Wisdom in the grass

It’s daisy season, 

And the fields are all awash with white: 

Chalk dusted on a field of green; 

Erasures on those green blackboards 

Of our youth, making me wonder 

What equations and quotations, 

What wisdom has been wiped from the soil

That we might still need to learn.

Equal distribution

This — I am embarrassed to confess — 

Will never be me. 

I have neither the courage nor the balance 

To attempt to stand on a paddleboard, 

Even, I suspect, if it were on level ground. 

What bravery and balance I do have, 

Expresses itself in other ways and other places, 

And I believe that, like intelligence, 

We all are given equal amounts, 

They’re just expressed in different ways…

Past times

There are times when the opportunity 

To capture a scene from another time 

Is irresistible…

Blue skies

Yesterday the sky was blue; 

Today it’s awash with clouds and gray, 

Which is not to say that makes the world

 Less beautiful, though possibly 

 Less distracting — either way,

 There’s still work to be done:

 A lawn to mow, a garden to weed, 

A poem to write, a protest to be made. 

Gray skies make it easier to do; 

A blue sky makes me long to stop and be.

In wildness is the preservation…

How is it 

 That some of the prettiest flowers in my yard 

Are not the ones we planted so carefully, 

But the ones that grow wild, 

In spite of all our labors?

Precious gifts

Nature presents us with so much beauty. 

How is it that so many people 

Can be so careless 

 With her precious gifts to us?

Window to the soul

If eyes are windows to the soul, 

Then what can a broken window tell us 

About what we see in its reflections? 

Are the parts that are boarded up 

To remind us of our blindness? 

And where the glass reflects: 

Is that because so much of what we see 

Is just projections and reflections 

Of ourselves? 

And that one small chance we have 

 To see through to the other side: 

Why is it so dark? What are we missing?