poetry

cultivating hope

cultivating hope

how to counter
that burned-out feeling
hollowed and cratered
and smoldering sulfur

how to raze the ruins
that’ve laid waste to your acreage
that puff black smoke
with each footfall

where to put the melted
twisted metal detritus
the toxic conglomerate
of how we once lived

how to make space for new ways
when dangerous wreckage
demands all your attention
all your reserves

each day there’s too much to do
to corral devastation
too much at risk
all the stakes are too high

the earth is too frozen
to lay our backs to this January
we can’t breathe in green warmth
and fall up into sky

but, it’s going to take more than just rage
and more than demands
more than a reckoning
and not less than love

how else can we cultivate
a new way of being
besides sowing/sewing it
singing it joyfully

believing audaciously
daring to hope

pushing our tired hands
deep into scarred soil
not giving up
until something green grows

poetry

isolation/grief

isolation/grief

so many small sadnesses
including putting away
this last filled fieldbook
closing our adventurous chapter
staring down rows and rows
of weeks of going nowhere
feeling like we failed
to do what we said we would
so many plans scattered
in the flurry of leaving

if only I believed in the kind of god
who wanted me to submit
and trust his plan
having most options wrenched away
would be easier to accept

but beyond all these petty disappointments
we’re alive
and grateful
and past caring for little else

poetry

denning bears

denning bears

tonight we will sleep
each in our own places
the deep slumber
of denning bears
so warm in our thick black coats
in our cozy hollows
of thick white snow
where no wind stirs
we will dream
calm safe dreams
of honey in unguarded hives
and salmon that jump
into our open mouths
trusting that when winter
eases its grasp
and it’s time to
muscle our way
out of the drifts
the sun will be there to warm us
the roots will be ready to nourish us
and our ancestors have already made
clear paths we can follow
to finally drink fresh water
and feel the crisp clean air
settling deep into our lungs
until all our old stale breaths
are wrung right out
yes, you and I,
each in our quiet den,
a mountain or more apart,
we trust implicitly
that there will still be a world
worth waking for
and our cubs will be
just fine

poetry

sunset at Spot X

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

sunset at Spot X

clouds split sun to beams
of heavy late afternoon light

just like the cover
of a Christian rock album
she says

someone’s trying to tell
someone something

are you listening?

poetry

To the Mangled

To the Mangled

now we bow to the mangled
three-legged dogs
soldiers covered in scars
deckhands maimed by sharks
to those whose forms changed in an instant
bikers crushed by trucks
women falling in the shower on vacation in Cancun
boys fumbling with fireworks
to the souls who stayed whole
even after bodies were broken
after the slipped table saw blade
the faltering plastic surgeon
the heavy machinery suddenly backing
and right here
on this tropical island
to a cheerful white bird
unaccountably battered by a stick
in the rough hands of a brutal stranger

Cocky’s half the bird he was
paralyzed from the hips down now
dragging himself by his beak
blind in one eye
his legs twisted
tail covered in excrement
and still when you walk past
he calls out hopefully
“Hello, Cocky!”
and if you stop
he’ll laugh until you start, too,
or cry like a baby if you walk on

looking into his good eye
you see he’ll graciously accept
a gentle ruffle of his feathers and a kind word
and if you’ve peanuts
he’ll even tip his crest to you in thanks
his unwarranted trust
pains me every time

some souls
no matter how beat down
how twisted by fate
can’t help but continue to hope
to still cling to dignity
to make us all believe goodness still exists
to trust that despite their own suffering
there must be some joy left in the world

poetry

turning off hate

turning off hate

one little step toward peace:
disconnect the loudspeakers

how much violence begins
as annoyance –
the simmering ire of being woken
when you just want rest?
the Christian dawn singalong
jars as much as the
Muslim call to prayer

in America
we have our own sectarian divides:
D vs. R
blue vs. red
north vs. south
east vs. west
white collar vs. blue
agnostic vs. religious
educated vs. working class
haves vs. have nots
(note the bias –
all my own assignments
stated first)

imagine if Fox News were broadcast
over speakers in Memory Square
or if my grandparents were forced
to take in a daily podcast
questioning their faith?

even good people break

silence saves our sanity

poetry

the quiet lounge, DXB

the quiet lounge, DXB

sometimes it’s like stumbling on
the free quiet lounge –
a calm room filled with recliners
(many unoccupied) –
right before you settle for
cold hard airport floor;
ask and
(sometimes)
faith answers