Shadows

Early morning, and the sun is low, 

The mist is rising from the frosted lawn,

 And the apple trees, so barren in winter,

 Cast long, mysterious, inviting shadows 

Expanding across the path of light.

Reweaving hope

I wish, like this brave soul, 

I could rise above the controversies 

Tearing my country — and my soul — apart. 

And yet, there may be things that I can do 

Here, on the ground, 

 To find the threads of compassion 

That once bound our souls together 

 And re-weave them into a basketful of hope…

No aurora here

Waiting last night for the northern lights, 

My camera full of colors from an earlier sunset 

And sparkles from that morning’s frost, 

It seemed fitting that the sky remained as black 

As the clothing worn by the women in black, 

Who stood that afternoon to mourn 

The violence disturbing our fair country.

All is not yet lost

When so much seems dark, 

The mountain that lies beyond my window 

Reminds me the world is larger than this; 

That the sun still rises, 

There is still beauty, 

And all is not yet lost.

Why meditate?

Asked why I meditate, 

 I might respond, “because 

Things are pretty rocky now, 

And meditation takes me 

Across the ruffled waters of my thoughts 

To a kinder, gentler place 

Where I feel at home, and grounded; 

Where dark and light coexist 

 Instead of being opposites 

And I can be at peace.

We can recover

This was what I needed to see today, 

That when things are broken 

Or get knocked down, 

It doesn’t mean the end, 

Any more than winter 

 And the loss of leaves 

Means spring won’t come again. 

This tree’s been in this state 

For at least six years and more, and yet 

Each fall it’s covered with apples. 

We, too, will find a way to recover.

A loss of trust

Our ancestors built these things together, 

Our government and our military, 

As a country, to care for and protect 

 One another. 

But now we fear the institutions 

 We used to trust, 

And watch them work against us 

To serve the bastions of wealth and power. 

How could this have gone so wrong?

Remaining open

Never lose your curiosity. 

Never miss what’s underfoot, 

Or overhead, or write it off 

Because it’s ugly, or unappealing. 

Appreciate the small things: 

A three-leaf clover has its charm, 

Though it may lack the fourth leaf’s 

Wishful properties, And a single blade of grass, 

When held between your thumbs, 

Can whistle just as loudly 

As a teakettle.

Cling to ambiguity

Somehow, to save us all, 

We have to find a way to walk 

Between opposing certainties; 

To resist the urge to climb the fence 

To safety and security 

Where all is black and white, 

But cling to gray, to ambiguity, 

To possibility and hope.

Territoriality

It struck me as odd, 

To see the mature gulls 

Gathered on the right 

And the young ones 

Perched on the left; 

The young ones quiet, 

The older ones all huffy, 

 And protecting their space… 

It’s sad to think we humans seem 

Unable to outgrow this territoriality…

No more puddles

I want a leader 

Who doesn’t keep making it rain 

Just so we can see his reflection

 In the puddle, 

Making him loom twice as large…

These aged doors

These aged doors remind us 

Of a time when craftsmanship was valued, 

And people had — or took — the time 

To invest the ordinary with beauty, 

Not hurrying to get it done 

Or living by the modern rule: 

“You can have it fast, or cheap, or good: 

Pick any two,” when nowadays 

We’re lucky to get one…

Back to the source

Deep within our souls, 

There is a place that looks and feels like this: 

Dark, and cool; still, and very green; 

The place from which wisdom and comfort flow; 

The root of our compassion, 

The source of all creative thought, 

And that which feeds our hope and courage 

When things seem insurmountable. 

Go there now, and be restored, 

That we might live to fight another day.

When things ICE over

Astonishing, that when things look so dark, 

The Sun still rises in the morning, 

Bathing the world in colors so rich, 

One might think we’d never want for more— 

That is, of course, until they fade 

Again to gray, 

Extinguished by the cruelty of ICE.

In memory of Renee Nicole Good

The evidence is there, 

Right in front of us, of wrongdoing, 

And still there are those 

Who would defend it with lies. 

We watch in horror, wondering, 

What next offense will be revealed, 

And now it’s not just my poetry, 

But hers that’s been diverted 

By the ugliness of this administration.

Stop whining!

My mom used to say, “If you can’t stand the heat 

Get out of the kitchen!” Which didn’t mean

“If you don’t like it, leave,” 

But rather, “Stop whining and solve the problem!” 

And soon I learned to make a list: 

Ten things I could do to deal with the situation.

But frankly, some days, I’d rather just whine…

A rainbow of hope

It’s January 6th again, 

Five years after the capitol insurrection, 

And across the sea of my negative thoughts, 

Beneath the clouds of discouragement, 

I’m pleased to see a tiny rainbow of hope, 

And pray that it will grow into a world 

Where all the colors are once again 

Welcomed and appreciated.

Moving forward

With the new year comes a new path: 

It may not be clear where it’s going, 

And I can already see 

That there will be obstacles, 

No promise of safety, 

And no guarantees of success, 

But steps must be taken if we’re to emerge 

From this feeling of helplessness, 

Powerlessness, and inertia.

A tiny beam of hope

When so much is so wrong in the world,

 I find this wee shed heartening:

 The thought that, for however long 

It took the moss to cover this roof 

And the ivy to climb up its walls 

This shed’s allowed a trusting exchange 

Of fresh eggs, gathered by human hands, 

And money, left by grateful neighbors, 

Reassures me: 

Somewhere there’s still hope and honesty…

To a brighter future

I know things are feeling pretty rocky right now: 

The values that lit our way for so long 

Appear to be behind us, 

And increasingly obscured 

By clouds of self-interest and greed, 

But now’s the time to reach within 

And find the courage to sail forward

 Into a brighter future we can define 

Ruled by compassion and hope.

The rule of five

Having just learned there are five 

Components to a scene in a play,

 I wonder if the rule might apply 

To a picture as well, and stare at this one. 

There are the cattails in the foreground, 

And the shorebirds in the water; 

The houses on the flatland, 

The trees on the hill, 

And the clouds in the sky, 

But do they tell a story, or just sit there? 

Have they anything to offer 

Besides stillness and beauty?

Happy New Year!

May the New Year that awaits us all 

Prove as peaceful as this scene, 

And may everyone find a place at the table.