Archive - 2002

As I was very sporadic in production in 2002, I will just put all of 2002's work on this page.

PICK A SPOT
Two women cackling
enter the empty car.
On New Years eve
it is a light commute.
"Where shall we sit?"
They bypass rows of identical
seats until
they find one that suits them.

HIDDEN POTENTIAL
How impatient to look forward
to spring's first rose bud.
Winter Solstice barely past.
Pay attention to the now,
for the garden grows still,
though underground.

There is beauty to be found
in stillness and solitude.
Recognize thorny potential.
It is not as dormant as
it appears.

For Spring will come, a
riot of color and perfumed breezes.
The rose will ask,
"How did you find me?"
"I knew where to look!"

ENCOURAGEMENT
Are you lonely, seeking friendship,
yearning for love, a piece missing?
Do Not Lament.

If you seek knowledge or wisdom,
or the source of such a thing,
Do not dispair.

Do you look into yourself,
to find your true nature?
Be patient.

For you are not barren, rather pregnant!

If you had no seed, would you feel what you feel?

Not yearning or striving true death.
Be content in your struggle,
You have life!

THE BLUE DOOR
There is a blue door
at the end of an alley.
Between the cabinet maker
and something else,
I do not know what.
You can only see it from
the train, and then
only for a moment.
Azure promise, dramatic
after dark,
under the security light.
Loading dock, receiving, or
speak-easy,
I don't know.
But I look for it
every night.

TRAVELING COMPANIONS
Alternating between clapping hands
and yawning. Tired yet
too full of wonderment to
sleep in daddy's lap.
Chicklet teeth
when she smiles. Hair matted,
her onesie too warm.
She finally dozes, head on
her father. Then,
so does he.

AS TOLD TO ME
You see my face
but not my soul.
You smell my scent but
miss my essence.
You hear my words, my song,
but miss the melody.
You graze me,
but fail to grasp my core.
You taste my lips,
but do not consume me.
Be senseless that you might
join me, and I, you.

GOING HOME
Music, soft as the first snow.
Drink in hand, I watch lights pass in the window.
The traffic jam a decoration, not an aggravation.
Headlights twinkle through wet glass.
Relax.
Wholly alone, yet surrounded.
Empty, though brimming.
Feeling peace, aware of reconstruction.
Acceptance, hope, patience.
I'm going home.

CONFRONTING FEAR
The rabbit trembles.
Danger all around.
Ears up, eyes alert.
But still,
still.
Off and running
twisting and darting through
underbrush and remembered dangers.
Tired but still running.
Looking for a haven.
Will this hollow do?
Resting a moment.
The rabbit trembles.
Still.
Still.

WING DUST
A moth removed from flames
in cupped hands.
Fragile beauty,
still capable of ascension,
leaves dust in those hands
as if to say, 'I was here.'
A moth removed from flames,
released in darkness, finds freedom.

ON KNOWLEDGE
I know I am nothing.
I know I know nothing.
I feel much, but mistrust my senses.

Vision, Taste, and Touch all deceive.

I have seen beauty obscuring decay.
I have eaten, and not been sated.
I have touched, but failed to grasp.

So what to trust, and from what place?

LONG AGO IN WINTER
You pour perfume in my palm. An
odd yet endearing gesture.
Kiss me hard and send me on my way.
I do not need your potions
to think of you in the night.
My fingertips, mouth, and eyes
remember all, so long ago when
we were entwined on a winter night.
Fleeting moments carried safely.
This precious parcel always part of me.
I can open it, look inside, glad for that time,
long ago in winter.

ON LONGING
A bowl
waits for a pitcher
to pour and be filled.
A pitcher
waits for a bowl
to receive it’s gifts.
Each without the other, may stand.
But yet, each waits for the other.
Perfection is equal measure, and rarely occurs,
though there is joy in a partial filling, or pouring.
Saddness occurs when a pitcher is empty and the bowl is dry,
or perhaps,
when the bowl is cracked and the pitcher full.

A MOMENT'S TIME
In a moment's time
shall you know a sunrise
from a sunset?
The end of heat,
or beginning of warmth.
Red-orange,
they are both the same.
How will you know?

A SLOW TURNING
I used to think human life in general,
and my own life in particular as insignificant.
A dust mote in time,
floating eventually out of the streaming sun,
into the shadow.

All the great kingdoms come and go,
men great, men small, all die.
This is no news, no revelation.
I expect in a few generations or maybe
as soon as the death of yet unborn grandchildren,
I will be forgotten.
As though I were never here,
no sign, no trace, no impact.
I am no Jesus, Mohammed, or Ghandi.
Not Hitler, Stalin, nor Herod.
I am small.

But why do I get to live, to be comfortable?
To not worry of hunger, or genocide,
or typhoon flooding my shack and
sweeping my family away.

I am not immune to pain, nor tragedy,
only fortunate to have mostly avoided it up to now.
I have not seen my children killed,
my woman raped,
or my village destroyed.
I am blessed.

But soon I will be gone, forgotten.
Does this make my time
or any others insignificant?
I am coming to think,
a slow turning to be sure,
that it is this very brevity of existence,
this smudge of time,
precious beyond compare
or comprehension.
A moment to be celebrated,
cherished, and savored.

There is too much magic here,
in nature, in others,
in love,

To think any more that it is
meaningless.