.

with that quite well picked attire,
you’ll be on fire–

and pass
with flying, bright-hued flags,
along the way of your desire,
that crucial, challenging next test.

Posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Quick reads | Leave a comment