Somewhere in a manger
In a land quite far away,
Human aspirations
Truth, Peace and love;
eeked it’s message through the fray,
Far away from commercial racket,
Far away from haste and greed,
A messenger cried beneath the burlap,
He had more warmth than he could need,
The twinkle in the sky,
Beamed bright- the light held in his heart,
His plea was for the masses
each day of my birth
Make peace….
Or art?
I watch the Katsura leaves rustle,
Wind reminds me, I’m small;
the burdens that stifle me,
Are nothing at all
serious, as a shirt pressed crisp,
white as white
face the mirror, reluctant but open eyed
imperfect, soured by habit;
see as if feeling weren’t there
magnifying yesterday, up close to see the pain
I quiet my thoughts, judgment spills through me like a sieve
the sun was forecast to follow the rain;
I seek to learn, to know, to be, to practice;
even that which is unnatural
diffuse the jagged sparks of old;
see the crust form around the pool of pain
tenderly surround your inner plight, the truth as if your heart set that goal, the good
the path which invites you, the link from eye to heart
prevails through only art
just as it should
the burdens of change what’ true fine art
my outward body pleads with inward soul
<suddenly it's less heavy to lift each foot, and life the endless stroll becomes an adventure
I wear my wrinkles pridefully
as the masochist that used to thirst for blood, is busily collecting the wrinkles of time, no longer wishing to cover up the scars
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Just Listen
It is the space that’s there but not quite seen
For some, the statue amidst the travertine
It’s a queasy pang from doing wrong
But alerts you to the importance of the Wood Thrush’s song
It may be the way the sun burns through
A rain filled sky, like someone knew
Each time I sat quiet to meditate
Even the homeless woman
delivered a message of beauty
free of hate.
