Beauty and injustice

How much easier it seems, 

 Yet how more rare 

To awaken to beauty 

Than it is to awaken to injustice.

 Beauty requires no response but appreciation; 

Injustice, though… frustration, guilt, horror? 

Shamed by our inaction or our helplessness? 

Feelings that linger, 

 Haunt our dreams and waking hours, 

 Though we try instead to focus

 On beauty…

Architectural

We don’t see architectural details like this 

On houses any more, but seeing these, 

I find myself imagining the pride of workmanship 

The builders must have felt 

 To create such beauty, 

And the joy the new owners must have felt 

(And the present ones must still be feeling) 

To be living with such perfection. 

Art and creativity at its best 

Can be spiritually uplifting; 

As Eckhart Tolle says, “A portal to the sacred.”

Shine anyway

It’s important, when you feel 

Your own light is being blocked, 

To shine anyway: there’s always the chance 

That the reflected light 

 From your determined efforts 

Is igniting wisdom and beauty somewhere else.

Ephemeral beauty

So many fallen blossoms underfoot, 

Already having lived out their promise, 

On their way to dust and extinction, 

And yet I cannot bear to step on them, 

But leap across instead, 

As if they were a puddle, 

Hoping not to crush their delicate, 

Ephemeral beauty…

The play of dark and light

It’s hard to say what’s lovelier here: 

The leaves? Or the flowers? 

Each has such grace — 

 But why do we have to choose? 

For each, it is the play of dark and light; 

The textures and the colors 

That in nature, as in life, 

Offer both beauty and meaning; 

An invitation to explore, 

 As well as joy and inspiration.

Gratitude and response

A picture can’t really convey 

The magnificence of this ancient rhody, 

Which is almost two stories tall 

And blesses us with its glorious waterfall of pink 

Each year around this time; 

Nor can words truly convey 

My gratitude for this amazing gift 

And the joy that fills my heart each morning 

 As I sit and watch those pink buds 

 Turn to blossoms. 

The undemanding generosity of nature 

 Continues to astound me: 

 How can we not ache — and sacrifice— 

To protect it?

Glowing in the dark

Walking by our neighbor’s house at sundown,

 I’m surprised by how brightly this purple pops: 

In this low light, it’s practically iridescent, 

And I find I’m itching to get back home, 

To see if our apple blossoms also 

Show up better in the fading light of evening. 

There are those of us, I do believe, 

Whose true colors shine more brightly 

In darker times; 

Whose quiet worth might be otherwise easily missed.

Green and good

Apple trees blooming, 

A newly mowed lawn, 

A moon so round it stops me in my tracks 

(And wakes me up at 3am, 

Beaming love through my bedroom window) 

Life in this moment is green and good.

Hidden iceberg

From our perspective, at the top of the cliff,

 It looked as if a giant were floating underwater; 

Only his foot and toes sticking out

 (You know, of course, 

That giants only have 3 toes!) 

Sort of like an iceberg, 

Like the one we carry in our hearts — 

All the hidden thoughts and history 

That lie behind the words we speak and write; 

The secret fuel to our anger, our compassion, 

And our art…

Apple blossom time

Our apple trees are blooming, 

Their bright blossoms coloring their branches 

With rosy promises of fruit to come.

Taking that path

Looking ahead, the path seems clear, 

But then it appears to peter out: 

Should we take it anyway? 

Or live in fear 

That we’ll take the risk but then find ourselves 

Trapped at the end with nothing to do 

But turn back. 

But what will we have lost if we take that risk? 

Only time. Only time. 

 And there’s always the chance 

 The adventure will have been 

 Worth that time; 

That you might come back 

Having learned a new truth 

About how strong you can be…

Blinding preconceptions

Seen through the trees, 

 The setting sun’s reflection, 

The path it casts across the water, disappears — 

Just so, we humans, easily distracted, 

Can fail to see the fine thread that connects us 

To everyone we meet. 

When will we learn to step beyond 

The preconceptions that so often blind us 

And welcome the light and color that 

The Other can bring into our lives?

Leafy greenliness

What beauty we might detect in scenes like this 

Would depend upon our willingness to appreciate 

 The randomness, the natural arrangement 

 Of water, grass, stone and stump, 

While at the same time imagining 

(Projecting, if you will) 

Angelic or childlike creatures 

Delighting in the presence of 

A pond, the leafy greenliness of spring, 

And the warm embrace of sunlight after 

A winter’s lengthy cold and dark…

Compensation

The wind last night was churning up the waves, 

Tossing the trees 

 And hurling pine cones at our roof and windows. 

