Two paired clouds in a crystalline sky
Enormous billowing pennons
Remind me of Blake’s vision of two angels watching
Watching over Christ entombed
Their wings are outsized and touching above his body
The sacred triangle formed speaks to me of triune Divinity
Christ at the base ever near to us in the earthly realm
The angels are Spirit, vehicles of enfolding grace
Source fills the interior, drawing in and unifying all
To be ‘seen’ only through the eyes of unconditional love
Crows greet the morning
Floating gracefully downward
Through autumn’s lowering clouds
A chugging small plane intrudes
Paltry by comparison
What is meant by grace?
The soul’s subtle whisperings
Of transforming love
In mundane situations
The transcendent is revealed
Endnote: Not too long ago I was checking out at the supermarket. A young mother with a sneezing bawling child was ahead of me. She had a very large order. Thoughts of contracting flu flooded my mind along with irritation at having to wait on line. In the parking lot we were parked next to each other in the handicapped section. I also noticed she had arthritis shoes on. As I started to load my car, she came over and helped me. Grace!
Mourn for the perennial harbingers of the seasons
Canadian geese no longer migrate
They have become opportunists
Finding sustenance in our ersatz ‘brave new world’
Mourn the loss of their evocative calls as they floated above us in graceful formations
Mourn as their implicit promise of nature’s renewal dies
We blame them for fouling this monument to expediency and greed
We liquidate them for our crimes
Habitat loss, pollution, global warming
We compound our depredations by arrogantly casting off our sacred mantle as guardians of the earth
Mourn for the future generations betrayed
Lone cricket chirping
Autumn’s hopeful farewell song
An octogenarian vagabond, my father
Traversing the North American continent alone in both directions
His steed is his automobile
No itinerary, no motel reservations, no calls home
His joyful Whitmanesqe spirit
Relishing life as he enthusiastically sings to her
Yes, yes, I am the King of the Road!
Endnote: This poem is dedicated to the memory of my father, a true King of the Road, and to my favorite niece, Karen, who loved her Pom. His journey reminds me of this verse from Goethe: “Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.”
I once heard a poet describe clouds as God’s dreams
Large and billowy, long and slender, dark and ominous, infinite variety
Divine metaphors for our doubts, hopes, fears, and illusions
Revealed as transitory phenomena
Evanescing in the essence of pure sky
Endnote: This poem is dedicated to my sister, Joan, because it's one of her favorites.
In silence I gaze at the icon
With head deeply bowed
Everyman cradles the globe
First I see the figure as Jesus
Then I see myself and our human family as cradlers of the earth
Absorbed in a love wider than the universe itself
Endnote: The Compassion Mandala was created by Brother Robert Lentz. It is used by many as an icon in prayerful contemplation.
Two turkey vultures, magnificent wings fully extended
Soaring ever higher in a bright boundless sky
Embodiments of freedom and grace
On the ground large, ugly, ungainly creatures, out of their element
Metaphors for my illness
Physical limitations, pain, angst, despair
Ungainly earthbound birds with leaden wings
Transformed perceptions are soaring birds
Ascending ever higher into the brilliance of wholeness
Where I am unfettered and unbound
I welcome winter
Books, cats, tea - such is true bliss
Subtle joys abound
A new companion appears
My Buddha cat objects
Machiavellian strategist, my Buddha cat
New stepbrother is in perpetual retreat
My Buddha cat has feet of clay (sometimes)
Didgeridoo, O Didgeridoo
Not a child’s rhyme, but a transformative instrument
When the Didge Brothers play their ancient resonant tones
Hearts beat as one
We are transported to archetypal planes beyond words
Endnote: Dedicated to Joe Gentile, one of the Didgeridoo Brothers, and his partner, Jerry. Joe is a Didgeridoo Master, Renaissance man, friend and kindred spirit.
This human life is like a prism
In infancy we are pristine white light
As we grow, experience refracts our light
Many colors appear, dark and light
At the end of our journey we return to the original light, our eternal Source
Endnote: This poem is dedicated to my brother-in-law, Richard, a kindred spirit.
