weaving the desert (hokku)

 red desert...
songs in the key
of night

one tea cup...
sipped in close company
of distant stars

desert night...
winds write and rewrite
poetry of sands 

young soldiers
step over puddles to leave...
childhood dreams 

red desert...
from waves of sands
moon songs 
                                     
sleepless, I am 
a spider in dark morning...
spinning to the light
 

dreams and epitaphs

As if my eyes were buoyed above
the view from without  yet held
in the voice from within,
and I told someone I loved:
"watch... as my body grows still".

Floated as if on a sea of space
where time were air and salty wind;
the unforgiving roll of tides
gives back all that it keeps.

Raised from deeps to flotsam and shore
a mild foundering, return to the Sun.
For every ending is a thing begun, again
each tear a place where love begins.

As I grow still, thoughts touch a tree-
such a journey; the broad abyss of life to naught
is but a fracture of breath, healed by will.
Yet ...grown still, only the buoy and eye
can deny the end, as I watch a curtain fall
'tween me and someone I love.

I see, the band that heedless of all we knew
ties us still, the forge of will-- when we
were fingers of God; created eternal things.

I am lost and found, there and here, from
whence I came and always were - no longer bare;
cloaked, I whisper a breeze to someone I love-
thankful, to be covered, warmed...

more hokku

young soldiers
step over puddles to leave...
childhood dreams

earthquake...
measured words from two friends
parallax views

mountain lake...
loon calls in cloud and mists
seep into the pines

in my car
cardinal calls from passed trees...
a red shift

a photo...

It was found in a letter from the heart
then was lost in words-
mis-delivered sentiments, in a place
reserved for love.
(kept as a photo, already memorized)

Because you do not change
I see so much change-- that you
were the center of the Sun when
all dear things spun around the light.

An unfinished moon above your shoulder
seemed to surge from blackness
as if it too meant to touch...your eyes
held such mystery, deep rivers they;

and now the play of time
upon the ordinary things: paper
texture, color make it so easy
to say it is old, but I know

time has no power...here.

hokku and stars

night gulls ...
wings lift my tired eyes
to seas of light

time and space...
a deep slow river flows
to a boundless sea


a distant mountain
among a spill of diamonds...
milky way


silver moon
poured across the meadow
into a fox's eyes

rain dreams...

Cold soaks pierce the calm,
feet take flight, skim rivulets;
in the sting of sweet water
running through the rain.

The meanings of spring rains take hold
grasses shed excess and concrete sieves
conform to the needs of the moment-
clouds spill and we become
the windy mix of hurry and reflex.

It should be thus, the plants and I
in a bow and revel for we all grow
in the wet and green; but so far removed
from the smell of lightning
so far distant from echoes of thunder
modern man- in leather bound feet-
cannot joyful, thrash in the
bounty of rains, not well wish each drop
for the nurture of a seed.

We cannot fathom the ultimate need,  yet we
creatures of love and fear, sea born and
in this blend of wind and popping drops;
I find a soul satisfying melody.

I listen... as I would hear wisdom of the world
I sense... as if I were a forgotten dry place
I  know my skin drinks-in this day
am soaked again in what makes me:
the water's child.

Mandela

remembering-
one man brought
a rise to freedom's call,
brings a million tears-
remembering

Freedom...

The night imparts poetry to me
a verse of wind whispers
and shadow dance
when freedom is a watchword
dripped like tears from a time of want;
love is the fertile ground.
Gives birth to dreams and dreamers
and nurtures the keep when
wings must sleep, and abide
the unerring flow of deep rivers

Freedom is in a prayer
before it is in a breath
and their crumpled wishes
lift lightly from my lips,
I remember...my debt
of gratitude