Scattered

My mind is a poem that doesn’t exist.
My mind is two banjo-mandolins, tuned a semitone apart.
My mind is three monkeys climbing one tree.
My mind is four trees clambering up one beleaguered monkey.
My mind is five zoom meetings shoving each other around my calendar.
My mind is six feet of social distance away from any useful ideas.
My mind is seven ropes, looking for something to tie them together.

Perception

I have taken leave of my senses,
left the old to receive the new.

Through the mountain I know
the truth of things,
their steady, unshakable,
immovable essence.

Through the river I know
the flow of life,
how one drop connects to another,
and all flow to the sea.

Through the fire I know
the mutability of matter,
flicker to flame, inferno to ember,
substance to smoke.

Through the wind I know
the breath of the world,
an expanding awareness throughout
the infinite sky.

Through the moon I know
my place in creation,
what I orbit, what I reflect,
what I draw to myself, and push away.

Through my sixth sense, the Sun, I know
the Light that shines in all beings.

Heaven in a Handbasket

This ride is a ricochet of chaos—

the more we cling,
the more we’re battered,
scattered, scared and scarred—

the more we fight,
the more we’re fought,
and caught, caged and barred—

until we see the Man
behind the curtain grinning,
an empty tomb, the heavens starred—

oh, then we See! and all our cares repay us.

Walkin’ in Quarantine

[here’s a video of me singing it,
to the tune of I’m Walkin’ by Fats Domino]

Well, I’m walkin’, yes indeed,
but I’m talkin’ ’bout quarantine,
and I’m hopin’
that you’ll stay over there.

I’m lonely as I can be
I’ve been waiting for your company
but I’m hopin’
that you’ll stay over there.

No handshakes and no high fives,
Just gimme a wave if you wanna say hi,
Forgive me if I seem too shy,
I love you, yes, but I don’t wanna die

so keep walkin’, yes indeed,
and keep talkin’, about quarantine
and I promise
that I’ll stay over here.

Rock of Unction

I never knew how soft a stone could be,
what depths could be contained within so flat
a slab of marble. Bathed in centuries
of tears, it holds them all, remembering that
first evening of sudden, hurried grief,
when Hope itself dissolved into a flurry
of oils and sheets and sobs, and the belief
that what was real could ever be buried.
But tears come also from joy, from the dawning
awareness of a light that shines through sorrow,
through stone, a strength that holds us in our longing,
and from that core, we lift ourselves to follow.
Thus we, this stone anointing with our tears,
find joy returned from all our griefs and fears.

Galilee

An inland sea,
its soft breath coming to rest
on the enfolding banks of my soul,
the water so still now,
as I step out
upon it.

I Got the Blues

I got the blues.

I got the blues of Krishna, Shiva, and Rama.

I got the blues of sapphire, turquoise, aquamarine, and topaz.

I got the blues of a pair of eyes falling in love.

I got the blues of a forget-me-not’s memory.

I got the blues of a bluebird’s trill practicing the piccolo part to the world’s symphony of joy.

I got the blues of a doppler-shifted star rushing through space to make a new friend.

I got the blues of a child’s laughter at a ba-lue balloon sailing into a sky filled with infinity.

I got the blues of an ocean singing to the sky.

I got the blues, and I’ll keep ’em.