After days of wind and rain
A nearby tree has a full head of red leaves
She looks like a vibrant flaming redhead
Prepared for come what may
Greetings, my flamboyant teacher!
Unconditional compassion, a truly revolutionary idea
A worldwide revolution has begun
The deepest of human longings has found a global voice at last
Wounded mother earth and her progeny rejoice
Endnote: The Charter for Compassion was unveiled on 11/12/09. Karen Armstrong was the initial motivating force. It espouses “honoring the inviolable sanctity of every single human being, treating everybody without exception with absolute justice, equity and respect.” It endorses “refraining consistently and emphatically from inflicting pain.”
My unemployed neighbor walking his dog
In recent days he walks alone
Victims of the economics of greed
As in all too many times past
The ‘quaint’ homespun virtues will prevail and sustain
Lone raven glides across an ominous November sky
His acute vision takes in the bleak landscape beneath
Not an omen of dark things
Rather avatar of dormant fulfillment
Tentatively shuffling with trepidation
Young special needs folk grocery shopping
Some avert their eyes
Others quickly walk away
I whisper a prayer of deep gratitude
For these mirrors of the Divine
Endnote: This poem is dedicated to my extraordinary nephew and godson, Paul. He has been my special Mirror of the Divine all of his life.
Jumps, grunts, prods, wet kisses
Four legged feline marvels propel me into the new day
Time is fleeting
But first let’s eat
Brother’s lifelong struggle
Illness eroding body, mind and spirit
Yet, there is a luminosity within
When deficits produce a ‘mess’
And irritation arises
I pray with gratitude
‘Cleaning up after Jesus again’
Endnote: This poem is dedicated to my brother, Jim, a noble soul on a noble journey.
Eager little sparrows on a wet shiny sidewalk
Darting between umbrella laden commuters
Ultimate city folk
In natural wonders and all the arts that speak to my soul
I see you, Mother
If one person remembers me thus
I will know that I have truly lived
Rain falling on the sodden grass
Bone-chilling November winds
Small grey squirrel perched on her hind legs
Holding a morsel in her hand-like paws
Intently scrutinizing her prize, savoring every bite, oblivious to the weather
Time pauses
Plump little dark bird
Plodding through the high wet grass
Lone pilgrim’s journey
Perched precariously on a traffic island
An elderly couple, panhandling
Quiet dignity and simple grace are theirs
Namaste, we are held in transcendent connection
One of life’s subtle pleasures, tea
Soothing warmth, deep amber hue, evocative aroma
Conjure images of past delights and future dreams
Seductive libation, my senses eagerly yield
Endnote: This poem is dedicated to Joanie, soul mate, beloved sister, and tea connoisseur par excellence.
Ethereal touch of nose and whiskers
My Buddha cat kissed me
Heart communication transcends all bounds
November’s warmth and mellowness
Earthy aroma of fallen leaves
Soft honey-hued light enfolding
Nature’s graceful respite
Endnote: The beginning of Indian Summer is generally considered to be November 11, St. Martin’s day. Some say the North American native peoples believed it was caused by a warm wind sent by their southwestern God, Cautantowwit (Old Farmer’s Almanac).
Cathedral bells announce the quiet hour
Day’s completion
Anchored in the night’s fullness
Swarm of bright birds
Swirling high in an autumn sky
Miraculous acrobats move as one
Unity in diversity
Endnote: In memory of Henry Beston and his transcendent book, The Outermost House. He spoke of animals never as inferiors but rather as “other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners in the splendour and travail of the earth.”
Sterile season of icy muted hues
Is ageing like this?
No, refined perception reveals un-mined riches
Progressive disease,
Proliferating crabgrass?
No, more akin to dis-ease,
A malady of the spirit
But, when perception changes
Wholeness beckons
Circuitous path, life’s journey
Every step a prayer
At the center, revelation
Cathedral of green
Trees reaching out to each other
Ancient wisdom enfolds me
Endnote: Despite unrelenting encroachment, trees continue to survive, even in the most inhospitable places. Notice how, in their ancient wisdom, they always reach out to each other as they have for millennia.
Single withered leaf on a naked branch
Late autumn enfolding all
Threshold to deeper things
