The band of our promise is losing its gild. It mottles now in gunmetal grays, and unsettled shadows. Our love, once a breeze, turns now into storm clouds, churning in huddled menace. The unfettered whirlwind of torrid love, that sizzled like autumn zephyrs in quaking aspen, now explodes like an angry front, thrashing our trust with bitter winds. We’ve fallen to the darkness of resentment.
My heart shudders in shadow, mourning my scorching words of spite. They sizzle still, blistering my careless tongue – words that never should have been spoken. Would that it rain, drowning the lands, that I might turn my face to the sky, flood my foolish mouth, charred by regret, with drenching waters of contrition. Rain that might revive the oak that was our true love. But what are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?
Such peace — wandering these mountains
exploring the shores of its lakes and rivers
spellbound by the immensity of its forests
praying it will endure the human species
its ancient secrets whisper on the winds
echoing in the treetops like quiet song
to resonate forever my beating heart
lost to the magic of this mystic realm
this wilding world of enchantments
this vast pacific northwest kingdom
I’m entranced by these majestic mountains
whose crisp whitewaters serenade my soul
cascading the boulders in its wild rivers
‘round each bend stirs a freshened zephyr
wafting through the timeless old growth
an osprey’s cry echoes high in the canopy
beautifully eerie this raptor’s haunting call
it seeks prey in the waters of these mountains
I have great respect for this masterful fisher
doing battle with a wild trout is in its nature
I need my wits and rod to fish these rivers
in pursuit of the elusive native rainbow
but such joyful endeavor is addictive
imagination ignites
a’wade in these streams
lost in sweetest dreams
soothed by the breeze
free from the stress
of this mad world
I decompress
the rustle in the tall trees is an intoxicating melody
this special place lives always deep in my heart
I am captive to the mysteries of these forests
enchanted by these wondrous mountains
my soul adrift on the glacial-fed waters
when I have passed ~ here I will rest
you’ll hear my voice on the wind
my footsteps in the old growth
my whispering on the waters
it’s my prayer for the earth
Strategy must play out slowly
protection is tantamount
but so is lethal aggression
the squarely stark contrasts
of extreme dark and light
laid out before me
stir my essence
fire my soul
rally my spirit
ignite my wonder
whet my imagination
engage my player’s drive
with the need to be right
absolutely
wholly wrapt – I ponder
I scheme
I calculate
I can feel sweat
on the verge
but I must not
to show vulnerability
to hint at fear
is deadly
I must stay cool
this situation
is at once familiar
yet it feels
exotically foreign
strange
dangerous
caught in the grip
of debilitating angst
I also feel the stir
of indignation
does he think me a fool
that I would fall for his ploy
be drawn into his trap
his feeble transparent gambit
I will not
but I feel a longing
as I search for discovery
praying I have not
exposed my hand
anxiety gnaws at my resolve
the sensation
of a hollow
empty place
deep within
echoing with uncertainty
but I embrace the moment
I believe I see his truth
his diabolical vision
it is offering me
just enough answer
that I combust
with questions
but I feel they are
the right questions
to unlock my truth
to guide my path
while I’m held
suspended in inquiry
transfixed
by this beautiful mystery
suddenly — I feel elevated
by insight
impaled by vision
yes – yes
I see it
I see it clearly
my perfect move
I must make it boldly
but carefully
because everything rides on this
A whispered crisp autumn zephyr
lifts and gently tosses my hair
brushes softly against my cheek
to tug my bright vivid kite — skyward
these beautiful, crisp autumn days
remind me so, of my loving, adoptive father
we’d leave Ohio to fish the crystal waters of Canada
and fly colorful homemade kites, from the boat dock
out on the lake, I loved the soothing sound of water
lapping the sides of our aluminum fishing boat
and the breakwater splashing of a hooked, leaping fish
contorting at line’s end, like an unruly, windblown kite
for a sad young boy, those fishing trips were magic
life after the orphanage, I still often felt untethered
a lost kite, whose string was broken – blowing away
eventually, I rose intact, buoyed on this fisherman’s love
I began life tossed and tumbled in daily crosswinds
a kite unloosed, frenzied by surrounding uncertainty
but winds of fate carried me to a loving, generous man
who tethered me to his heart, and I, to his as well
I still soar strong, in bold colors of living
on the warm wafting winds of wonderful memory
of this man who gave me love, who gave me a life
gave me a home – and he taught me to love fishing
“Don’t handicap your children by making their lives easy.”
– Robert A. Heinlein
Standing solid
I bend my back
squat
then straighten at the waist
hunkered ‘neath the weight
I lift clean the load
the warehouseman’s refrain
always on my mind
(back straight
lift with the legs)
the first test — no result
I try a second
then a third
on and on
day after day
long hours in the lab
the formula must be perfect
only perfect will save lives
drywall must be flush
and plumb
also square and seamless
meticulously
I set each sheet
with the level and the bob
then pause
to wipe my sweating brow
I curse my keyboard
do battle with fatigue
I coax the vision
to commit to screen
the first draft of my design
to then modify
and refine
until — the ultimate creation
I check the temperature
conduct the screening
evaluate the results
then make the diagnosis
without delay or self-concern
I begin the treatment
in timely manner
to save a life
wearing tight my mask
I count the stock
disinfect the shelves
gather the inventory
place the goods
then squelching my fear
help customers check out
knowing in this time of crisis
people must have what they need
these — and countless others
elements of the work I do
or did
or may yet do
and I am you
and you are me
and we are all together
in this constant labor
for our daily bread
but – this is not our true work
to bend to lift someone in need
to help carry their burden
until they again stand steady
to bend to pick & toss the litter
that clutters our land masses
chokes our seas with plastics
to seek the components of peace
to formulate the dialog
that fosters understanding
to measure well my tolerance
to stand squarely flush
with truth and level justice
to look into the eyes
of someone very different
and see with care — not hate
to admit my mistakes
to quietly listen
to try again to get it right
to visualize a free world
to create enduring possibility
for universal love
this — is the true work
the true care to keep
in the great hands final sweep
‘round the face of time
