Plenty

Plenty
Acrylic, Mixed Media Collage

Monday, October 17, 2011

Sun

All I've known
of love
has been bound
by duty, expectation
filaments of need

golden moments
of being
recognized
a rare flicker
in the darkness.

I sought
a nameless place
where one could
defy the laws
of gravity

held captive
simply
by the radiance
of a rising sun
between us.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Yearning

Songs and poems
jars of jam
offered up
like jewels
obscure allusions
of longing
for love

we hide
the truth
behind gestures
and cryptic brail
scratches on walls
our lonely hearts
cannot decipher.

Thursday, August 04, 2011

Quiet

The quiet river
whispers
undulating
in its fertile bed
the smooth current
barely a ripple
on transparent silk
spread softly over
algae-draped rocks.

The wind rises
alder leaves bare
silver bellies
to the sun's welcome
blessing
as I count mine
they are many
for I have learned
the value of gratitude.

Fighting what is
leads nowhere
it does not matter
which eddy
pulls me to shore
I have let go
control, an illusion
held beyond all reason
fear, time wasted.

Better to be the leaf
weightlessly floating
then drawn below
caressing stones
worn smooth by time
rising again
to glide unresisting
on the gilded light
of evening.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Statewide

This road trip sours
with each tire rotation
through the Walla Walla valley
dressed in verdant silk,
past the pulp mill billowing
noxious clouds into the air,
on the wide sweep of freeway
embracing the Tri Cities sprawl,
during the slow cruise-control glide
past Yakima's ubiquitous troopers,
rising to the desolate sage
wasteland of the Army Firing Range.

Miles accumulate
on my soul and heart,
even Ellensburg unfolding
green and lovely, rimmed
by the serrated Stuart Range,
does not dispel their weight.


The rest stop at Elk Heights
swarms with holiday travelers
unfolding stiffly from vehicles,
tottering off to pee and stretch
before continuing West,
fish-scale clouds fan out
from the front settling
on the Summit, rain
descends, accenting
the clench in my gut

brought on by a long day
spent thinking how love
may not be enough
when resolve has seized up
like one of those cheap
toy cars, over-wound
until broken.

Monday, April 04, 2011

Jain

This morning I am
a Jain practicing ahimsa
weaving meticulously around
thousands of fog-kissed webs
a minute world visible to eyes
no longer willfully blind.

Each dwelling is self-contained
woven into surrounding crabgrass
trees to the tiny inhabitants
crouching cozy beneath
fluttering canopies sparking
rainbows in the lifting light.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Revisionist History

How easy to distill the past,
sifting out impurities
so a clean silky edge
will soothe another’s tongue.

Serve up what flatters,
spit out distasteful lapses; swallow
raw memories and let them sink
into our tender parts

deep into the silted
heart of gray.

The lies we
tell each other,
tell ourselves.

We are all revisionists
editing our histories, omissions
catered to the prevailing
whims of taste and culture

until intimacy unmasks us.