Fire

Burn me, tease me, strike me, free me.
Glow in heart and art and soul.
Free my mind of desire.
Dance with me, the flames you throw.

Doth’ predict, a testament
to consciousness and entropy.
In your arms, I convict
to dance, to play, to laugh, and flow.

Yet you burn me, yet you harm –
scoff at life as I turn with charm
a blind eye to your danger close;
painted color, I’m engrossed.

And so we play, night and day –
color my evenings; color my way.
I am but a dancing pyre
which is why I play with fire.

Equanimity

As the sunset plays with fire
and stirs the souls at bay –
we take to the ocean
in search of a storm
to challenge our mast and ways.

Rocking and reading, and growing in moonlight,
waiting for first sun to stake –
a claim on the day, in search of new prey –
dancing with new souls its soon to break.

But we are calm creatures of night;
from the eye of the storm we claim out right.
Endowed equanimity – blessed to keep –
where others rescue, when others retreat.

And take to the storm we must
to challenge our mast and ways –
for setting in west, and rising in east;
chasing the sun’s not a challenging way.

Rest east storm chaser for you will be blown,
but in the eye of the storm you are never alone.

Roots

Cling to water and drive down
these roots that grow the tree
so trunks may rise and leaves devise
their escape from mother-tree.

Run, leaves, to enrich the soil,
dance with the sun and wind,
paint the sky full of color
creations of my kin.

And sway, trees, in the storms
grounded to your roots;
feeble trees poised to fall,
the strong stand resolute.

For if the roots dig deep enough
into earth they’ll find
a network of connected roots,
a forest – all combined.

And in this metaphor we’re all trees,
growing roots and shedding leaves.
Digging deeper, seeking truth,
discovering unity amongst other roots.

Dig deep enough and you will see
community roots ground our trees,
bless our leaves, and sow our seeds –
and give us strength in storms.

Dig, my trees, push your roots
deep into ground
for one day soon you’ll revel in
the forest that you’ve found.

California

Bohemian shaded slandered summers,
breach breaks and sandy waves –
The sun sets in the distance,
a musty marine layer trails the day
collecting stragglers and painting with dew
the painted leaves of palm trees, pruned.

Fishing lines stoked – the evening has come.
It’s time for wanders to search for the sun
through fun and well-sought evening delight,
just to begin again – at tomorrow’s first light.
Eagar days transpire to rushed evening blues;
marine layers hold no judgement to thrust unto you.

But veiled anonymity, clouded inversion,
vile profanity all for the sake of diversion,
paper mansions, lines of credit,
fashion so sheik you can’t even get it,
Rodeo melancholy, Malibu’s design –
exclusivity has jaded these minds.
Sold on wealth, blind to their needs,
in the shadow of vanity
everything succeeds to me.

Breathe – deep breathes – slowly.
Hear my heart? Dare to hold me?
Bear my joy, burden my mind –
love me well… overlook time.
Live in the moment; the bohemian way
California culture tints lazy days.

Levity loosens the strain on my soul as
charisma weathers wanting wrinkles,
wanting to make me old.
But I am young and full of spirit,
fickly prickly fun, I can hear it – BLISS…
Tonight, California is my mistress.

Temple

Soul ascension, rope and bound –
it’s time to leave this world for now.
Breach the sky, gasp for air,
ash and fire burn my hair:
Heart soul, I am reborn.

Do not mourn for my loss,
forever now, I’m by your side.
Carry on my in spirit, steadfast and strong;
for when you’re weak I am with you,
and when you bow I shall support.
When you cry I will shoulder,
when you love – I will court.

Cleanse now, ash and fire –
cleanse this soul to take.
Purge me of this earthy body:
purge me of my worldly aches.

Persephone

Through season’s fair and winter’s chill
I sit and ponder, still. Love has left me wanting,
waiting, lusting – quietly and patient.
Yet a chill I do confess has riddled me cold
as I grow uneasy, growing too old.

A feigning glance is all it takes
to bow a man’s fortitude to break –
tall and slender, taught but not tight,
sleek and elegant – that look is ALL right.
She set the pace on that season’s day –
and now I lay in waiting, wanting to prey,
effectively effected by her subtle ways.

