The Unfolding Read online

promises to break.

  We meet, we love, we do the thing

  and when we return home it's still OK.

  For it is understood

  that is the way of things:

  True love will not be bound

  or put in bonds, even if called “marriage.”

  Fisherman's Friend

  It was a day of sun

  along the great river

  and many there were

  tirelessly angling

  along the rocky shores

  Ever seen a human angler?

  Easy: watch someone

  contort his body

  into various angles!

  As I walked

  I was accosted

  by a tired angler

  (who was also a retired

  professor of angles)

  He asked:

  want to become

  a fisherman's friend?

  and extended his hand

  but I'm wise

  way beyond my eyes

  and sometimes even my ears;

  declined his subtle offer

  and said to him -

  “Ah, not so fast:

  I won't let you

  or anyone

  suck me to nothing

  but a lingering taste

  of menthol and eucalyptus!”

  Having survived

  the deadly encounter,

  I write this to you today:

  beware those who stand

  rod and reel in hand

  on a river's shore

  and offer to become

  your guardian angler!

  Gaia

  Filling dreams without time,

  love's eternal presence

  out of a world gone mad

  I watched you and learned

  (I think you were pleased).

  I followed you into a stream:

  you bent down to touch the fish

  with healing hands

  and where your hands moved

  the water sparkled, diamond-like

  as in edenic days, so long gone;

  from your breath spring burst forth

  a magic moment in shades of green!

  You beckoned tenderly to me:

  eagerly, expectantly, I followed you

  to the river's edge and together

  we danced on swirling waters!

  I thought to laugh then, with abandon:

  in the joy of this sacred moment,

  happy, unencumbered, forever young

  tiptoeing on eddies, with only you

  and the world I knew faded

  it seemed forever

  ...but when I came closer

  and saw your gentle, knowing face:

  tears filled your eyes.

  Homeless

  A clear cut on a mountain side:

  there are those who oppose

  as there are those who agree:

  protagonists in man’s number one game.

  It’s all about fame and all about gain;

  It’s all about blame and all about shame!

  The cause would be better served

  if we thought of those who lose their homes.

  What about the precious life in the mountains,

  birds, squirrels, insects, trees, plants, streams:

  what happens when there are no trees?

  No home for so-called wildlife,

  and no roots to hold the soil?

  If an apartment building was being torn down

  to create work; to boost the economy,

  what of the ones who called that their home?

  Who’s possessions are destroyed?

  Now they’re homeless: where’s the real gain?

  Is that not the same as cutting down a forest?

  Perhaps we shouldn’t stop the cutting of a forest

  by blocking logging roads, or spiking logs,

  nor by giving in to anger or rage,

  but perhaps there is another way:

  the way of peace, of love and compassion,

  the way of empathy for all of life.

  Thus can we show there’s a better way

  to live.

  Look Upon...

  Is your heart troubled

  by ancient thoughts, angry, confused, dark?

  Is your heart cold

  to the pain that surrounds you, discordant, disconnected,

  as if not of your own heart?

  Do you still look upon your world

  as something other than yourself, separate?

  Does your mind

  desire to strike out in anger, in violence, in me-eaness

  giving back hurt for hurt?

  A long time ago, you learned that way

  man's old way,

  claiming, taking, fashioning, raping, never creating:

  the way of endless death...

  It seems right, when no other is known

  but now, you're at the crossroads:

  your love for me brought you here

  and now, you must understand, choose:

  accept -- or reject.

  Look into my eyes

  if your heart is troubled, unable to decide:

  Look!

  I show you the very first way

  as the worlds were made from what seems not,

  from love, and nothing else

  for we had nothing else to work with then

  and we still refuse to work with anything else:

  Look into my eyes

  and absorb my wisdom, my love, my life

  join me in my cosmic dance: come

  cry with me, laugh with me, die with me

  and live

  child made for joy!

  The Majority Is Always Wrong

  There is a madness in the land: the Voting Day...

  and you've heard the standard lines used

  to shame you into making a fool of yourself

  along with the rest:

  Exercise your right to vote - they say solemnly -

  or lose your freedom of speech!

  If you don't vote, you can't bitch - they say solemnly -

  and this, my favorite solemn pronouncement:

  It's because of people who don't vote

  that idiots run the government!

  Well, that's like saying:

  it's because of people who don't drive

  we have traffic jams, accidents and air pollution.

  Yes, well, no wonder I think,

  equally solemnly,

  the majority is always wrong!

  What does it mean to 'vote'?

  To exercise one's freedom of choice?

  It means to be there when needed.

  It means to care.

  It means I desire to make the world into a better place.

  To not do this from fear, greed or competition,

  but rather out of love and compassion -

  Always a personal choice,

  never an institutionalized process;

  never an enforced concept.

  I vote every day, do you?

  Memories

  Beautiful features

  as sculptured from clay

  are her legacy to me.

  If one could still see

  deep into her shining eyes

  he would see a sunrise

  over a virgin paradise!

  He would see her run

  impetuous and free-

  a wild mare with flowing mane

  chasing after the wind

  along an endless shore.

  Memories they may be,

  but the beautiful eyes

  sparkling with fire

  reflected in water;

  the sensual body

  yearning to be loved

  the gentle voice

  laughing in the waves

  are my reality.

  Though she has become

  but memories,

  these remain strong, vibrant,
>
  and will never vanish...

  And neither will the love

  she left imprinted

  in the heart of eternity.

  Dear Miss Liberty

  (Thoughts du jour)

  Mourn, mourn!

  For the thousands

  fleeing from their homes

  when the bombs dropped

  and death rained from torrid skies;

  Mourn, mourn!

  For those pulverized in the streets

  mixing blood and sand,

  steel and plastic –

  fusing burning human flesh and glass

  in depleted uranium.

  ~*~*~*~

  Becoming one

  with all that is: what a simple feat

  that children, dogs, mice and blades of grass

  can accomplish with ease

  when war falls

  from the oppressor's lips

  and its fire spews from heaven –

  did you not hear the monster pray

  before he gave the word?

  ~*~*~*~

  Mind dead, heart blind

  the power-butchers kill the innocent

  claiming it their divine right,

  no, more: their sacred duty.

  It's a matter of interpretation

  (not to be confused

  with questions of morality

  or basic human decency):

  ~*~*~*~

  Did not a Master once say

  the kingdom of heaven

  belongs to little children?

  There you have it: kill them now

  while they remain children

  and give them back to God –

  kills two birds with one smart bomb:

  gets them out of the way

  so they don't grow up to be terrorists

  against the invader –

  sorry, against the Chosen Ones.

  ~*~*~*~

  If this seems an oxymoron –

  what's your take on it?

  Where were you

  when prayers aimed at heaven

  rained back down as cluster bombs?