But still the sun, 

 As if to compensate for all that violence, 

Insisted on brushing all her clouds with pink; 

Put to the blush at seeing wind’s fierce temper 

Exposed.

In that liminal space

They seem to keep recurring, 

Those times when we are clearly between: 

We know — however imperfectly — 

What lies behind us; 

We can clearly tell we’ve left it behind; 

We seem to be moving forward— 

However slowly— 

But it’s not exactly clear 

What we’re moving toward, 

Or how long it might take to get there, 

Or what may await us when we finally arrive. Uncomfortable as we all tend to be 

 With uncertainty, 

It’s easy to be tempted to turn back; 

To return to the known 

 From which we walked away. 

But we need to trust 

 That the reasons for our departure are still valid, 

And what lies ahead, 

 However long it takes to get there, 

Will have something fresh and reinvigorating 

 That will help us more fully realize 

The promise of fulfillment 

 With which we’ve each been entrusted.

Feeding the future

Having carefully rid our lawn of dandelions,

 She now seeks her reward: 

How about a little cracked corn, 

Or perhaps a few tasty peanuts? 

Think of it as nourishment 

For her as yet unborn fawn…

Curse of perfection

The morning sun fashions a tapestry of lace 

Upon the window just across from me; 

A momentary gift before it rises into the scene 

And overwhelms the vibrant colors with its light, 

Just as a demand for perfection 

Might reduce the charming appeal 

Of a child’s presentation or a haphazard garden; 

A toss of flowers in a field or in the woods…

Stay the course

And on those days 

When life feels like an endless struggle,

 A path of infinite resistance, 

A desperate hanging on to keep from falling 

Backwards into a slough of despond, 

I wish you strength to stay the course, 

The courage to resist the tide of negativity 

 That threatens to overwhelm us all, 

And the grace to see beyond the struggle 

And trust that light and joy will come again.

The wall of thorns

There’s something reminiscent 

 About the choice to hide such beauty 

Behind a wall of thorns… ah yes! 

The fairy tale; Sleeping Beauty! 

But that was not the first thing to come to mind. 

Instead I pictured my daughters, 

And the ways they chose (or learned) 

To dress to mask their beauty 

 From the predators they encountered 

In the world…

Madrona skin

The evening sun casts shadows on 

The exposed skin of the Madrona, 

Which eyes me as I photograph 

The textures of its bark. 

We are old friends, the Madrona and I, 

Aging together as we stand beside 

 The sea we both have loved so many years.

A floral tribute

In gratitude to a kind friend 

Who sent my husband home 

With flowers from her garden 

(Which, unlike ours, is protected from the deer 

With a tall fence). 

In this era of division I’m reluctant 

To fence off any part of my yard 

For the message of exclusion it might send…

Impressions

My camera can’t do justice 

To the goldfinch in my yard, 

But only gives impressions 

 Of his color and his shape: 

It can’t define the texture 

 Of his feathers or his feet, 

Or convey that sense I get 

Of impending flight, 

Any more than we, from a distance, 

Can get a sense of what delineates 

One human from another; 

So much easier to make blanket 

Judgments from afar and write folks off, 

Assuming they don’t matter 

Or have nothing to offer 

Because they appear to fit 

Some preconceived stereotype…

Whimsy

There’s nothing like a little whimsy 

 To brighten someone’s day — 

Your own, of course, for listening to your heart, 

But for others, too, surprised into a healing laugh, 

Or inspired to indulge a little whimsy of their own: Permission to be and do some little thing 

That makes their own hearts sing.

May your light shine through

May the light you carry within 

Be strong enough to break through 

Any clouds that might surround you.

Spring green

A cloudy day in spring, 

And the newly leafing trees provide 

Bright contrast to the evergreens 

That decorate the hills that lie behind them.

Skunk cabbage season

It’s skunk cabbage season, 

And in marshy lowlands everywhere, 

The smelly plants 

 Are lifting their golden hoods in prayer; 

A silent cacophony of wet-footed monks 

On pilgrimage in search of warmth and sun.

Silver stream of love

There will be days when the gray hovers there, 

As if hoping to extinguish the light. 

Time to focus on the silver lining beneath it all: 

The river of love that flows through each of us.

The humble semicolon

I am told a semicolon 

 Indicates a generosity of spirit; 

A willingness to share, explain, or clarify 

Whatever statement might have preceded it — 

An extra hand, to help us 

On our way to understanding; 

A sort of waypoint, 

To help guide us on our journey — 

Much like the subtle indicators 

Nature offers to those who walk along a beach… 

(Ellipses, I am told, 

Are evidence and invitation 

To the common bond that links us together.)