Persephone, speak to me…
Where have you gone?
I’ve waited all summer…
Where are you, my fawn?
My bow is trained, my aim true –
Now all I need is you.

Yet winter comes, like it does,
every year – and to the cold season
I relent my fear…
Fear of loss, fear of love,
fear of loneliness, fear of enough.
And I’ll wait… til Spring,
when flowers dance
and you, my love, come again.

Sentinel

Steadfast and strong we stand
all along – waiting for the maker
at bay. Nay he come to demand
the sun – nor he taketh away.

“Rest easy gatekeeper,
tis’ but your first watch –
the winter is long and keen
like a hawk – waiting to sweep
in cold embrace; waiting to take you
to the next place.”

The mission resounds, falling on halls
of slumberous keepers – waiting to fall,
to enter the gate, to meet – to make;
they are the sentinels of fate.

And winter comes – as predicted by son
to guide these souls to place –
only to find a new batch of young
soon to assume their new face…
n’ worn faces of gate, the keepers of late,
say “Rest easy gatekeepers, today.”

Lend Me a Word

Lend me a word and I’ll share with you
a thought, a rhythm, a poem, a tune;
A question on which to contemplate
which’ll make our meeting feel like fate.

I’ll share a psalm, a song to sing.
By fateful stranger, you will bring
yourself into a vernacular story
of wisdom, love, death, and glory.

For somehow when you share with me
your word – your eyes – I will see
a world of love and kempt emotions,
quiet lies, secret devotions.

But do not fear for I will care
for your word and story,
as my goal is to share
with the wanting soul before me.

So lend me a word, I’ll bless your ears,
I’ll write to you so you may hear
the beauty that’s in every gust
of wind, of breathe, of quiet – of love.

Back Story: At least once a week, I ask a stranger for a word which I use as the theme for a poem. Typically I will gift the poem forward to the next stranger I meet. So, what should my next word be?

Kaiserschmarrn-amalamadingdong

With taut backs and tempered laughs,
ten km’s – no more.
Fate happed on a stranger’s path
from which we took our course.
Into gulch, and valley, mulch,
through river, into rain –
in search of inspiration,
and adventure – with a plan.

And crossing paths, we found (again)
a seeker in the night, drying by the fire
to his pure delight.
With a smile painted by the pyre –
his feet were bruised and wanting more.
In discretion – we talked upon
the aides and ails of the world.
Until he said, in the dark –
“May I hap upon you more?”

With the toss of a coin
he bummed a ride to town;
wasn’t the waterfall crossing nuff’
to straighten this nomad sound?
But laugh we did with eyes rolled,
our packs became light –
eating pasta, bellies full,
drinking into night.
So much so that he said again
“May I hap upon you more?”

And to the Sound we took at speed,
chasing, in the rain.
Again, talking quite a bit
about life and plans.
Greeted by waterfalls, giggling all the way:
we shared in gay occasion
as we took into the rain.
And soon the seeker seemed a bit
settled in his place.

Off the road and out of gas,
to the boonies, we ran a flat,
back to home – into the kitchen –
the lights fell to remission.

And as we drank, and ate, and drank –
questions came and went.
We delved a little deeper to
what many circumvent.
Crazy theories with wanting more,
origin stories aiding deep pours.
So much so the mood did shift;
how far we had come,
and better yet – how quick.
So much so, to the stranger, said –
“May we hap upon you more?”

And with cakes, we shared again
the last laughs that we’d take
with the kindly stranger that
bummed a ride to town,
and tossed a coin,
and cooked a meal,
and shared his crazy sounds.

And so is the tale of Routeburn,
how sad it must conclude –
wishing our newfound friend
well until we resume.

Perhaps wiser, certainly fuller,
on questions to contemplate,
as this nomad was a little crazy
but our meeting seemed like fate.

2/15/18

I’ve met some girls;
they seem nice –
their smiles glow;
it livens mine.
Perhaps I should
investigate
a little more about them.

2/19/18

It went well,
I learned a bit.
But I’ve said too much
and so I seek again.

– For Conny and Nora –