Seeds of hope

It’s Easter now; 

The seeds of hope once planted 

Have emerged from winter’s tomb, 

Yet still, 

 Surrounded by the vibrant greens of spring, 

And the sweet cacophony of birdsong in the air, 

We feel the chill of stones unturned, 

Of hearts still hardened, 

Of age-old grievances that still seek vengeance. 

What sacrifice must yet be made? 

When will we learn it’s in forgiveness 

 That we will find salvation?

Illumination

The sun, in rising, colors all our world, 

Just as we, in rising to occasions 

To fulfill our calling, promise, and our destiny, 

Bring color, light, warmth and growth 

To all that we encounter 

By allowing illumination to flow through us.

Mixed emotions

We have several expectant does 

Hanging about our property, 

With mottled fur and distended bellies, 

Waiting patiently for spring, for birth, 

And for new plants, fresh grass, 

And flowers to munch on. 

Part of me is sympathetic; 

Another part is wishing they’d move on 

And go destroy someone else’s yard…

More than one way

To me, believing there’s just one way

 Is every bit as arbitrary as this sign: 

More an attempt to exert control 

Over a confusing situation 

Than an edict set in stone. 

To have the sign point in the opposite direction 

Could be equally effective:

 The unification of movement 

 Toward the objective to be reached 

Is far more important 

 Than the choice to go left or right…

Come labor on

What takes an artist 

Hours or days to bring into fruition, 

Nature replicates in multitudes, 

Offering inspiration 

With a sense of gay abandon, 

Yet still we labor on, 

Hoping that our efforts 

Might contribute to the pleasure of the senses…

Glow from within

The late afternoon sun 

Highlights my neighbor’s house 

As I walk the nearby cliff, 

And the edges of the clouds are beginning 

To take on that golden glow. 

I like to think that aging,

 As we approach that golden end of our days, 

Gives us the same glow: 

 The years of hard-won wisdom 

Glow from within…

Fun with abstracts

The fun of abstract art, 

Whether a painting or a photograph, 

Is the opportunity it offers 

 For the viewers, and their imaginations: 

Is this a tender image, protection 

Of a child or of a heart? 

Or could it be someone with a heart of stone?

 Or a portrayal of the difficult obstructions 

 That always seem to interfere with life? 

So many possibilities invite us to examine 

Why our responses differ, 

And from whence they emerge…

Bewitched by shadows

Early morning, driving by, 

After a long, gray rainy period, 

The sun’s come out, 

And I’m bewitched by the shadows. 

It’s not just the light our tired eyes need, 

Exhausted from the effort 

 Of distinguishing between all the grays; 

The shadows, too, assuage a thirst 

For clarity, for ease, for contrast, 

For clear causality, and for the echoes of beauty

To make a wider mark across the land.

Art or craft?

I recently read that those who plan their art, 

Then execute, are craftspersons, 

And that those who begin with a question 

And let it lead to discovery are artists. 

So which am I if I stand at the cliff each day 

To see what colors the sunset will bring?

Spring sweetness

Spring brings such simple pleasures:

 Sunlight, birdsong, daffodils glowing, 

The sweet scent of a newly mowed lawn…

Lemonade from lemons

Three deer were gathered 

Just beyond my window — 

Bucks, without their horns, 

So I was waiting for a fight, 

But no: they were just grooming one another, 

So I thought — well, that’s a picture — 

But it’s been a long and salty winter 

And my windows were quite filthy: 

In full sunlight, the dirt was distracting 

For my camera lens, which only gathered shapes. 

Enter Photoshop: add some color, 

Add some raindrops and some circles, 

And now, though it’s not perfect, 

There’s the hope: that some might call it art!

An offering of peace

Though winter’s drained the fields of color, 

The balance of the scene remains the same:

 The silo’s height, the taller trees, 

The mountains in the distance — 

All catch our eyes as we drive by, 

An offering of peace in a challenging week.

Evening song

A burst of color in the evening sky 

 And the day draws to a close. 

Whatever stresses we’ve encountered, 

Whatever pains, whatever joys 

May not subside, but will be softened 

By the soothing wand of sleep. 

Fluff the pillows, let it go: 

Any resolution needed 

Can be put off till the morning. 

Close your eyes and step into your dreams.

Structure

One thing experience taught me 

Early on, in a troubled marriage, 

Is that — for me, at least —there is 

 More freedom within structure. 

So it should be no surprise to discover 

Echoes of that lesson in my paintings: 

However freely I swing my brush, 

I always seem to want to add definition; 

The verticals and horizontals 

Seem to give my eyes and heart 

A safe place to land.

Sunset returns

And now, at last, earth’s orbit’s placed us 

Back in sight of the sunset’s path, 

And we rejoice again to see 

Her glorious color enrich our world.

The lonely road

Some roads there are 

That must be walked alone: 

Whether long or short, 

The steps you take will be at your own pace; 

You’ll only see what your eyes are willing 

To drink in at the expense of thoughts; 

Only hear the sound of birds and waves 

If you can tune out the sounds of your own 

Fears and reminiscences; 

Only have the strength to keep on going 

If you remember to breathe...

Beyond the storm

It can be hard to remain calm 

 With the dark clouds looming; 

Easier to succumb to the doom and gloom.

 But though it’s wise to prepare 

For the troubles that may arise,

 Let’s try to maintain focus 

On the possibilities and hope that lie hidden 

 Just beyond the impending storm.

Persist!

If there are barriers,

 Keeping you from where you wish to go, 

Keep walking: eventually you’ll find 

A way around the obstacles: 

A gate, a bridge, a path to your objective.

Cloud gratitude

I delight in the endless complexity of clouds:

 The fact that so much beauty happens 

 Without input from me 

Calms and reassures me: 

There’s so much out there, still, to be grateful for,

 Despite all the troubles in the world…

2021

I don’t believe I noticed 

At the time I took this picture 

 How perfectly it captures 

The mood of 2021; 

The quiet desolation 

Of a year in isolation 

With no immediate prospect 

 Of a viable future 

And hope slowly dying on the vine…

Nature’s art

All nature is an artist, 

Far more industrious than we, 

As her work’s always evolving, 

And her galleries are everywhere we look.

On empathy

Watching through the snow 

As the deer graze on our lawn, 

I shiver a bit in sympathy for them, 

Standing in the cold. 

I don’t, however, believe 

 That that’s my mirror neurons firing; 

It’s just simple projection; 

Imagination at work. 

True empathy goes deeper, 

Resonating in the heart, 

 And somehow working to erase 

The barriers between us; overriding separation,

 Awakening awareness of our shared unity

And leading us to ache for their predicament 

As fully as we rejoice in their joy.

Being present

The frost accentuates 

Each vein that once gave life and structure 

To this dead leaf, whose ghostly appearance 

Calls to me as I cross the lawn 

In hopes of photographing the sunrise. 

How easy it is to miss the gifts of the present 

While focusing on the future; 

How easy it is, to miss the potential gifts, 

The broadening of perspective we might gain, 

By planning how we might respond 

Instead of being fully present 

And listening to what others have to say…

Collapsible

Our neighborhood shares a cliff walk — 

The remnants of a long ago road 

 That fell into the sea a few decades back. 

But like so much of the life that we love, 

It is vulnerable: the fierce winds and rain 

Of the previous weekend 

 Have claimed another foot of its border. 

Though the path is still there, and still safe, 

Way down below, on the beach, we can see 

The remains of the trees 

 That once stood at its edge, and we gasp 

With the shock of it: How the mighty have fallen…

Have pity

My cat supervises 

 The snow-coated raccoon 

 Through a window dripping 

 With wet fallout from the sky, 

Annoyed, as always, 

 To be sharing his kibble with this stranger. 

But how can we not take pity 

On those who are cold and wet 

And without shelter?

Messengers of the sublime

All nature reaches out to us,

 But we, blinded by our earthly objectives,

 Fail to see 

What lessons might be learned 

From these supposedly inanimate 

Messengers of the sublime.

Longing to bloom

These days, these cold and wintry days, 

Our sunshine comes, not from the sky, 

But flowers: golden daffodils, 

Who somehow understand it’s time to bloom, 

And lift their lacy heads despite the cold; 

Even the snow cannot restrain 

Their bright exuberance. 

Something within me also longs to bloom, 

But seems content to wait a little longer. 

Perhaps it is a Rhodie, or a rose; 

I pray it won’t decide 

 To wait, like a chrysanthemum, 

 For spring and summer days to fade, 

Until the Fall…

Strange beauty

All nature’s beauty beckons us,

 Inspiring us with her complexity,

 Challenging us with her constant mutability,

 Reassuring us with her adaptability;

Her constancy and endurance.

Shakespeare said it best: like Cleopatra,

“Age cannot wither her, 

Nor custom stale her infinite variety.”